No Nap

I have decided to blog in lieu of taking a much needed nap. I don't know why. I should nap. I NEED to nap, because Trish was bartending at The Side Door last night, and Trish loves me. Trish has a boyfriend, so her love for me can only be expressed by giving me free shots, and many of them. Also, she gave me socks! She hadn't even realized that my birthday was this past Saturday, but she had overheard me bitching last week that I was down to about two pairs of ratty socks. She asked why I didn't just go out and buy new socks, and I explained to her that I Don't Buy Socks. I Don't Buy Socks because they're always more special when someone gives them to you. Especially a girlfriend. I don't know, I'm strange like that. So, no girlfriend = no socks. Trish took it upon herself to buy me socks, and not just a pair of some Wal Mart bullshit socks. She got me several pairs of different kinds of socks, because she wasn't sure what kind of socks I prefer. (By the way- do people have a "sock preference?" Really? I mean, come on, they're just socks. Any kind will do.) Now I have a plethora of socks, and for that, Trish rules.

Who else rules? Noelle. We had a blast down in Atlantic City, but I'll get back to that in a moment.

Last Thursday night at The BAG was just plain silly. Too many drinks culminated in Old School Shawn getting into mischief (I used to constantly get into mischief- so much so that a few years ago a couple of my friends had to sit me down and tell me to knock it off). Basically, I ended up at an after-party at Donnie's place, where there was much drinking and smoking of The Leafy Greens (By the way-that would be a great name for a bluesman- "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, direct from Memphis...Mr. Leafy Greens!"). Then I walked about two houses over to where there was another after-party. That party quickly ran out of beer, so I headed back to Donnie's to see if I could buy some booze off of him. I knocked and no one answered. Donnie and his wife had either gone to bed, or been abducted by Gypsies. I tried the door, and it was unlocked. I think you can see where this is going. Donnie and his wife had both gone to sleep, but I had promised the folks at the other party that I'd return with some booze. What to do? Simple- I walked into the kitchen and searched for drinks. All they had was a bottle of Absolut, and I didn't feel right pinching the whole thing. So, I filled up one of those big, red Solo cups with warm vodka, and went back to the party. Now, I'm no scumbag- I left a few dollars on their table to cover the Absolut, and I also made sure to lock the front door on the way out, just in case there were more scofflaws like me about. You can't be too careful these days.

No one at the other party was enthused about the Warm Cup O' Vodka, and I can't say I blame them. But, options were limited, so me and Trout drank it. The whole thing. It gets a bit blurry from there. They tell me I stole a decorative flamingo from the yard, and put it on top of Kelly R's car. That sounds like me. I honestly don't remember. Damn you, Warm Cup O' Vodka!

I think I got home around 5:30 am or so.

The next day I felt Absolutly horrible (horrible pun, I know). I packed up my shit, and headed South. I'm not going to write in detail about Atlantic City, because it would take forever. Here are some highlights:

-Pre-gaming at the hotel with Sparks and Wild Turkey (I've turned Noelle into a Sparks junkie like myself, and she even drank some of my bourbon, which is commendable).

-Talking about "blue balls" with our cabbie on the way to The House of Blues.

-Noelle surrepitiously wiping a giant loogie on the back of some big, loud asshole who wouldn't make room for her to get some drinks at the bar.

-Shoving all of the little kids out of our way in the pit (I swear, some of these kids had to be no older than twelve- what the fuck were they doing in Atlantic City, and where were their parents?).

-Sneaking up to the balcony.

-Dancing like retards on meth.

-Chasing a shot of Maker's Mark with a Strawberry Daquari at Midnight to celebrate my birthday.

-Noelle asking the bartender "Where's the best place to get a tattoo?" (as in, "Are there any tattoo parlors around here?") and his reply; "On your ass?"

-The drunken stumble back to the hotel.

-Noelle ripping the alarm clock out of the wall at 9am when it started buzzing.

-Smoking on the beach the next afternoon, followed by lunch and drinks at some Mediterranean cafe on The Boardwalk.

Good stuff. I owe Noelle, big time.

I also owe Kelly R., who not only drove my ass around Saturday night (for my birthday), but also provided drugs and good conversation 'till the Sun came up.

Big Al gets some props, as well, for gifting me with some Leafy Greens (extra stinky) that same night.

Speaking of Leafy Greens- it's 4/20. So what? Does any pothead over the age of, like, fourteen give a flying fuck? If you smoke a lot of weed, you probably do it just about every day. Every day is 4/20 for you. So, what's the big fucking deal about 4/20? It's not like pot's legal on that day, or anything. Get over it, knuckleheads. Oddly enough, I actually have some weed on this day. I never buy drugs, because I'm a musician with a lot of friends, and people tend to give me drugs for free. God bless those people. So, yeah, I have some smoke. But, I have a gig tonight, and I don't like to smoke before a gig, so no smoking on 4/20 for me. I'll probably do a few bong hits when I get home late tonight, though, so Happy 4/21.

Finally- I have five gigs in four days this week. Last night was The Side Door. Tonight is The BAG. Tomorrow I'm sitting in with CHUMP at The BAG again. Saturday afternoon/evening I'm playing a wedding in Oakland with Down 2 Earth, and then I'm playing with CHUMP at The Speakeasy in Bellville. I'm a busy boy. It's great because I'm making some good $ this week (including the $150 I won on a scratch-off ticket Monday afternoon), and gigs keep me from dwelling on things that I really shouldn't be thinking about...

...stupid brain, with its thoughts and stuff...