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| The following is a list of Dynamike's blog entries, in reverse order |
| Tuesday, September 01, 2009 (21:38:46) - A Weekend of Surprises |
Sometimes, I get in a mood to just pop a surprise on someone. Sometimes, I get surprises popped on me. Sometimes, like this weekend, I get both.
The first surprise wasn’t really a surprise. I was kinda expecting it. It had to do with my career. It was a minor setback. I promise to let that cat out of the bag at a later date.
The second surprise was one I was cooking up!
The last time Brian, my bestest good friend, and I spoke we both had plans for the weekend that would keep us from hanging out. What I didn’t tell him was that my Friday plans were up in the air. When I found out he was playing with Leroy Ellington & The E-Funk Band, I decided a surprise was in order.
I hit the road around 8:30 towards The Nasty Nati, Covington, KY actually. I wanted to ride, but took the advice of a friend in the area and the weatherman and drove my cage instead. I would later come to regret that as nary a drop fell on the trip there, around the Nati that night, or on the way back.
But if I had ridden the scooter, I woulda missed out on the opportunity to have a nice conversation with an old friend on the way there. I also stopped to grab a couple of Arby’s toasted subs for $4 (less than $6 and I was full!) to keep from having to eat at Sidebar. Oh and for some reason, Brian called.
We spoke briefly about my career surprise. After I passed through an area of poor reception and lost him, I texted letting him know that I was busy as we could just talk tomorrow. My evil plan was coming together, muah ah ah ahhhh!
So, back to the conversation with an old friend. This dear friend of mine contacted me right out of the blue. We don’t get to talk much, so we had a lot of catching up to do. I let her in on my career issues and she caught me up as well. My friend works as an administrator type and has really had some rough couple of years. When she told me that she was about to embark on two books deals and her freelance writing was picking up, I was tickled pink!
“What a nice surprise!” I thought to myself.
I pulled into Sidebar’s parking lot and walked in around 10:30. I moseyed up to the bar and ordered two bottled American frosty beverages. I walked right up to the stage and gave one to Brian.
Now, he was surprised!
“What happened to ‘we’ll talk tomorrow’, dude?”
“It’ll be tomorrow in less than two hours, so just chill!”
We had a good time. It was the usual low key deal for me. You know, dancing, drinking, and being the one in every crowd (thanks for that one Mark)!
I did get a chance to hear one of the E-Funk Band’s new originals, “There’s Something Funky Going On!” Cool tune. There’s a link to a video in an earlier post.
There was one little moment that was out of the ordinary for even me that I just have to tell you about!
Brian and I were sitting in the back of the bar near the kitchen while the band was on break. I was being my usual low-key outgoing self that night and so when random people would stop by the table to say hi, I kinda expected it. I was also with some members of the band which made our spot more popular.
But when some random young chick walks by and says, “Hey, you wanna see my tits?” even we are taken aback.
Not one to disappoint this poor girl, we told her we wouldn’t mind seeing her tits with a “Sure!” and weird surprised looks.
She let those puppies free and I have to say they weren’t all that bad. Normally, you would expect someone who is whipping the girls out willy nilly style doesn’t have much in the boobage department. Not this girl. She didn’t have much else going for her, but her mammories sure were memorable.
“Nice tits there toots!”
“Thanks, I grew ‘em all by myself!”
“What a nice surprise!” I thought to myself.
We woke the next morning (yes, before noon!) and headed out to suck on some chili dogs outside the tasty freeze. Neither one of us wanted to play the Bobby Brooks role nor could we find a tasty freeze, so we decided on Skyline instead. It sure was yummy!
I had a prior engagement (translation=party) to get to, so I bode farewell and headed on back to Chillicothe.
On the way back, I exchanged messages with a new friend who asked me what I was up to that night. Being the consummate smartass that I am, I replied, “It’s beautiful out up here. You get only one guess.”
When she replied with “I dunno, picking daisies…” I knew I had been one-upped.
I can’t stand being one-upped. She knew I was going riding and was just being a smartass. I liked it. But I was still one-upped.
I had to up the ante. I told her that I was riding and she missed out on the prize for not guessing right. After a couple more messages back and forth, I conceded to giving her a consolation prize for creativity.
Only thing is that I had no prize in mind! To make matters worse, she wanted hints. I was digging myself deep!
The party I was referring to is the Annual Aaron Reed Memorial Veteran’s Awareness Benefit. This year was being put together by a good friend of mine and I just had to go. There was gonna be loads of good old fashioned bluegrass, food, good times, and good people!
I rolled up on the police bike just in time for Wake Up Jake, a college style band. I hang with these guys from time to time. They’re great entertainers and a bunch of fun guys.
So are their wives/girlfriends. We visited for a while during their set. I learned all about Ron’s new standup base. I also learned about a pending trip to pick up a banjo.
They wrapped up and I wanted to ride. The last band was gonna be a great show that I didn’t wanna miss. I just took a short jaunt around town during the in between band and came right back.
This little music/drink fest was at the Elks Lodge in downtown Chillicothe. The Elks Lodge is right next door to the Sheriff’s Office and County Jail. Parking was at a premium. I figured I was on my old police bike and should park in an open area near the jail’s parking lot.
Just as the two Sheriff’s Deputies approached, I began to think that was a mistake. I had had a couple of beers and was nowhere near worried about a DUI or public intox. I was concerned about these guys being azzholes to me. I have a low tolerance for azzholes, especially when they impact my happiness. I just saw myself getting irate with them and spending the night in the jail overlooking the party instead of being at it.
They were actually surprisingly nice and wanted to talk about motorcycles! Yay!!! I love talking about motorcycles. I love staying out of jail even more!
I finished talking with the two Deputies and I walked my happy ass right up to the beer trailer/bar and said, “I’ll take a Bood Light!”
I got my drink, but the bartender refused my money.
“What a nice surprise!” I thought to myself.
I also became very concerned. The Lewis Brother Band was pumping out some kick ass bluegrass and the crowd was partying fo sho! I was out to have a good time and had high hopes for the prospects. The free beer was just a little too much.
All I could think about was the jail next door. I know my alcohol limits. I was concerned that the fine officers in that building weren’t aware of that fact. Rather than giving them any reason to hassle me, I kept the number of drinks to a minimum.
I was still my low-key outgoing usual self, just without the consumption of copious quantities of adult beverages.
While taking a break in the dancing madness, I was approached by a cute curly-headed girl in a miniskirt wagging around a clipboard. She walked right up to me and asked if I was enjoying the band.
“What a nice surprise!” I thought to myself.
I was enjoying the whole experience including the band, the folks, and the dancing, so I said, “Honey, I love a good hoe-down!”
“You wanna what with my huh?”
“I said I love a good hoedown!”
“I don’t know if we can do that here!”
I took her clipboard and wrote on it, “I love a good hoedown!”
“Oh yeah, me too!”
Then the band went on break and we were able to chat for a bit. She was very intrigued. She started right off asking lots of questions.
“So, I haven’t seen you around here. Where are you from? I live in Pike County.”
Red flag! She’s a redneck. Anybody that tells you where they live in reference to a county is a redneck. I had no clue folks talked like that up here.
They do that down in Southern Georgia and Northern Florida. There is some rednecks down that way, lemme tell ya! I’ve lived all over the south from Alabama to South Carolina and from Middle Tennessee to Central Florida and can tell you that the concentration of rednecks in the Jacksonville, Florida area is unequivocally the highest concentration of rednecks you’ll see anywhere in the US. The concentration goes down as you get further away from Jacksonville, but it still pretty high in the swamps of Southern Georgia all the way down to the Gator Nation.
Another thing I’ve noticed around here is that everybody knows something about everybody. She asked me my name, but not just my first name. She wanted to know my last name, too.
I’ve become accustomed to this. At first they would ask me my last name followed by “Who is your daddy and what does he do?” After the first few attempts at trying to explain my lineage to people out here, I figured that I should just tell them right away that I wasn’t from the area and was imported to work here.
Once I see the inquisitive face after telling them my last name I’ll explain, “No, you don’t know any of my family. I’m not from around here. I moved here from Nashville to work at the ‘A-Plant.’”
We exchanged pleasantries for a little while longer until I desired another drink.
“I’m thirsty and am gonna get another beer. Sa ya around.”
“See ya around. It was nice to meet ‘ya!”
“Likewise, my dear.”
I walked back up to the bar where I was getting free drinks. Free drinks are awesome! But, this was a benefit for Vets. I’m a Vet. Under normal circumstance, I could easily in my head justify the free beer. But, I just couldn’t do it that night. I knew the money would be put to use to help Vets and the families of Vets who were worse off than I. I just dropped money in a donation jar each time he wouldn’t take my $2.
And then she walked back up, The Pike County Redneck Who’s Your Daddy Girl.
“How come didn’t I see you at the Freely Music Fest a few weeks ago?”
Now, my good friend Ben was standing right next to me. Ben is the ringleader of the whole event and pretty damn popular in this area. I can’t go out anywhere with him where we don’t meet at least six people he knows.
“Ben, why didn’t you bring him to Freely Fest?”
“He was out of town. Right Mike? You were in Cincy?”
“What were you doing in Cincy?” she asked.
“I can’t remember. I was booked for something.”
“You were booked for something?”
“Yeah, like an appearance. I’m a celebrity.”
“You’re a celebrity? What do you do?”
“I drink!”
“Haha, you’re funny! I like you, Mike. Are you coming to the Keys after this?”
Now normally, I would say that the after party is the one you want to attend.
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe.”
“No, you have to come. You just have to, Mike,” she begged. And then she said it. She made up my mind for me.
“I don’t get out much living with my boyfriend and all.”
And the train comes to a screeching halt!
You see, there’s lots of wilderness out here and people love to hunt. I wasn’t quite sure what her motivation was, but I surely didn’t feel like giving her redneck boyfriend any reason to hunt me like a squirrel. I’m all about getting the nut, but I’m also all about avoiding the wrong end of a 12 gauge.
“That’s a surprise I don’t want! No thank you!” I thought to myself
“I’ll be there honey,” I said lying through my teeth. I just wanted to shut her up and drink my beer. That was the best way to do it. I would later meet said boyfriend and come to realize that a Smith & Wesson wasn’t the only formidable weapon in his arsenal.
I left the benefit and walked right across the street to another one of Chillicothe’s night spots. There was something going on there called Wimfest. I didn’t know what it was, but there was loads of chick coming and going from that place.
I should go inside. It can’t be a bad idea. It’s nothing but chicks!
Wimfest is a women’s music festival. Once I got up to the door, I understood exactly what kind of people were there. I thought my life was in danger if I spent any more time with Pike County Redneck Who’s Your Daddy Girl. This place would’ve made that danger look like a day at Disney. All of those Rosie O’Donnells, KD Langs, and Melissa Etheridges would’ve whooped my cowboy hat wearin’, motorcycle riding, loud partyin’ ass for just breathing!
“What a bad surprise that would’ve been!” I thought to myself.
Alright, so I’ll try one last bar.
I walked in to another bar around the corner and was immediately greeted by Sam, the bartender. Sam is an eccentric younger fellow I’ve had the pleasure of drinking with in the past. I asked for a beer and he pulled a cold bottle from the cooler. I pulled out my stack of bills to pay and Sam refused.
“Don’t worry about it!” he said with a slur. “Whatever you need, you come see old Sam!”
And now, I had a drunk bartender who was giving me drinks for free.
“I’m not surprised, now. I’m scared!” I said out loud to myself.
Why was the world conspiring against me? I need to be at home where I am safe. I sucked down that free beer, mounted my old police bike, and rode home as fast I legally could.
The ride home gave me time to reflect. Reflect on the surprises I had given and been given so far that weekend. It also reminded of the prize I had promised for the next day.
You remember, the prize I promised without actually having one earlier in the day!
As I rode home, I formulated a plan. The prize had to be virtual in nature and something that was both cute and my new friend would like. I had very little clue about this girl and had to come up with something.
Oh, the pressure!
The next morning I woke and was on a mission. I grabbed a bowl of Life cereal (yes, Mikey does like it!) and started surfing the web. After a while, I found a couple of designs that I would alter and email them to her as her prizes.
You see, I am a little skilled at graphic design, but not enough so I can design stuff this intricate on my own. She would’ve never got anything if I had tried that route. I could’ve photographed some things for her, but I wanted specific items/themes and was under a time crisis.
She gave me a hard time about something the day before and I heard from a little birdie that she a penchant for a certain creepy crawly. I stole/altered/made her cartoony type images of those particular themes big enough to be screensavers for her phone. I know, it’s cheesy, but I had little to work with and sometimes the thought counts more than the material.
The funnest part was playing the guessing game with her once they were ready. I would give her a clue and she would guess. She got the first prize right after the third clue, but gave up on the second one.
It was terribly fun! So much, in fact that I didn’t hit the pavement’ till nearly 6 that evening! So much for riding all day. I wouldn’t take it back, though. I was smiling and cracking up all day, even when I finally did go riding.
That’s the nice thing about riding. Sometimes, you make memories. Sometimes, you reflect on them. |
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| Friday, August 28, 2009 (19:24:00) - The Biker Outlook on Life |
Or, more appropriately, my outlook on life.
I don’t want to be presumptuous and say I’m some sorta hard core biker. I’ve been called that before, but professing it kinda makes it not true. I’ll just let you be the judge.
I also can’t speak for all people that would fit that label/stereotype. I can only speak for myself and my close friends I’ve had this discussion with. I’ll venture to say that most folks that enjoy riding like I do share similar outlooks.
I’ve been riding for 20 years. On average, I ride 12,000 miles a year and have for the past five or six years. My experiences have been both awesome and down right bad.
I’ve ridden loads of different motorcycles from exotic to plain jane. I’ve ridden on all kinds of roads, both paved and dirt with and without smooth surfaces. I’ve also ridden in the most extreme weather, including snow and torrential rain. I’ve had days/weeks/months where I would have nary an issue with my ride and I’ve been broken down in the middle of North Dakota in the pouring rain.
There’s two types of riders, those that have gone down and those that will. I’ve been down for the silliest of reasons. I’ve also kept a motorcycle upright in the most demanding of circumstances. I’ve nearly lost a leg, have had brushes with death, and have seen acquaintances and buddies suffer fates much worse.
When the good times are good, they’re really good and when they ain’t so good, they’re still alright.
Let me translate that for you.
I appreciate life. Everyday I can wake up, see, and walk are good days. The fact that I can function at the high level of intelligence us humans have come to take for granted is just a plus. The icing on the cake is that I have friends and family that love me and make me happy.
There’s just so much the average person takes for granted that I appreciate. I’m not saying we shouldn’t work to have all that we want. It’s just that most folks don’t stop working so very hard long enough to appreciate what they have.
There’s an old saying us motorsickle riders use.
| Quote: |
| Any day above ground is a good day! |
And it’s as simple as that. |
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| Wednesday, August 26, 2009 (21:19:05) - Thank You! |
I’ve been writing a blog now for over three years. I still remember my first post, titled “Old Prude Citations”. It was a lighthearted jab at people that took life too seriously.
It was well received among my closest friends. They were all bikers, all two or three of them. Yes believe it or not, my social circle was once very small.
It wasn’t well received by my ex-wife, though. She thought it was a dumb idea and said I was stupid. It’s funny how that marriage didn’t work out, huh?
I kept plugging away. I would write mostly about motorcycles and riding. From time to time, I would write about photography and post pictures of some the eye-candy work I was doing for various magazines. That’s about all I had going for me at the time.
I owned a full-service portrait and wedding studio and did some motorcycle photography as well as swimwear and eye-candy (girls in lingerie and less). I also did photojournalism and journalistic writing for some motorcycle magazines. Working for other people wasn’t quite giving me what I wanted out of writing and photography, so I started BrainBucketMag.com.
Over time, it has grown. We average around 20,000 readers viewing nearly 80,000 pages per month. BrainBucketMag.com has over 54,000 pages and 1,500 inbound links indexed in Yahoo. Google considers Brain Bucket an authority site (a site shown with sublistings) not only for a domain search, but a publication name search.
That’s a buncha techie stuff that’s good info for our potential advertisers. It’s also for you folks that want some sorta quantification. It’s cool and I take pride in it.
However, the real pride comes from some of the personal emails I get and meeting people that are fans.
I remember the first time I met someone outside of my circle of friends that actually read Brain Bucket. I was in Daytona for Biketoberfest 2007. A site hired us to promote the events and wanted a model on location for a poster signing. I was also in attendance just to make sure everything went fine.
A large group walked up to our booth, met the model, got some signed posters, and took some pictures with her. I was getting very little attention as I’m sure you could imagine. Seriously, like I’m gonna be able to compete with a hot chick at a motorcycle rally!
So when someone turned to me and asked me what I was all about, I was surprised to say the least. I told them my name and this person took a step back. They asked if I was Dynamike, the guy who wrote the blog.
“Yep, that’s me,” I said as I thought I was about to get punched or something.
“Oh my God, ya’ll! It’s Mike!” he exclaimed. His friends turned their backs on the hot chick and walked right over to me shaking my hand and patting me on the back saying, “We love your blog man! You are so funny!”
That felt very good. I knew I was doing something right. It was validation a year and a half in the making.
It’s been happening more and more since then and it’s always nice. Sometimes are more memorable than others. One that really sticks with me is when I met Elias Soriano from Nonpoint after a show and he professed to being a fan.
I finally decided to start using Facebook a while back. It’s been a great way to connect with some old friends. I wanted my old friends from High School to see what I was up to. I could’ve posted links to my blog posts, but I didn’t wanna come across as a SPAMMER. Instead I would post the entire blog post and tag my closest friends.
I started getting people request FB friendship that I had never heard of. One guy said that he read my notes on someone else’s profile and enjoyed them so much he had to send me a friend request. A girlfriend of a friend from High School saw my profile and commented on how I looked like a blast to know and sent me a friend request.
And then one of my FB friends sent me a personal email that’s right on par with meeting Elias Soriano and that first fan encounter. I’ll just let you read it for yourself:
| Quote: |
So ... I must confess .... after I got off of fb earlier ... I found myself logging right back on. I just had to check your notes out! I have spent the better half of an hour reading and learning a little bit about your world. Your a little different than what I imagined. I have to tell you, after reading your profile notes I find myself smiling. You kept my attention all weekend with your humor, and now I find myself putting my book down so that I could dive into your political, scientific and sometimes biological world .... lol .... It has been very intersting and informative and I cant wait to see which direction you turn next. Thanks for accepting my friend request b/c I have enjoyed it .... most time I have EVER spent on fb .... and probably the longest message Ive ever sent from such a tiny keyboard (cell phone) Hope your having a great night!!!! P. S. Ive never sent a friend request to someone I didnt already know... I may rethink that .... I could be missing out on some really cool people!! Later Tater  ] |
How flattering is that!?! Seriously!?! I imagine I’ll go back to reading this one a few times.
Thank you! Thank you all! Thanks for reading, commenting on, and turning your friends on to my ramblings. I am very flattered by all of it.
And yes author of this email I quoted, meeting you has been one of the highlights of my weekend! Later Tater |
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| Tuesday, August 25, 2009 (22:31:00) - German Beer & Chicago Blues in the Country |
I love a country folk party. When I used to shoot weddings full-time, I enjoyed the country weddings and the black weddings the most. They may be worlds apart stereotypically, but they both know how to throw down.
When Brian presented me with the opportunity to go to a barn party with him and hear G Miles and the Hitmen, I jumped right on it!
G Miles and the Hitmen is a Chicago style blues band. This group is a collection of some of the best blues musicians in the Midwest. If you enjoy blues, you will love this band. If you don’t, you need to get a life.
We stopped along the way to pick up a guest trumpet player for the night. Pablo got into the car and we exchanged pleasantries. By pleasantries, I mean I shook his hand and he passed me the bottle of wine he was pre-gaming with. I couldn’t let him pre-game alone, so I joined him.
Pablo is a piano player of Colombian descent in the US on a student visa. Turns out he plays a mean trumpet as well. He was talking like he wanted to work towards citizenship. He’s just a young musician making his way.
He had also recently separated from his girlfriend/fiancé of three years just that week. He had been down on himself all week and was ready to get out. It was fate that he was going out with us. It was fate that brought him to us, us to him.
Brian and I have had some great and not so pleasant experiences with women. We’ve learned a lot. We’re both romantics at heart that live by a rule most people are not in touch with.
You have to love and respect yourself first. You have to have an awesome life without a companion to be able to share one with a companion. A lover is not someone that you depend on for a life rather someone you share your life with.
Pablo needed to get back in touch with how awesome he is and that he will do just fine without her. Yes, it will sting for a while. But, in the end we are all better for every interaction we have. Each person we meet teaches us something about ourselves and others. The healing begins when we see those lessons and hold the fond memories dear.
On to happy stuff!
We arrived at the farm just as we finished the bottle. We did manage to scare Brian a couple of times passing it back and forth, especially as we passed through some podunk town’s main street. Well, it wasn’t the passing it that was the issue as much as the displaying it for everyone outside the car to see.
Brian parked the car and we headed up to the barn to survey the landscape. We met the owner of the farm and the bride (yes, I was a wedding crasher!) who tell us that there was plenty of beer and food and we should help ourselves. I immediately began familiarizing myself with the locations of said kegs. Food? Not so much.
I found the keg labeled Heineken memorized its location. That keg saw a lot of me that night. I’m not sure what was in the others. They were tasty, but I had my heart set on the German brew.
I was just starting to enjoy my first beer, when Donnie White, the drummer, showed up and asked me for his help unloading gear. These guys were the reason I was getting free beer. I couldn’t say no. I turned to the table behind me and charged the middle aged couple and young lady drinking together with watching my beer.
Once I was finished unloading, I went back to said table to retrieve my frothy beverage. That beer musta been sleeping around, ‘cause when I got back it had multiplied. I coulda swore when I left that table there were four beers there, one for each of the three people watching my drink and the one I left. Now, there were no less than six beers, a glass of wine, and a glass of champagne at the table.
The middle aged couple was gone, leaving only the young lady with the drinks. After calling her a lush, I snatched mine up. I told her I was scared she was going to drink mine too!
She giggled and insisted that the other drinks were her mom’s, uncle’s, and some of their friends. Turns out that middle aged couple were brother and sister and not a couple after all. Or where they? We were in the country afterall.
Just because a cute girl is drinking with her parents doesn’t mean she’s drinking age, or even 18 for that matter. In the country, drinking age is arbitrary. This girl was definitely not 21 and I question whether or not she could vote.
I had to point that out to Pablo when he made a comment about the work I was doing on that cute girl. I also had to point out to him that we were in the middle of nowhere, there was a minister present, and those people had guns! Young grasshopper had much to learn.
I also had to let him know that not all interactions are about the score. Sometimes, you just want to be social with people with no end goal in mind. But, I’ve written about that before and really don’t want to repeat myself.
The band fired up for the first set. I was enjoying the suds and the music. I went out on the back deck and noticed an old timer with a cane and an HD cap.
We started talking about old motorcycles and the joys of riding. It was like I was reconnected with an old friend. We shared a kindred spirit that posers like Clay have no clue about. I would return to share many good memories with him throughout the night.
I walked back around to the stage/dance floor and saw the bride out on the floor motioning for some of her friends to join her. I couldn’t bear to watch that woman beg on her day. I went right over, picked up her friends and drug them out to the dance floor. She asked for more and I obliged. Before you know I was grabbing all kinds of folks to dance with her.
I became the party starter.
Then it was my turn. I was ready to shake a leg. I returned to the floor to dance with the folks I just put there.
Only thing is that I was disappointed. Except for maybe to other guys, it was all women dancing. We were outnumbered at least 9:1.
Now, I know what you’re saying, “But Mike, that’s great odds!” And I would agree. However, they were all married. I was disappointed that these women’s husbands were too cool to dance with them.
Guys, women like to dance. You’re gonna feel stupid and maybe even look stupid, but do it. I’ve covered this before as well, so I won’t again. Just do it already!!!
The beer I was drinking was starting to catch up to me. I broke the seal. Turns out I broke it tragically early.
I was on my way back up to the dance floor when I passed by Brian and Pablo chatting with a few of my new dance partners. There was this one woman who claimed she was 37, but she musta bee lying. I don’t know why she would, though. Once you’re older than 21, there’s really no reason to claim to be older than you are. This woman was fine and didn’t look a day older than 28.
She was so pretty that I think it blinded Pablo. He musta missed that gigantic rock on her left ring finger. That thing was so big I don’t see how her left arm was not noticeably longer than her right. He didn’t make sure she wasn’t married when he hit on her, but he didn’t forget my lesson about making sure they were old enough.
“So, how old are you?” he asked after a little small talk.
That’s when Brian shoved the ice in his face and said, “Doesn’t matter, bro!”
Young grasshopper had much to learn.
The band fired back up and I was back on the floor, after filling my cup that is. Brian said he never saw me with an empty cup even though it was up to my mouth quite a bit. One time he even got excited that I was bringing him a beer as I was walking toward the stage carrying two until he realized I was just doublefisting!
Then I noticed her, a flaxen haired beauty with a turquoise sweater. Brian spoke of her earlier, but I underestimated the truth of her fairness. He took a solo and walked off stage to pay her some special attention. I knew what my new task was.
He went back up to the stage and she remained in her seat. I moseyed on over and took out to the floor. She was lying when she said she couldn’t dance. And I would be lying if I didn’t admit that this was going to be some of the hardest wingman action I’ve ever had to play.
This girl was gorgeous! And she could grind! I wasn’t eager to pass her off. But, I owed Brian.
You see, hot chicks are a dime a dozen. Good friends are worth their weight in gold. But a friend like Brian is priceless.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not devaluing women. I just don’t sweat their hotness. But when one comes along that’s hot, smart, and can be a friend, well, then you have hit the lottery!
“So what do you think of the band? They rock, huh?” I asked as we danced.
“Hell yeah! And that sax player is awesome!” She exclaimed as I knew I had an in.
“You should hang out with us after the show! He’s awesome guy. Been my best friend for 22 years!”
This went on for a while until the band started playing Proud Mary and we had to sing along.
That was their last song. The crowd dispersed and flaxen haired beauty disappeared into the night. I tried.
I turned toward the stage preparing myself to help Donnie and was greeted by my old friend. The old-timer had just bought a couple of the band’s CD’s and refused to let them sign them until I had first. What a way to end the night! |
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