Under The Wagon

Him: Hey, do you even know what my name is?
Karla: Um...Well do YOU know what MY name is?
Him: Karla
Karla: Uhh...Something with a "D"?
Him: It's Brian.

Brian, Right. Thanks.

Later that Evening...

Brian (apparently): Hey, why'd you write your number on such a tiny piece of paper?
Karla: So it will fit in your wallet easier?
Brian: What's this number here? Is that a 9 or an 8?
Karla: It might be a 3. Figuring it out will be fun, right?
Brian: Just tell me your number and I'll put it in my phone right now.
Karla: (mumbles)
Brian: What was that?
Karla: Why don't you just give me your number? Here's a very tiny piece of paper...

Granted, this was after I was declared "Incredible" no less than 5 times, so you really can't blame the guy.

What can I say? I'm awesome.
 

Options for this evening...

Schuba's for a CD Release Party-
chance of getting drunk: 50%
chance of getting laid: 10%
chance of spending way too much money on cab fare to get there and back: 100%

Elbo Room-
chance of getting drunk: 99.8%
chance of getting laid: 40% (percentage increases exponentially when combined with above statistic)
chance I'll get harrassed by desperate, dirty band guys who think I came to see them play: 110%
chance I'll make an ass of myself, based on 99.8% chance of drunkeness: 100%

Staying home with a case of Old Style-
chance of getting drunk: 100%
chance of getting laid: 0%...big fat 0%
chance I'll make an ass of myself: also 0%

Decisions, Decisions.

Chance that I'm gonna go with Option 2: 100%
Yep. 'Cause I really am that stupid.
 

Married guys like me. So do engaged guys, and guys dating other people. Men who would never even think about cheating, somehow find me irrisistible. I'm catnip to the unfaithful.

And I'll admit, I used to be pretty comfortable with the idea. Didn't want to date anyone, so someone already in a relationship was perfect for the quick hook-up. At least until I figured out that wives and girlfriends really cut into MY booty call priorities.

I'm still trying to figure out why so many married and taken guys seem so eager to get in my pants. I've come to the conclusion that I'm emitting an infidelity pheromone. I call it "adulterone."

Maybe I'm listed in some sort of cheaters Zagat directory. "Petite brunette, always up for a good time...Can do that cool thing with her tongue. Reservations recommended, but not required." Is there a mailing list for the unfaithful?

I can't even count how many times I've heard "Wow, I mean I really love her and all...but you're just really cool/hot/fun/easy."

I guess the best explanation came from my buddy Bill a few years back when I was bemoaning my situation. "Why am I always the other woman and never THE woman? Why are unavailable men always trying to sleep with me?" Bill looked up from his beer with a bored look and informed me "Dude, it's just that you're a slut."

Thanks Bill.
 
 

So I'm back in my apartment again. This will be short, because I'm tired of telling the story every five minutes.

I had (have?) rats. Big ones. Enormous fucking vermin, just running around my place like they were the ones paying the overly inflated rent. The situation resulted in my bathroom floor being ripped up because the Chicago sewer system was apparently making a little rat highway straight to my apartment.

A week in the Day's Inn, and allegedly the problem is fixed. We'll see.

Add in that my grandmother died the same week, and I spent 3 days in Kansas trying to "be strong" for my mom...and you've got a hell of a time all around. For the record, it's incredibly difficult to be strong without drinking or smoking. In fact, you could say it sucks.

This has been a great summer, really. Dislocated hip, violent and brutal mugging, rats, dead grandma...I don't know what karma I'm paying off right now, but I better reincarnate as something really good next time.

If the rats come back again, I think I'm just gonna name them. Or pin fluffy tails and ears on 'em and pretend I have rabbits. Everybody loves rabbits, right?

This sucks.
 
 

Rock Club at Elbo Room last night. Many gin & tonics with Chuck and Robert...it was great to see Bobby get completely fucking bombed, since he's got the baby coming at any moment and he hasn't been out in a while.

Looking at that last sentence makes me realize how incredibly fucked up my priorities are.

C & B were there with their former producer (John) and his band mate (Wookie). John was hot, Wookie was just a trip. Which is apparently how he got his name.

Split a cab home with John and Wookie, Wookie helped me unload my guitar and gear, then proceeded to suck my face for a moment and invite me back to their hotel.
Unexpected, to say the least.

Karla: "um, aren't you married?"
Wookie: (mumbling) "uh, out of town rules?"

I went home and threw up. Not in shame or disgust or anything, just from the booze.
 
 

This morning I woke up so sick that I honestly considered throwing up in my bed because I couldn't stand the thought of standing up. Even after I ended up heaving in the proper sanitary facility (twice), I was still nauseatingly drunk at NOON. Questions that were addressed this morning: Is it worse to blow off an important training meeting at work or attend said meeting still reeking of alcohol? And how did I spend 40 bucks during a night of free drinks and no cab rides? I decided throwing up in front of my new boss was worse than being a no show, and set down to solve the mystery of the missing money.

Went to a show at the Vic. One band was good. The other was "Tonic." Bleh. The sound mix was shitty, but most importantly the show was sponsored by Jameson. Jameson Irish Whiskey. Jameson Irish Whiskey who's my new best friend because they gave away copious amounts of free Irish Whiskey. I like whiskey. Check that...I like FREE whiskey. If I'm paying, it's still Tanqueray all the way. But free liquor is good liquor.

I went over to Elbo Room before the show ended, 'cause I could give a rat's ass about Tonic. Many more drinks were consumed. Most of these were purchased for me, but I do remember buying a round of birthday shots for someone. I think that might be where most of the money went. I really don't want to think about the possibility that I drank 40 bucks worth of gin & tonic all by myself, especially considering that about half my drinks were free.

The other mystery of the night was why I didn't get laid. By many accounts I was looking devastatingly hot, what with the "fuck me" boots and all. I was praised for my sparkling wit and conversation, the shininess of my hair, the perkiness of my breasts. Seemed a sure thing. From somebody, at least.

After Elbo closed (and that's MY closing time, not the public's), I was kidnapped by Kristin and Angela, and taken to Tonic's hotel room. I was declared the "hot chick" they needed to get in to the party. Forget what I said about not caring about the band...Now I was definitely getting booty. Rock star booty. At least, quasi-washed up, sensitive pop guitar rock star booty.

Not to be. While I was propositioned by a guy already sitting in bed with a girl on either side, and got a few (figurative) nibbles, no dice. Or rather, no dick. But I did drink a lot of their beer and got in trouble for smoking in the room. Rock n' roooooll motherfucker!

Got a ride home, ate half a loaf of bread and some cheese, possibly some olives...since I found olive juice everywhere this morning. Woke up with the idea that vomiting in bed was actually a viable option...you know the rest.

Overall a good time. But I'm still trying to figure out where the money went.