For those of you who followed my tour diaries while I was travelling around the country being a lackey for the Fake Boys, it is coming to an end. Unfortunately last Wednesday I was sitting on my stoop smoking a cigarette and my phone was sitting on my lap. Out of nowhere, some asshole ran by and snatched my phone off my lap. I did get up to chase him, but he was long around the corner by the time I was halfway down the block. This taught me two things about myself (aside from being a moron and not paying attention):
1) I live in a real shitty neighborhood.
2) I’m a fat bastard who is out of shape and needs to lose some weight.
Why would the loss of my phone prohibit me from continuing my tour diary? Well I was taking notes from each day of tour in my notepad app on my iPhone. Considering I no longer have said iPhone and I have the memory of a goldfish, I cannot accurately provide the details needed for an accurate tour diary. This really pisses me off (besides from losing my iPhone), because I wanted to put all five weeks of tour together in one big piece for my own personal distribution (Christmas is coming).
I will leave you with one story I do remember vividly.
We were playing in Phoenix and spent the day at my cousins house lying by the pool, drinking beer, and eating lasagna (Anastasia and Mike, you rule!). The venue we were playing was called Trunk Space and it was in a dodgy section of Phoenix. We had some time to kill and noticed next to the venue was a bar with no windows called “The Bikini”. Ryan and I decided that it was in order that we check this place out.
Now I know what you are thinking, the establishment had no windows and it was named The Bikini. There’s a high probability of T&A. You couldn’t be more wrong.
The bar smelled like a combination of stale beer and warm urine. It was real dark and dusty; I’m guessing the place hasn’t been cleaned since Ronald Reagan was running the country. The name “The Bikini” was oxymoronic because you wouldn't want to see any female in that bar in a bikini and any girl who wears a bikini wouldn’t consider patronizing the place in fear the smell might cause them to soil themselves (SIDEBAR: Before I forget to include it, or find a place to include it, the bathroom was beyond foul. For those who went to CBGB back in the day, the bathroom at Bikini Bar made the CBGB bathroom look like the bathrooms at the Waldorf-Astoria. The one great thing was the condom machine in the bathroom. Not only did it sell condoms but also a little book of sex positions, and “p***y pics” which were up close photos of the female genitalia. Too bad I didn’t have any change.).
That didn’t stop us. We’ve been in a van together smelling our own filth for weeks (which smelled 100 times better than The Bikini), plus they had cold beer and a pool table, two things normally lacking from the van (depending on how much ice was in the cooler). We ordered a beer then Ryan, Joe, Luke from Lipstick Homicide, and I decided to play a game of pool.
Joe and I were getting our asses kicked by Ryan and Luke when something strange, at least strange for me occurred.
This girl walks in. Not to judge her but she had a couple bad tattoos (but who doesn’t), bad skin, and I’m pretty sure she’s done meth more than once in her life. Oh, she was also wearing a white dress very similar to Madonna in her “Like a Virgin” video, along with the lace gloves, and she was carrying a pizza (I’m also guessing she wasn’t a virgin). Following her was a guy with a mullet (who appeared to be old enough to be Meth Madonna’s father), wearing acid washed jeans, a plaid shirt, with a carnation pinned on it, and a trucker hat. Following that guy was an older woman wearing some type of designer sweat suit (not what the hip-hop kids wear, but something a senior citizen would wear to play bingo). They all proceeded to sit a booth in the middle of the bar.
I joked to Joe “Check it out, it’s a wedding reception.”
We lost the game of pool and I sat at a table and focused on the trio in the booth. They were eating their pizza, doing shots, carrying on like they owned the place. At that point Jim came in the bar and I asked him if there was a car outside with beer cans tied to the back. He told me there was, so I went outside to smoke and investigate. Sure as shit there was a mid-80’s Toyota Tercel with strings of beer cans hanging from the rear bumper and writing on the back window that said “Just Married”.
Holy shit… It was a wedding reception; on a Wednesday.
I went back in the bar, sat down, and stared at the happy couple. Jim joined me, then Anastasia and Mike, and we discussed the happenings in the booth.
At that point the newly crowned bride announced to the bartender that it was time for cake. Well considering the reception dinner consisted of a large pizza and Jim Beam, I couldn’t wait to see what kind of grocery store cake they would offer up. I gave them too much credit thinking they would have a grocery store cake. They had two Yodels. Yes, you read that correctly, Yodels.
At that point the newlyweds interlocked arms and fed each other Yodels. I did all I could not to laugh aloud but I had to walk outside because I was in tears. If this was done as a joke and was filmed, it would be classic, but this wasn’t a joke, it was the real deal, which is very, very funny and very, very, sad at the same time.
Oh, but it’s not over yet.
I go back into The Bikini and ordered another Pabst (SIDEBAR: I didn’t complain about the beer because it was cold and only a dollar for a pint, but I think the bathroom was last cleaned before the keg lines and you could definitely taste it.). That’s when all three got up because it was time for their first dance. The lady in the sweat suit (who I found out was the mother of the bride), grabbed a beer at the bar and shared her excitement about her little girl’s big day with the barmaids, while the couple was at the jukebox looking for the perfect wedding song.
After a few minutes of discussion they settled on a pick, the groom took off his trucker hat, which revealed he didn’t have a mullet, but a skullet (think Hulk Hogan), grabbed his bride and prepared to cut the rug on what appeared to be a makeshift dance floor.
There was one snag with the first dance. They must have hit the wrong number on the jukebox. Instead of a sappy romantic country song, it was a sappy country song about a girl who died after getting hit by a car (I swear you can’t make this shit up). This clearly upset Meth Madonna because she immediately pulled away and demanded her mother dance with her husband instead. Then the bride went to the bar and claimed she didn’t want her marriage to start with any bad “mojo” (I’m guessing getting hitched on a Wednesday, to a dude twice your age, and eating a Yodel for a wedding cake is the foundation of good “mojo”.).
Once the wrong song ended (which I wondered why the bartender just didn’t hit the skip button instead of a forced dance with mom), they reconvened at the jukebox for another try. This time they had more success, and played the right song they wanted to dance to.
As the happy couple danced, I seriously considered walking up to them and saying “mind if I cut in?” But even I’m not that much of an asshole.
For those of you who enjoyed my tour stories, sorry I can’t give you more. Email me at shatmeself@yahoo.com and I’ll throw you a couple other laughs that might come to mind. If you didn’t enjoy my tour stories, you suck.
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