Steve and the Cowboy

I recently visited my friend from college, Steve, in Los Angeles. We had a great time! We even talked him into Disneyland, which is like at the bottom of the list of places you want to go to when you live in L.A.

One of the funniest things about Steve is that he doesn't watch television and doesn't really pay much attention to who sings what or who's in what movie. So, while he lives in L.A., and knows famous people, he has absolutely no idea that they're famous. Here are a few examples:

Example #1 (relayed to me by Patrick):
Steve: My friend, Neil, is on some dance show that I think you like.
Patrick: WHAT DANCE SHOW??
Steve: I think it's called So You Can Dance or something?
Patrick: Are you KIDDING me?? You're friends with 2007 So You Think You Can Dance Third-Place finisher Neil Haskell??????
Steve: I guess so.

Example #2 (after I saw Steve tagged in a facebook photo with one of my favorite actresses, Lizzy Caplan):
Me: Are you seriously in a facebook photo with Lizzy Caplan?
Steve: She's a friend of a friend. How do you know Lizzy?
Me: Are you seriously asking me how I know Lizzy Caplan?

Steve rarely cares when I let him know who these people actually are. But, on this visit, I was finally able to excite him about someone he had encountered in his past, that he didn't know he had encountered. While Steve, my sister, Stacy, and I were lounging around in the Roosevelt hotel lobby, Steve told us a story about something that had happened with him there one night.

It had happened the weekend of the Country Music Awards. Hollywood had been overrun with men in cowboy hats and boots and puffed out chests hanging out with women who were way too pretty to be hanging out with them. It also happened to be Steve's birthday, so he and his friends had gone out for drinks at the Hollywood version of a local dive. Steve, being the generous guy that he is, decided to buy one of the cowboys (let's call him Yosemite Sam because that's who I'm picturing in this story) and his way too pretty girlfriend a drink, stating excitedly, "It's my birthday! I'm buying drinks! I'll buy YOU a drink and YOU a drink!!" Yosemite Sam and PG acted grateful and wished him happy birthday and accepted the drinks. But, then while Steve was in the bathroom, Yosemite Sam exclaimed to the guys next to him (who happened to be Steve's friends), "Can you BELIEVE that guy??"

Now, rightfully, Steve's friends were bothered by this. Here was Steve, nice enough to buy Yosemite Sam and his girl a drink, on his own birthday, which they accepted. But, then the moment, Steve walks away, Yosemite Sam starts badmouthing him? So, they began to call him out on his assholery. Steve, coming back from the bathroom, is wondering why his friends are being mean to his new buddies. And, Steve and his friends leave.

Out on Hollywood Boulevard, Steve and friends are being followed by Yosemite Sam and a disinterested gigantic black man, who is most likely Yosemite Sam's bodyguard and probably has been through this song and dance before, even earlier that night, and who is just kind of lacklusterly watching the scene unfold. Steve's friends had explained to Steve, in the meantime, what Yosemite Sam had said, and now Steve is thinking "what in tarnation is that lily-livered bowlegged varmint thinking?", or so I imagine. So, Steve also starts getting in Yosemite Sam's face. Yosemite Sam is inexplicably hopping mad and throwing gibes at Steve and friends, hoping to insult their patriotism, but not being very good at it. Gibes like, "How many things do you have memorized?" "I bet you can't even name all the states." "My boots cost more than your HOUSE, City F*cks". Steve and his friends just looked at him in blank disbelief. At this point, Yosemite Sam started naming off books of the Bible (to prove how Christian American he is??)...and I mean, not like the ones that we all know, like Genesis and Matthew. Books like "the book of Habbakkuk" and "Zephaniah".

Steve and friends, by this point, have made it to the Roosevelt Hotel and enter it by bypassing the locked side door and going through the back. As Steve's milling around through the hotel, he hears yelling. He goes to the locked side glass door, and there's Yosemite Sam outside on the other side. The door was still locked from the outside, but Steve could have opened it from within. Yosemite Sam starts banging on the glass, yelling "LET US IN!" And Steve, with his face inches away from the glass, yells, "No! You were MEAN to me!" And Yosemite Sam's biscuits were burning. He begins to threaten to kick Steve's ass.

At this point, it finally dawns on Yosemite Sam that Steve and friends must have been able to get inside somehow. At the same time, Steve and friends are amped up and ready to "take it outside". So, both parties hightail it to the back door at the same time, and almost pass each other as Steve and friends run out and Yosemite Sam runs (and bored bodyguard saunters) in. *cue Benny Hill Yakkety Sax music* It should have been "go-time", but Steve and friends started to see the humor in the situation with all the chest-puffing and bemusedly decide to go off laughing into the night, leaving Yosemite Sam with smoke coming out of his ears outside the Roosevelt Hotel.

At the end of this tale, I asked Steve the real identity of Yosemite Sam. He responded, "Some country singer guy named John something or other."

I replied, "John who?"

Steve texted his friend to find out the answer..."John Rich. I don't know who he is."

I said, "Steve! You know who he is! He's in that Big & Rich group."

Steve just shook his head.

I said, "You know that song? 'Save a horse, ride a cowboy'?"

Steve's eyes grew wide. He exclaimed, "That song??!!! I chest-puffed with the guy who sings THAT SONG??!!"

All in all, I find this story and Steve's realization of who his attacker was hilarious. Hopefully, Steve has learned that sometimes situations are better when you "know people"...and that the Roosevelt Hotel is a good place to "ride a cowboy"...wait, that didn't come out right.

Don't Do Any of This Stuff

With the holidays coming up, I'm sure a lot of you will be traveling somewhere by plane. On a recent trip to California with my sister, Stacy, I made every airport-related mistake that exists in the known universe, short of forgetting to empty my pockets and then saying the word "bomb" in the security line. Just so you don't make the same mistakes that I made, I decided to give you some Travel Don'ts (Don't's?) for the holiday season.

1.) Don't forget that you have to actually travel to the airport.

None of us live at the airport. As someone who likes to plan ahead, I decided to look at the Logan Airport website to see what time they recommend that you arrive at the airport. They say during peak times, you should leave yourself at least two hours. Luckily, my flight was leaving at 10:30, which meant I would be arriving at the airport at an off-peak time. To give myself some extra time, I decided to be there by 8:30. And here's where I made the mistake. Just because you're arriving at the airport at an off-peak time, doesn't mean that you'll be driving there during an off-peak time. By forgetting this simple math, I ended up being one of those people who have to cut the line in security and then run through the airport with all of their bags a la Home Alone, barely making it to the gate on time. Speaking of security...

2.) Don't wear shiny sweaters.

We all know that in this post-9/11 world, you will most likely have to stand in a full-body scanner which shows every little anomaly on your body on a big computer screen. Sometimes if you're holding your passport in your hands, the passport will show up. Sometimes it'll pick up your bra clasp, or your shoe buckle or something. The TSA person usually pats that area and sends you on your way. While dressing for my trip to CA, I decided that I should probably dress in layers. And, the layer that I picked was a metallic cardigan. I went through the scanner. My image showed up on the screen. The TSA guard breathed, "Holy sh..." My entire computer-imaged torso was covered with green, blue and yellow dots. There was a moment of silence as I looked at the TSA people. They looked at me. Just before they were about to body slam me to the ground, I yelled out, "It's the sweater! It's the sweater!" And after I removed the sweater, luckily, my scan showed clean. Which leads me to...

3.) Don't expect airport people to know what they're doing

I'm betting that I wasn't the first metallically robed person to go through the scanner. Yet what would have happened if I hadn't pointed out that my sweater was the likely culprit of perceived terrorism? Would I be writing you from the "big house"? Why didn't anyone think to mention, "hey, you should probably put your sweater on the belt?" Once I was scanned, why was the first conclusion, "she must be carrying millions of tiny, little bombs on her upper half", rather than "her sweater is shiny"? As for other things that don't know what they're doing...

4.) Don't rely on the rental car's GPS.

On our way home, we were flying out of San Francisco Airport. As we were staying in Oakland, we figured that it would only be about 20-30 mins drive. We plugged it in the GPS which gave us a travel time of one hour and 15 minutes. We were very confused. So, we plugged in the airport again. Same thing happened. Making excuses, like "Oh it's probably one of those magic GPS's that knows the traffic conditions" and "Well, I haven't really stepped on the gas yet, so maybe it thinks we're going to drive 3 mph the whole way", we decided to just drive where it told us and hope for the best. As we got on the freeway, heading south, Stacy and I were both thinking, "We're probably not going the right way" but we drove on. After about 45 minutes of driving, it dawned on me that even though I had typed in San Francisco Airport, and the GPS read San Francisco Airport, it was sending me to the San Jose Airport. We quickly did a U-turn (...meaning we got off the exit, took a left, crossed a bridge, and got back on the highway) and barely made it to the airport in time for our version of Home Alone 2.  Of course, we didn't have time to buy snacks for the plane ride home, which brings me to Don't #5...

5.) Don't leave so little time before boarding that you can't buy snacks.

Back in the olden days, airlines served lunch and/or dinner. (And, yes, we also flew upwind both ways.) Nowadays, you can buy your lunch and/or dinner. Not that airline meals were anything to burst into song about before, but they were actually much more substantial back then when they were free. Now, the "meal" is equivalent to a Lunchable. And not the big box with the dessert kind. So, if you are on a long flight with only complimentary snacks and soft drinks and you haven't brought snacks, you will starve. That may sound dramatic, but it's true.

And so, readers, learn from my mistakes...and have a happy and well-traveled holiday season.

Un-Parents Just Don't Understand

We all know that I have a habit of rolling over electronics in my bed while sleeping and accidentally pressing buttons. It usually gets me into trouble and Saturday night was no exception.

Recently, I have had a new “like” interest who is a single father of two. We were supposed to get together on Saturday night, but I had had a long day, so I called him and left a message telling him that I wanted to stay in. He sent me a text in response that he had “fallen asleep, putting his son down at his mom’s, and was going to stay with him for the night.”  

Exhausted, I went to bed at 10:00. Around 4:00 in the morning, I woke up to my phone ringing. It took me a second to realize that this was the sound of an outgoing call, rather than an incoming one. I sat up and looked at my phone which was calling “Single Dad”. I thought, “Oh crap!” and hung up as fast as I could. Evidently, I had rolled over on my phone and it had dialed the last person that I called. I knew that Single Dad had been with his two-year old son earlier and, if he still was, the phone might have woken them both up. I wanted to apologize then, but I knew that it would make it worse if I called or texted a “sorry”. If the first ring didn’t wake them up, the second one was definitely a bad idea. I figured I’d talk to Single Dad in the morning and I went back to sleep.

At 6:30 am, I receive a text message from Single Dad:

“Don’t EVER call me in the small hours again. You woke my son and he won’t go back to sleep now.”

Now, I get the anger.  It’s frustrating when your kid is sleeping and then all of the sudden, he’s not… because of someone else. I was a bit irked by the capital letters, but willing to chalk it up to his frustration. So, I responded:

“I didn’t mean to. I rolled over on the phone in my sleep and pressed redial. I tried to hang up quickly. Sorry.”

I thought that that would be the end. I made a mistake. He was mad. I apologized. Hopefully, he was forgiving. But, it didn’t end there. The next text I receive from Single Dad said:

“Also don’t ever call or text me before noon because if I have worked until late I will not be happy at having my sleep broken. Understand?”

All right. Now, he was crossing into uncalled for territory. Warning me about only contacting him during his “business hours”, I guess was ok. But, it wasn’t so much what he was saying. It was the way that he said it; with that “Understand?” My dad has used that tone with me in the past. I think that he stopped using it by the time I turned four years old. So, I could only come to the conclusion that it was very likely that Single Dad had no concept of the difference between talking to a child and talking to an adult.

Unable to let this one go, I responded:

“You know, your phone has an off switch…”

The next text that I received from Single Dad stated:

“But I have two kids that might not be with me and I may need to be contacted in an emergency. Right now I don’t appreciate your sarcasm”.

Ok, another dad-ism. This guy was three for three. So, I responded again:

“I would never intentionally wake up your son. I knew you were with him and I’m sorry about that. It was an accident. I will take your other statement under advisement.”

But, as the morning went on and it became 7:00 am, and I couldn’t get back to sleep, I began to think, here I am lying awake, because he texted me and woke me up, yet I didn’t feel the need to scold him like a colonial schoolmarm about it.  I couldn’t resist sending one more message:

“Do you see the irony of texting me at 6:30 am on a Sunday to tell me not to wake you up?”

Single Dad decided to leave the dad=isms and go for the threats:

“Keep this up and I will permanently block your number.”

Well, I had had enough. So, my final response was:

“No worries…I won’t be calling.”

I began to think about this a little bit more. I have discovered that as I’m entering my mid-thirties, I have two sets of friends. Those who don’t have children, who I don’t really have to think about whether it’s too late to call or whether I can invite them out last minute, and those who do have children, who I have to think twice about calling at night and that I have to notify in advance of a night out so they can snag a babysitter. There’s nothing wrong with either camp and I’ve always thought of myself as understanding of those who have children. But could I be telling all you kids all across the land, that there’s no need to argue, non-parents just don’t understand? Maybe I should have given Single Dad the benefit of the doubt.

On the other hand, I do have an idea of what parenting is like. My sister, Lori, was born when I was 7. I remember the sheer exhaustion of my parents and their zombie looks. I’ve seen Three Men and a Baby forty-seven times. Sometimes sirens go by, doorbells ring, heroin dealers come to pick up their “package”, and the baby wakes up. My own parents (who clearly are exceptional  at being parents, considering how fabulously I turned out) told me, in my mom’s words, “He’s a jerk.” Plus, as Andrea astutely pointed out, when I mentioned this to her last night, his reaction was not a knee jerk one. He had fumed about this for two and a half hours before sending it to me. And when you type all caps in the middle of a sentence…you have to make a conscious effort to put the caps lock on and then turn it off again. So, this wasn’t a Hulk Smash moment. This was a thoughtful and methodical Dr. Bruce Banner.

Therefore, I ultimately came to a conclusion, and I think that both parents and non-parents can agree: Single Dad…kind of a douche.

Making Sexy Costumes and Costumes Sexy

Every Halloween, a woman is faced with a difficult decision. Does she go for the funny, topical costume (i.e., binders full of a woman, an unimpressed McKayla Maroney, a Hillary Clinton meme)? Or does she go for sexy? I usually choose an un-sexy costume only because I feel like I'm trying too hard every time I don fishnets. Did you ever really think about the sexy costumes out there and what makes them sexy? Some of them aren't based on anything remotely sexy. Who was the first person to think if I cut the midriff out of a police uniform and wear short shorts, I could be a sexy police officer. Really the only recipe for a sexy costume is to add a teaspoon of clothing, a pair of thigh highs and mix well. I'm sure most sexy costume ideas are based on the typical male fantasy. However, when you really think about fantasies and realities, they almost never resemble each other. Anyway, here is my list of sexy costumes that really shouldn't be sexy:

1.) Prostitute- The lazy sexy costume. For some reason, when a girl thinks of a sexy costume, she automatically thinks hooker. It's true that out of all the professions hookers wear the least clothing. But, for a sex-based career choice, the prostitute is not very sexy. The first thing that I think about is venereal disease. That's not sexy...unless you're Joey Tribbiani.

2.) Bunnies- Why did Playboy choose a bunny as their icon? Yes, the tails are cute...ears, not so much. But, bunnies, if you think about it are like squirrels. They're little rodent-like annoying pests that ruin your garden. They suffer from fly strike. FLY STRIKE. This means that actual flies lay actual eggs on bunnies that become actual crawling maggots. This is our idea of sexy?

3.) Nurse- Now, I know many sexy nurses, but what they do at work...not so sexy. Do you know what a sponge bath is cleaning off? Poop...mostly poop.

4.) Maids- Along the same vein, a maid does not have a sexy job. I do know that, like nurses, the reason a maid costume became hot is because of the fantasy that there's a woman in a short skirt taking care of you and doing your bidding. Guys like that idea. But, when is the last time that you saw a maid in anything but a polyester shift or mom jeans and a Champion sweatshirt?

5.) Bees- What is sexy about an insect that carries flower sperm, buzzes around your head, and stabs you? Plus, I can't see a bee costume without conjuring up this sad image from the Blind Melon video.

So, while I might sound cranky about these so-called sexy costumes, I do love Halloween, and I'm glad that it exists because it's fun to watch people dress up. I just think that women are inherently sexy. It doesn't take much to turn a man on...really. So, don't overdo it. Try being a librarian or a baseball player. I've heard it through the male-vine that the sexiest thing about a woman is when she doesn't know that she's sexy. Am I right, One Direction?

The Jerky Murse

There are two things that you need to know about me before I tell this story. One, I love the Red Sox. While I’m doing my best to pretend that the 2012 season never existed and hoping that it will be swept under the diamond green, I still love the Red Sox. Two, I went to law school and it comes in handy.

In the summer of 2008, I had two tickets to an afternoon game at Fenway Park. I was having difficulty finding someone to come with me for some reason. It might have been because it was a weekday game. It might have been because I waited too long to ask someone to go. Whatever the reason, with the game a few days away and still no one to go with, I decided to sell the tickets on Craigslist. I was really disappointed that I would miss my guys, but I had a couple of other games to go to that summer, so I figured I could afford to miss one.

I placed an ad on Craigslist that I was selling the tickets at face value. The first guy to respond ended his email with “It’s supposed to be such a great day! I’m surprised that you’re giving them up!” I responded to him by saying, “Aw, I wanted to go, but no one can make it.” That started a conversation that ended with him saying, “Well, I don’t know who to ask. If you want, we can go to the game together?” and sending me a picture of himself. He was very cute. He was a male nurse. And he was a Sox fan. I agreed that we should make it a date.

We texted back and forth a few times leading up to game day. The Murse was funny and charming, but something seemed off. My “a-hole-o-meter” was reading a bit higher than normal.

We had made plans to meet at the Cask and Flagon before the game at 11:30. The game started at one. At 11:30 on the dot, I stood in front of the bar, waiting for him. When 11:45 came and he hadn’t shown up, I called and left a voice mail message asking where he was. At 12:00, I called again and said, “Look, if you’re going to stand me up, just let me know so that I can try to sell the tickets to a scalper before it’s too late.” At 12:45, I realized that he wasn’t coming. I didn’t quite know what to do. I was excited to go to the game, but I didn’t want to sit by myself.

Well, sometimes fate smiles on me and the universe gives me what I ask for. Right at that moment, I received a text from Sally that said, “You’re not at Fenway today, are you?” It turns out that Sally had gotten standing room only tickets at the last minute. And I had an extra seat. So, Sally came to sit with me and we enjoyed the game together!

I wasn’t going to let the Murse get off that easy though. The typical lawyer response when someone gets screwed is to send a demand letter. When I got home, I sent the Murse this:

As I mentioned in my voicemail, I offered you a
ticket. You accepted in writing. As such, we have a contract.
You have breached it by not performing your obligation. The
face value of the ticket is $50.00. Please pay check
or money order to:

Melly J.

[Address]

Please pay by July 31, 2008 to avoid litigation. Be advised that if we
go to small claims court, I will pursue every legal
remedy available, including court costs. Also, I will
notify Craigslist and provide your personal
information and inform them that you have reneged on
past contracts, which will likely make it difficult for you
to make purchases in the future.

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Melly J., Esq.

And a few days later, (after some nasty voicemail messages left for me on my cell) the Murse sent me a check for $50.00. Let this be a lesson to you, readers. Whenever somebody stands you up, send them a threatening letter and shake them for cash.

Online Dating 101

I received a barking text from Crazy Pete yesterday that just said “More blog posts!!” So, without further ado…

I’ve been an observer and participant in the online dating world for a while now. I’m always surprised at certain things that people put in their profile that they believe will attract a mate. I alluded to it a bit here when I talked about shirtless pictures self-taken in bathroom mirrors and starting out your profile with “I can’t believe that I’m online dating”, but I wanted to add a bit more as I consider myself quite knowledgeable in this field.  [Note: This will be all about men for the simple reason that I don’t see a lot of women’s online dating profiles. I know from what I’ve picked up from the guys that women should not make “duckfaces” or post pictures from 1999. But, that’s where my knowledge on the subject ends.]

WHAT NOT TO PUT ON YOUR ONLINE DATING PROFILE:

1.)    Only Webcam photos. I’ve seen a couple of profiles where the guy has two or three pictures. And they’re all taken in front of his computer by his webcam. Sometimes he varies them by putting on a different sweatshirt, or smiling in one but giving a “come hither” look in the other. Guys, as women, we can tell that they’re webcam photos and were probably taken on the same day. It leads us to one of two conclusions that are not necessarily mutually exclusive:  A) this is a temporary profile that you just put up to talk to some women because you’re lonely or married or both, but you don’t have any intention of actually following through with an actual date or B) you’ve never been outside.

2.)    Incoherent sentences. I actually saw this the other day: “drp me a line if you be prety well hav fun”. What woman in her right mind would respond to this?  I’ve been nosing around enough on the internet to realize that people have a serious problem figuring out the difference between “your” and “you’re”. I can accept that. But, this is just lazy. Do you even TRY to speak English?

3.)    “I’d like to find someone who is accepting of the fact that I have a primary partner”.  This one, I actually think SHOULD go in your profile because it’s honest. But, I added it to this list because it’s the only entry on my list regarding why you shouldn’t have an online dating profile.

4.)    Pictures of you wearing a watermelon rind like a helmet. I won’t post it on the blog because I want to respect his privacy. But, believe me when I say, there is a profile on match.com where this picture exists, and it is his primary photo.

5.)    This. I copied this one word for word (spelling errors included) because my paraphrasing won’t do it justice: “Hi there. I'm looking for a beatiful sexy girl who isn't snobby or bitchy like my ex. I understand that all women will get that way sometime but not all time, ok? If you are a carring person who wants a loving, passionate lover, than I'm the guy for you. I'd love to go out to a Japanese restaurant with you. I shouldn't even be single right now, I've just been busy with work and I don't enjoy shopping at the bar. If you love Barrack, don't bother contacting me, otherwise I look forward to meeting you. Bye.” My favorite part of this is the random throw in of “going to a Japanese restaurant”. What was the thought process behind that? Hmmm, I’ve been talking a lot about myself and sex, I should add in something about what I’ll do for her. What do women like to do? They seem to like sushi.

My advice for what you should put in your online dating profile: Just be funny, sincere and yourself. If we end up dating some day, realize that we’ll have to meet in person. And I’ll know right away that you’re not really 35 years old or 6’2. The first time I go to your house, give me some credit. It’s quite easy to see if you live with your parents and not alone in a four-bedroom house as you originally said. Don’t start the relationship off with a lie. I would much rather go out with YOU, and not the person that you’ve built yourself up to be, and I'm sure most women agree.


UPDATE:

I received this message in my inbox after I posted this and had to share:

I really enjoyed your latest blog.  It got me to thinking about what mine would like if I was completely truthful and would anyone respond.

“Hi there.  I’ve been married for 27 years and my wife is my best friend and audience.   I’m just shy of 55, but I act like I’m 25.  In my mind I think most people think I’m a lot younger than I really am, but it’s probably due to my behavior more than my looks.  I’m a registered Republican and a recent online survey put me to the right of the Tea Party but I recycle, make my own compost and have a large garden.  I’m pro-choice and in fact I’m in favor of more women having more abortions given the number of losers having children they can’t afford and don’t know how to raise.  I’m a member of the NRA but I only own two revolvers and a shotgun.  I  rarely go shooting.  I subscribe to three magazines: National Geographic, American Rifleman and Organic Gardening.  I read the NY Times and the Boston Globe daily because I think it’s important to understand what the other side is thinking.  Occasionally I write comments to the newspapers under the pseudonym Divya Mush.  You’ll need to meet me in person to understand what’s behind that moniker.  I dislike crowds not because of agoraphobia but because I have low tolerance for ignorant fools who don’t follow the rules of good behavior.  I’m also a little paranoid, but not in a right wing terrorist way.  Some people think I look like a cop or ex-military.  I’m not a “joiner” or a good team player so the military would not be a good fit for me.  I’m also not very good at taking orders from a-holes getting up in my face.  As far as the police are concerned I’m not a fan.  I know too many jerk offs from high school who are cops.  I didn’t respect them then and I sure as hell don’t respect them now.  I prefer the company of women,  but not because I want to get laid, I just find them more interesting.  Good looks are a plus but not a deal breaker.  The real litmus test is brains.  If you have them you’re on my short list. At this stage in my life youth has its own cachet.  If you are anything like me I’m probably not interested.  I wouldn’t want to hang out with me, but then again you’re not me.  Finally, I’m really good at holding grudges.  If you screw me you’re done.  I’d rather not speak to someone ever again than to sit through an apology.  Your f-ck up will always be in the back of my mind and that can be hard on a relationship.”

Think this would get any responses? 

A night at PA's

For those of you who have never been to PA's Lounge in Union Square in Somerville, let me tell you that if there ever were a nexus of two universes colliding, it would be PA’s. It’s a small venue with a stage on one side. It used to consist of two rooms. One, the bar, where all the townies hung out, drinking their PBR and Bud Light, and watching the History Channel. Two, the music hall which resembled the basement of a JCC, where the indie/alt rockers would hang out, also drinking PBR and Bud Light, and listening to loud, loud music.

At some point, in the recent past, the genius owners at PA’s thought that it would be a good idea to take the wall down that separated the two rooms. There is no longer a wall between them, meaning now the townies and the rockers mingle amongst each other. It’s madness. Musicians being heckled by townies who can’t hear Pawn Stars over the music.

My first experience since the wall came down at PA’s was on Saturday night. I went to see two of my friends’ bands play, Sinnet and J/Q. Both good, and you should check them out sometime. But, what I want to discuss is what happened before the show.

A mix up with the times resulted in my arriving early (already awkward in itself as I've mentioned before). I decided to order a drink and hang out at the bar. I had made the mistake of wearing heels, meaning when I walked in and across the floor, all eyes were on me. The clientele consisted of 8 or 9 men who had clearly been drinking the day away, and one woman who seemed perturbed that competition had just walked through the door. I tried to tell her not to worry with my eyes.

As I walked up to the bar, a man who was probably in his 40’s but looked much older, said to me, “Hi there! Are you staying??” I didn’t really understand the question. So, I said, “I think so.” And he said, “I’m Juno” and shook my hand. I told him my name. Then, he asked, “Do you sing any SHA-day?” I looked at him blankly. He said, “You know…[singing] Smooooooth Operator”. Again, I didn’t understand the question, so I smiled and walked to the other side of the bar. (I found myself humming Sade many times on Sunday and cursed Juno every time.)

I sat down next to this guy who looked harmless enough. He was even kind of cute, probably in his early 30’s. He glanced up from his texting and looked at me as I sat down. After a few minutes, he turned to me, and said, “Excuse me, I’m a horrible speller. Do you know how to spell ‘tongue’?”

I was a little weirded out by the fact that I was helping him sext, but when he started spelling it “tou…”, I couldn’t help myself. Those of you who know me personally know that I have an incessant need to be right…ALL the time. “T-O-N-G-U-E”, I told him. He typed it in and looked at it for a moment. “That can’t be right,” he said.

“Trust me, it’s right,” I said. (There’s that incessant need again.) I continued, “I was a champion speller in elementary school. I won both fourth and sixth grade.”

“They have spelling competitions?”

“Yes”, I responded, “they’re called spelling bees.”

He sized me up for a moment and said, “Spell ecclesiastic.”

“E-C-C-L-E-S-I-A-S-T-I-C”

“I’m guessing that’s right,” he said. “Spell onomatopoeia.”

He had to ask me to spell onomatopoeia. That is the one word that, for some reason, I can NEVER remember how to spell. As I was writing this, I needed spell check. And after spelling it wrong a second time, I copied it, so I can just paste it in from here on out.

“I can’t spell onomatopoeia. I never could.”

He looked at me, triumphantly. (Here comes the need again…) “Do you know what onomatopoeia means?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s when a word is spelled like the sound it makes. Like ‘oink’”.

Who was this guy??? He didn’t know how to spell tongue, yet he knew what onomatopoeia meant? I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. Apparently, the feeling was mutual, because the next words out of his mouth were, “WHY are you here??”

“I’m here to see my friends’ bands play,” I told him.

“Oh, there are bands here tonight?” And, without another word, he got up and walked out the door.

So, yes, for the rest of the night, I pretended that the PA’s wall was still up, and I stayed on my side, the rocker’s side. Today, I’m echoing the plea of indie rockers everywhere, “Mr. PA’s Lounge Owner, close this gate! Mr. PA’s Lounge Owner, Put Up This Wall!”