Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Secrets Of A Cover Band Groupie: Part One

Friday night, I stayed in…it was one of those days you want to hide from. I received sad, sad news and I had to go home and weep. For my friend. So I settled in on a rare, lonely Friday night at home, put on my pajamas, grabbed my bag of Haribo gummies, and turned on the tv for some kind of entertainment. To get me out of my own head. But then the benefit concert for Katrina victims and sufferers was on and there is Neal Young. His voice soothes me at the same time. I could live hearing nothing but that voice. If only I was HIS groupie. Hell, I'd be his caddy. I'd carry his sheet music. His guitar. His guitar pick! That piano he was playing. I'd get him coffee. But then the images from NOLA awoke me, brought me back to that space in my head I wanted to escape, and made me sadder and good god can this day end already?

I am a Crybaby.

Saturday night, I headed out to meet Goose and Mav for dinner. After dinner, we had plans to see Our Favorite Band Of Summer. So a Destiny’s Child reunion was born. They started drinking before dinner and had to drive down my way since that is where the band was playing. I was walking to the restaurant. My phone rings. This is the extant of the conversation: “Ha ha ha ha tee hee.....cigarettes....hee hee...buying!” To which I instantaneously translate and respond, "I can stop on my way." We kind of have our own Morse Code - Child-speak, if you will - of communication that is punctuated by laughter (laugh laugh [noun] laughter [verb] laughter laughter laughter).

But they insisted on the immediacy of their nicotine addiction. So I visualize them traversing downtown. Their eye on the Prize. Wait. Didn't Goose quit? And wasn't Mav giving up the smoking and chain-drinking? Oh, the crazy talk we sometimes spew. The girls haven't changed a bit.


So I walked the five blocks to the restaurant in my high heels and pseudo-slutty dress leftover from the summer wardrobe. And I was starting to feel out of place, really. I forgot I am not at the beach anymore, I am in conservative DC where fashion has no name, unless your name is Ralph, Tommy or even some chap named Talbot. And so I am an eyesore or from the sound of it an eyeful (va-va-voom) as I got the occassional "woo hoo" shouted from passing cars because this particular direction on the street has no pedestrian traffic.

I am a Street Walker.

So we meet up at the restaurant for Outside Seating. Greetings from the girls: "We're drunk!" How can the non-drunk respond but, "Table for Three!" So our special "outdoor seating" was The Back Patio. The equivalent of the kiddy table at Thanksgiving. I once dated a guy in my real early 20’s whose parents always put us at the kiddy table when I was over for dinner. I mean he had a big family but it was weird. Didn't they want to get to know me? It was even more egregious when we had my sister and her husband over and they STILL put us at the kiddy table. And then they had my parents over and and put THEM at….no, just kidding. But my dad did "nod off" a little during cocktails on their back porch. My mom had to nudge him with a subtle get-the-fuck-up! And he wasn’t falling asleep because it was bedtime. Heh heh. I am sure it was the hundredth story about their maids and slaves that they had working for them during their illustrious military career in the lap of luxury. It was a class-defined household. "You are our Fuck Up Kid's Girlfriend. You get the kiddy meal. And wash these dishes."

I am a Kid.

So we are on the back patio, catching up with Goose. I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks and that girl is IN LOVE and I am soooo happy and, good god, that guy is HOTT. And he is big and strong and he doesn’t malfunction at the finest hour. Most important he makes our little Mother Goose happy. I mean, she is dancing-to-Marvin-Gaye-in-the-bathroom kind of happy. I know they played it just for her. Love is in the air. So we drink more wine at dinner – they need help, so I polish off their glasses.

I am a Drunk.

And Goose was too - too much - so she decided to bow out of the Destiny's Child reunion tour. Mav and I tried some very special bargaining techniques with her.

Mav and Boa: "Don't go home, you Drunk!"

Goose: "Honey, I have to. Billy Bob is not here to save me this time."
Mav and Boa: "No!"
Mav: “It’s Jefe!”
Boa: “And don’t forget the Other Guy.”
Mav: “Love that Jefe.”
Boa: “Love that Other Guy.”

Then we just got sidetracked with the mental images. Apparently Goose wasn't seeing the same thing because she stood by her Going Home stance. In hindsight, we should have given her the Lead Vocals for a change but Mav is so Beyonce. So, no Goose. Pajamas and Home were her tonic so in comes Charley. Good friend, that Charley. She drove a half hour (more?) in her pajamas to pick her up. So Goose joined the Pajama Party but not before she had an encounter with Johnny Law. Seems that our Mother Goose walked out of the restaurant with her glass of water. A glass. From the restaurant. Enter a Cop. The restaurant called the Cop? But really, is it no suprise that the cops came after us yet again? I don't want to sound like a Ten Most Wanted - Two Finger Louie - or a criminal mastermind - but this is the fourth encounter with the law this summer, people. Oh, we got off every time and not even with a slap on the wrist. No, we made friends with them. Once was because some jealous bitch didn't like Mav and I front-stooping it at HER house with HER housemates. The cops....laughed when they discovered the absurdity of her jealousy. Then there was the time we got pulled over in the cornfields. The cop took pity on us because we were "lost" and headed to that funny beach, Rehobeth. "You girls have fun. Wink wink." Then I had the very young cop - in fact, he was on foot patrol he was so young he couldn't drive yet - stop me for "jaywalking." He was sweet. And now this.
We really will have to start thinking about keeping them around full-time. You know, for security detail.

So we ended up making friends with the Cop. I don't think he really wanted to take the glass. It's a job. Ain't it a bitch? So a photo op with the Cop ensued. See? Another friend. The law is your Friend. That is why Mav litigates it.

So Goose and Charley go off on their own adventure. Their quest to Get Home ended up with a side trip to the Ritz (not a gas station, not a mini market, not a supermarket, not a drugstore, and not even somebody's house) but the Ritz. To pee. Pajamas and all. I'm guessing she didn't take any glasses with her this time. Can you see the Pajama Party at the Ritz?


Mav and I had our own party to attend. Little did we know it was to be the Band Party.

I am a Party Girl.

This is what two "party girls" who love the band in a nostalgic and cute-boys-to-boot kind of way do; two professional girls by day with enough degrees between them but you would never have believed that they didn't graduate from the University of I-Don't-Want-To-Grow-Up. Or this is just what 15-year old girls do at a John Mayer concert.

1. Elbow our way to the front of the line. Front and center to the stage.
2. Scream!!! (OK. This may or may not have happened. But the rest, I promise you.)
3. Sing along with the band because they play every cover song imaginable. And it never gets old.
4. Tell them what to play next. I don’t know if they were listening to our advice really or if we could just divine what they were going to play next since we have heard them play the same songs ALL SUMMER LONG.
5. Request beers from the band while they are still playing. Since we had these awesome “seats” front row, we couldn’t possibly leave to go get new beers so the real 15-year olds could confiscate. So we motioned to the guitar player the drink-to-mouth move that says “get me a beer, I need a beer.” And guess what he got us? A beer.
6. Get a souvenier from the band when The Other Guy gave Mav his guitar pick. Must be the equivalent to Courtney Cox getting pulled on stage in the Born In The USA video. I'm almost sure of this.
7. Get invited to the After Party when the lead singer kneels down after the show and says, “Hey! You guys want to come to the after-party at our hotel room?” "Giddy up."
8. Call Goose to tell her what kind of story she is missing out on. Pajama party or not.

Most definitely I am a Groupie. For a cover band.

So the plan is to go to this "after party" at the dive hotel down the street but show up fashionably late. That is what groupies do! So we mingle with the crowd letting out of the bar. Some guy tried to buy us beers at the bar but last call was so 5 minutes ago so Mav just decided to make out with him. Then apparently there was some guy I absconded earlier and he either liked Mav or me but I think he liked Mav but settled on me when she started making out with Pseudo-Beer Buyer. But then some guy told me I had beautiful legs and not in a creepy kind of way. He was kind of cute. But it was all very confusing. Mav is making out. There is this guy. There's the Leg Admirer. What to do?

"Let's go stalk the diner. My head hurts."

So we walk across the street to hang at the diner. I think this is what groupies do. And That Guy is still with us. The diner is packed. There is a guy in line - in line at the diner at 1 AM - with his jeans pulled up to his armpits and his belt squeezing the living daylights out of him. Mav had to confront him on this fashion choice. She is not shy. Then Mav finally gets her to-go-cup of diet coke (and not in a glass so we know that the cop will not hunt us down since we have a warning on our record of Abetting a Glass Stealer aka Goose). Enough time has passed. Groupies can show up now! The Guy who's been tagging along finally asks for my number so I give him the cheesy business card because I don't feel like dealing with the fucking phone anymore.

This is how the Groupie scenario played out:

Arrived at the Band's After Party in a cab. Even when it is a two block walk. As groupies, we are Laid-Back Cool not Giddy Screaming Spazzes...Showed up at the hotel room and did not act surprised when the "after party" consisted of the band and two girls hanging ON The Other Guy. Hopes and dreams of a Cover Band Groupie (temporarily) dashed......So this allowed some banter with the Drummer wearing the apron. You know, for fashion. He's NICE so take his picture. Tell him how much you hate that Other Cover Band. Butter them up. Groupies give the Love.....And then get invited to their New Year’s Eve party. And then - you have to - leave on that note. As groupies, our work was done for now.

To be continued....

1 comment:

Morgan said...

See...and now I just want to know where you all went and am also surprised I didn't run into you, if you were in your neighborhood...