scent-sational

People rarely believe the quirky stories I have to tell.
* the punk that smooshed a fudge round on April's van window, while we sat in the vehicle
* the masses of idiots that approach me with a zillion non-sensical questions & requests
* the guy that simply wants to switch blackberry condoms (what else do you call a rubber cover?) while sitting at the bar
* the freak that said I was to weird for him to continue texting me

Every night, it's always something new; I dare not say exciting. A peek into last Wednesday ......

** this is where the scene does the blinky-fading-wavy thing and we travel back to last hump day ... me wearing gray dress capris & a sleek black v-neck blouse, complete with black strappy heels (and not so much in the red/dark hues that the camera captured that night) **

Mom's up from KY for a visit. We decided to go to the Neon Armadillo to sing. What better to sing than Rob Zombie - Dragula in a country western bar, but that didn't come to the end of the night.

My ex-punk-rocker-chicka now family-mom-friend Diane, also co-worker (for the second time), joined our jaunt. She hears my daily stories and shakes her head with disbelief every time. Tonight she has front row tickets.

Mom & I arrive earlier than Diane & picked a quiet table near a back corner. I manage to avoid all the oddeties at my hidden table with only some glances & staring in my direction. Before too long, Diane arrives & we decide to move up to the front row of tables, yet still by the wall. Ahn dehn ..... catastrophe.

The middle aged gent sitting two table over becomes one table over. *blink* He's standing at our table. Shade Jones. I know the name immediately (it's my business to know these things in the local music scene) but I don't let him know that, and he raves on.
His band blah blah blah
His Johnny Cash routine blah blah blah
So-and-So-Big-Star requested SHADE JONES blah blah blah
***** and he never shuts up, never notices that I'm staring away, never registers that my partners for the evening are giggling at my actions, never guesses that I'm not impressed *****
Until I look at him brazenly & bluntly, stating that I don't listen to his music and really don't give a shit about his ramblings.

<>

A momentary resolution. He leaves. I breathe a sigh, but before I can recoup I'm smacked with round TWO. Tall and lanky, his opening line foolishly falls out of his lips, "I'm the only hillbilly in here." I wanted to retort, "no, but you're surely the biggest dumb-ass" but a mere glance around told me that more than a few could give him a run for his money that night. Really? THAT's your pick-up line? My mom takes that cue & poses her giggly childish act. He baits onto mom's attention {boom} conversation ensues. I steal a glance at Diane who can barely contain her astonishment & mirth that such random things DO happen in my world. Hillbilly paces away and peace restores itself.

Again, only momentarily.

Mr. Moustache stops by to bestow upon us the romantic ideas he has for his Limo service. At this point I've lost most of my patience, ok so ALL of my patience. I am not at all nice to him, but he still doesn't leave! He stares at me for moments, then declares that I'm spunky but he likes it. A-M-A-Z-ing. No thanks. He doesn't stop though, and pushes on asking how I'd like my significant other to take me on a moonlit limo ride with a personal masseuse and a bottle of my favorite wine taking me to where ever I want for the night. WHY DON'T YOU GET THE POINT THAT I'M NOT IMPRESSED BY YOUR ROMANTICISM & FURTHERMORE, WHAT BOYFRIEND WOULD THAT BE? Diane takes this as her que to finally get a good jab in, "I can see that your next boyfriend will be a limosine owner" and she doubles over with laughter - or pain - as I stomp her foot under the table. Rescued by the karaoke DJ who calls limo driver up to sing, I take the chance to breathe as Diane laughs giddily about the nights events thus far.

Yet it is not over. No. It only gets better. Buckle up. Also, now is a good time to swallow any food or drinks prior to preceeding. I'm only warning you...

Shade goes up for a song, points across the room & says he's singing this one for "the ladies over there to dance to" - pointing to our table, the only occupied table on our side of the bar. Hillbilly pops up, quickly strides across the room in a bee-line straight to stand at our table to break the night's record for unprecedented jacked up moments. Standing straight across the table, knowing that my MOTHER sits directly to my right, he stares straight at me to ask, "Do you fool around?"

I don't have words. Speechless. Jaw agape. Bewildered that he asked and surely he doesn't mean .... does he? Oh his next lines sealed the fate of that question.

"Ok, if you don't, will you just lay there so that I can?"

SERIOUSLY? I couldn't get W.T.F. out of my mouth quickly enough. Nonchalant, he turns and walks out the front door with a shrug of his shoulders. Completely aghast Diane turns to me LOUDLY, "Do you give off a damn scent or something? WHAT IS IT? I've never seen anything like it!"

Before I can completely react, my mom [ the woman who gave me life, who raised me, who has reflected her life knowledge upon me during the most tender years of my childhood ] responds only with "Ewww, what guy would only want a woman to just lay there?" Appropriate responses from a mother whose daughter just got creeped on by a sleeze at the bar ... nothing along those lines, for sure.

Anyone still wondering why I'm dysfunctional?