Andi Pandi

Last night was a new adventure.  In an attempt to "fix up" one of my fellow co-workers, I was summoned to perform the "back up support girlfriend" role by going with my friend to a bar to see "a guy" perform "in a band".  I'm cool, remember?

At least I WAS cool until I pull up at the address and see that this bar (and I am really using that term loosely, because well...ew), was attached to a Christie's Toy Box.  (Where they sell blow up dolls that look suspiciously like me...ahem...that is another post though...)  But...because I am a Good Girlfriend...I go in.

I was under advisement that the only acceptable attire for NOT trying to garner attention was a sedate turtleneck and jeans, which I was so happy to have on because otherwise the air inside there may have actually touched my body and well...as I may have mentioned....ew.

So we squash into the booth...all girls on one side and Barbarian-Man at either end of the table.  I notice something about the crowd.   Actually I notice several things and many of them brought to mind the movie Deliverance...but I digress... So the crowd: 90% men over the age of 55.  I brought the bar-age-average down to a whopping 53.

Most of these men looked like truck drivers or mechanics or simply unemployed guys...appologies to the man in the *clean* red Sooner's sweatshirt...As I mentioned, we were going there to see this guy sing with his "band".  I did NOT realize that his band was a large television and two speakers streaming karoke lyrics.  So, the sex appeal of going to "see a guy in a band" was totally lost.

So we watched countless aged men step up to the mic and sing their own tailored rendition of songs like...well, hell, do you think I can remember any of them?  The answer is NO because there were only two songs sung last night that were written or performed SINCE I HAVE BEEN ALIVE ON THIS EARTH.  One was a girl butchering "Crazy" by Patsy Cline...That was horrific.  Even with the special "echo" effect on the microphone, I still wanted to stab myself in the ear repeatedly.

So "our" special number one guy gets up for his chance and sings Sweet Home Alabama.  Lovely.  I think if i thought he had been up there having fun and cutting up, then I could have respected him, but because he took this as seriously as tax law, I couldn't.  He was performing as if the Geriatric American Idol Judges were secretly scouting the place.  THIS was his life...THIS was his band.

So we were really getting antsy to leave (it was ten thirty). But The Guy talked us into staying for his closing performance: Desperado. (The other song that was written since I have been born, but I think there is a tight overlap on dates there...)   Oh. MyGod.  That is three minutes of my life I can NEVER GET BACK AGAIN. 

As he is wrapping up his last feeble note, I have got my purse in my hand, car keys in the other, swig down the last warm sip of beer and I am ready...except that it is apparently RUDE (?) to get up and leave while someone is performing.  So I had to sit through another (!!!) old guy sing ANOTHER song that I have no idea about while The Desperado collects his accolades.

So, the other guy wraps up and it was as it my ass was spring loaded...I was NOT going to be suckered into sitting and watching yet ANOTHER Old Guy sing his heart out.  So we are out the door...some woman who was just serenaded hugs me on the way out (?) and we are off...

The Guy walks my friend and I to our cars and I have the very firm "I am not leaving, so you better just go get the hell outta here" girlfriend stance going on...and the FREAK leans in and hugs AND kisses my friend!  So apparently he really does ACTUALLY think he is a rock star.

As he left he told us he was off to a different karoke bar...you know...it is all about exposure in this business...

Deeeeeeeesperaaaadoooooo: Why don't YOU come to your senses?

I met my best friend matt in college.

After that we don't agree on anything.

I saw him in the dorm with a plaid baseball hat and his bike, in the elevator.

I called him "Plaid Hat Guy". Inventive, no?

We drank drinks at Rogues Gallery. I drank Godiva Martinis. He drank Vanilla Stoli and Coke.

I worked at a tanning salon for a while. Matty brought me nachos and coke and tanned while I cleaned up at night.

We took some psych class (human sexuality?) together.

I turned to the people I was with, and introduced him to everyone as "mike"...

At Christmas break one year (were we juniors?) I gave him my parent's phone number on a corner of notebook paper...He found it a few years ago and took a picture of it and sent it to me...He still has it.

In his wallet.

Over the years Matty dated some people (Hello Kitty, The Druggie Psycho and the Red Haired Girl).

I dated some people (Fiance Number 1, The Farm Guy, and Fiance Number 2).

We never dated each other. We tried...we couldn't get it right. So we just laughed it off, ate more nachos, drank more coke.

We were together on New Years Eve 1999. At my parent's house.

I had surgery. Fiance Number 1 didn't show up.

Matt came. His mom baked cookies. He brought me the Godiva White Chocolate Assortment.

It was magically delicious.

Sometimes we don't talk for months at a time.

Because I am mad.

About shit I never remember.

He always forgives me.

We've only seen each other twice in five years.

That's not nearly enough for people who talk every single day.

He came and took me to the movies in my wheelchair.

We sat on the front porch swing and rocked.

I fell asleep.

It was the best nap ever.

I wear butterfly pins in my hair. Because he liked it the first time I did it. Now it is my signature.

Matt tells me I am "Scientific and Important". It is the nicest compliment I have ever received, I think.

Matty is never in any pictures.

He is always taking them.

I don't have a list of thoughts for today because i am too dang scattered to even think straight right now!

God!  Isn't it time for kids to be back in school?  Everywhere I go there are Hollister t-shirts leaning up against walls, entry-ways, MY FREAKING CAR!  Get the hell back in school!

Here is something to ponder:  I ate cookies and ham my entire Christmas break.  I came home and got on the scale and what do you know?  i weighed exactly the same as when i left.  THEN, I am home for one week (not even an entire week mind you) and my jeans are already tight again!  It is like Oklahoma WANTS me to be fat!

I wish I had something more interesting to say, but really I don't. I am trying here people...I guess it is a slow time for me!