My mind is racing so fast to get this blog out because it is BLOGGY GOLD.
I went to a show tonight at a place called The Rutledge. Or so the huge black stamp on my hand says. My roomie has met a guy at the YMCA and he plays in a band… blah blah Nash-blah, and so we went to see the band.
I’m not going to tell you the name. And here is why. Because I am about to spend the next few minutes of your time making fun of reliving the experience for you. Let’s just call the lead singer Ron.
So Ron is your typical jerk. Cutey-patootey, tall, dark, and handsome, six pack, white shirt unbuttoned half-way down. He absolutely totally looks like he should star on a soap opera, and according to his website- he has. Glorious. And he sings like he was raised on the Top Gun soundtrack. Women ALL OVER THE PLACE were buying him drinks. Roomie and I are just kicking back and watching the whole thing. He’ll get a drink from Lucky Lady A and then proceeds to sit her down in the northwest corner. Lucky Lady B will buy a drink and he will direct her to the southeast corner. A lady in every corner. NO LIE. It was like watching some type of beautifully choreographed ballroom dancing. Except trashier.
So he performs, sings his songs- namely one called “Hotty”, where, if I remember correctly, the lyrics were “HOTTY HOTTY with a smokin’ HOT BODY”.
[And that’s when I decided that I will get paid to write songs here.]
After the show, Ron is working the crowd, mainly the flock that is standing at his feet at the stage. Suddenly, he enters the people. Mr. Popularity Himself walking among the commoners.
And this is when the story went from good to OH-MY-AWESOME.
Because he’s shaking hands, kissing babies, etc. through the whole crowd. He heads towards our table, shakes hands with dude sitting with us. Then looks at me, expectantly.
I say, “You were awesome.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the first lie I’ve told in the state of Tennessee.
But it was all worth is when Ron took my hand between both his hands, looked deep into my eyes, and said, “Thank you, baby.”
BABY? I looked at roomie, while Ron is still standing there, and said, “Did that just happen? Because that was the highlight of my day. It doesn’t get any more bloggable than that.”
Then I proceeded to explain “bloggable” because God bless her sweet heart she doesn’t speak blog-ese. Yet.
But are you KIDDING ME?!? BABY?!? This man that I have been watching all night in a “what will the freak show do next” kind of way just called me BABY. That is sweet sweet nectar for a blogger like myself.
All I can figure is that he must have seen my leopard print key and assumed I was part of his harem.