Your only hint for that lyric is to remember that I am an old-school rocker.
And it came to mind because I heard it tonight and because I find myself thinking of “Bridget” – she’s been on my mind a lot lately. What is wrong with me? Don’t answer that. Seriously, don’t answer it.
It’s not like I don’t have a social life. Okay, I don’t, but it’s getting better. I’m going to a party this weekend where there will be single girls – and one in particular that a friend from work wants to set me up with. The last blind date I had was in high school – and he looked like a young Rodney Dangerfield. It was a double date and my friend was in the back seat making out with her boyfriend. Every time Rodney leaned in close to me, I grabbed my beer. I got very drunk that night. Anyway, it’s not a date, so to speak. My friend just wants us to meet because she thinks we’ll hit it off. We’ll see. I haven’t had much luck lately.
I coughed my head off all day today and half of this evening, so I’m drinking hot tea liberally laced with raspberry vodka. I’m still coughing and I still have a headache, but I don’t care. So that’s a payoff, I guess. I just realized I would never write this stuff if my mother were still reading this blog. Ah, semi-tipsy liberation.
Which reminds me of a story I’ve been meaning to tell.
In high school, I had a sort of nerdy friend who was on the debate team. That was far too intellectual for my weed-smoking teen self, so I hung out with the forensics club – which sounds like we cut up cadavers, but really it was acting. Duets, poetry interpretation, dramatic and comedic interpretations and extemporaneous speaking (usually on some stupid debate topic I didn’t care about). My best friend (other than Leslie) in HS was a kid named Jeff – turns out he’s gay, too. Who knew?? We did a duet from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, a very dark and sad play. We were brilliant (of course).
In the course of the debate/forensic season we were able to take a team trip to Springfield, Mo for a tournament. Our coach was fresh out of college, about 23, and everyone called him Mike. Because I was uptight even back then, I couldn’t call him by his first name, but calling him “mister” seemed stupid. So I called him by his last name. Poor guy got sick that weekend with the Asian death flu and spent the entire weekend in his room – leaving the few seniors in charge.
Can you spell p-a-r-t-y? There was liquor store right next to the motel (now that’s providence!) and so I gathered the money, took another older-looking kid with me and we cleaned out the beer and booze. Now, we were sort of responsible and kind of stayed in our rooms so we wouldn’t get in too much trouble. The problem was there were a bunch of kids from all over the state staying there – and one of our freshmen girls found the varsity basketball team of another school.
I was kind of looking out for her – let’s call her Carrie – because she just seemed so damn young and sheltered. When I realized I’d lost her, I had to go find her. I found her, half dressed, in a room with about 10 guys, drunk as hell.
I told her we had to leave. Ohhh she was pissed. And so were the guys. Now, I’m only 5″1, was only half sober and trying to drag a virgin sacrifice out of a room full of horny guys. They argued with me. I’m surprised they didn’t just shove me out of the room, actually. I grabbed Carrie, Carrie started crying and one of the guys told me she was staying.
I asked him how old he was and he said he had just turned 18. I said, “Yeah? She’s only fifteen and she’s coming with me.” Surprisingly, that worked. I took Carrie to her room, dumped her on her bed and went back to my own party. I don’t think she ever spoke to me again, actually. I found out later (like a few months ago) that she wasn’t nearly as innocent as she had seemed. No wonder she was pissed. I was thinking about that the other day and wondering if I would still have the chutzpah to interfere – these days the outcome probably would have been much different. But back then, I didn’t think about it, I just did it. And to this day, I don’t think the coach ever found out what we got up to that weekend.
That was kind of a weird story.
I blame the vodka (but I stopped coughing).