But before I get to that I would like to share something with you.
I am a voicemail pack rat. It's hard not to be when you have friends like Kat and Chelsea and Eric that leave you ridiculous voicemails that you can't bear to part with. The trouble is, I save so many of them that my mailbox fills up, like a lot. All the time. My actually mailbox is kind of like that too. But only because I hate opening mail.
When I was little I used to love getting mail. I'd get Highlights or something and I was like, "OMG I JUST MAIL!!" Imagine how excited I was when AOL first came out. You know, "You've got mail." Holla!
Anyway I hate mail now. It makes giant piles and I dread digging through all of it. But voicemails I save cause they're too funny not to.
So, my voicemail inbox has been full for...we're probably going on a few days now. I went through the three new ones and erased them. I didn't have room for much else, apparently. And because of that fact, I decided to do a little house/phone/voicemail cleaning. End of summer closeout, if you will.
Among all sorts of good stuff that I could not part with was one from Eric that I must've received when I was drunk. I have no recollection of hearing it a single time before today. He must've been drunk when he left the voicemail. And I quote:
Hello Elida Harris. I thought I would call and Harris you.
And by Harris, I mean harass
And by her ass, I mean her booty
And by her booty, I mean her badunk-a-dunk
And by her badunk-a-dunk, I mean something to put your mug on
And by something to put your mug on, I mean coffee table
And by coffee table, I mean mahogany wood
And by mahogany wood, I mean ancient forests
And by ancient forests, I mean Sasquatch territory
And by Sasquatch territory, I mean some very dirty lesbians
And some very dirty lesbians, I mean some very fun times
And that is all I have to say. Good night.
I love Eric a lot.
Let's start at the very beginning/a very good place to start...
Friday was our show in Chesterfield. That place was nothing short of amazing. Let the record show that NY/NY was a spectacular venue. I must admit I was a little skeptical due to the location (the middle of nowhere) and the fact that it was in a strip mall (and basically looked like a Halloween USA from the outside).
Sweet Jesus, once we were inside our jaws hit the floor. Look at the stage we played on:
NY/NY is easily the best venue we've played yet. They served food and alcohol and the smoke eaters made it so the whole place felt like a non-smoking section regardless of your proximity to an actual lit cigarette.
The lights were intense. I had, without exaggeration, 100 different ADD moments while up there. Which reminds me, Emily said something to me the other night that was so dead on I felt like she could read minds. She said, "what do you think about when you're onstage? Cause it looks like you're thinking about a million other things that are completely unrelated."
She's right. My mind wanders. I try super hard not to let it, but with the lights and shiny things all over the places we play, it's hard not to.
Regardless of the distractions, the show was great. The crowd was great. I was on cloud nine. And! They had the most delicious spinach and artichoke dip. Ever. It was damn good I wanted to marry it. But not really, cause, you know, gays can't marry.
POP!
Saturday was interesting. I think it was the longest we have ever been in a venue before we've actually gone on for our set. Total time spent between arrival and actual performance: almost 5 hours.
Once we got onstage it was totally worth the wait. The audience made up of mostly theatre kids got really into it. There was clapping, swaying, dancing, fake moshing and Chelsea ended up with underwear on her head. One of the guys threw them onstage.
The stage:
The crowd:
We even got called back for an encore, which has never happened before. AND we got asked to sign autographs. We received the request from an older gentleman that was inexplicably in attendance. I don't think he knew anyone involved in the play or the film. We had certainly never seen him before. During our set he was jumping around in his chair, (sort of) keeping time, slapping his knee over and over.
While we were packing up, he approached Chelsea and then we all took turns signing. Here's me signing my fake name:
PS: A special thank you to Kyle for always taking pictures of us, for coming to all of our shows and for being awesome in general.
Anyway, so we all signed our autographs on the back of the program and he took a flyer with our band contact info on it. Today, I was checking our band email and found this little gem:
Subject: Curious & Interested ;~
Hello Elida Quesada.
This is Eugene, you signed an autograph for. I am curious if you meant what you wrote me, when you sign your autograph. Just to jog your memory a little, you
wrote: I <3 Eugene. Would you be interested, also? You may reply to:
takemydog0123@yahoo.com This is my address. Hope to hear from you. Tell
Chelsea, Noel & Kelly I said hi.
Take care!
May God bless all of you!
Eugene
[sindenote: It goes without saying that I changed his name and only slightly altered his email address b/c I thought it was so funny.]
This, I am hoping, is the beginning of something even more spectacular than I had envisioned when the ladies and I started playing together. You see, "Eugene" was an older guy. If I had to guess, I would say that he's in his early 70's. What little left he has of his snow white hair was swept over his scalp in a comb over. Total hottie.
Now, I want to make it clear that I really do <3 Eugene. His enthusiasm during our show made me really happy. But I am a gay lady and I am not interested in, say, going to dinner with him. I do sincerely hope that more people will ask for my autograph and then ask me out via email. Especially old dudes. Bring 'em on!
hello pot, this is the kettle...
I forgot to mention this story before. Not sure why, but it just popped into my head so I am going to share it with you now.
A few weeks ago I was up at Soho w/the usual suspects. We were sitting out on the front patio telling stories and joke and enjoying what little there is left of summer. At one point I told a joke and my dad started cracking up. He sat back in his chair, head up, laughing his ass off.
At that same moment this crazy bastard came walking out of the bar. Everyone calls him Groucho, because he has big, thick, cartoonish eyebrows tattooed to his forehead. He's rail thin, average height with a clean shaven head that is covered in tattoos that look like hair. I am almost positive that he does not have Alopecia because he has hairy legs.
He wears skin tight sleeveless tshirts and even tighter spandex biking shorts. The shorts make him, in essence, a walking anatomy lesson. He has been known to get a little crazy, yelling at total strangers and launching into stories about getting kicked out of Como's for dressing "inappropriately". Frankly, I'm surprised they would kick anyone out of Como's.
I digress.
So, just as my dad was throwing his head back in laughter, Groucho walks out the front door, through the patio and onto the sidewalk. He stopped at my father and leaned in saying very clearing, "Eat shit and die you fuckin' Nazi."
Groucho started walking away and my turned to him with a flabbergasted look on his face, mouth open hands in the air as if to say, "what the hell are you talking about".
Apparently Groucho is a mind reader, paused, turned around and said, "oh, like I don't know."
My dad's eyebrows narrowed, "Fuck you."
Groucho smiled placing his hand over his heart, "oh yeah, I'm real hurt," and continued walking away.
We all sort of looked at each other, like "what the hell?"
Darryl chimed, "that man is crazy."
Fast forward to two weeks ago
Darryl, Steve and I were sitting at the exact same table out front having a few drinks, shooting the shit. Groucho appeared again, as if from nowhere (like always) and walked up to our table. I guess he was kicked out of Como's again for being dressed like he always dresses. You know, the anatomy lesson costume... None of us really had anything to say.
Steve is such a nice guy that will sometimes entertain the craziest of crazies, including Groucho. Steve conversed with him, not sure of what to say, other than "hmm." I was trying not to laugh so I grabbed my phone out and started texting.
Steve and Groucho's convo went like this:
GROUCHO: So, I walked into Como's and that skeletor bitch owner stopped me just inside the entrance. She told me I was dressed inappropriately, that I could only come in if I changed my clothes.
STEVE: Hmm...
GROUCHO: So, I says, "fuck you. your food sucks anyway." And i came back here cause there's nothing else to do in this shit hole town.
STEVE: [nervous laughter] Yeah, i don't know what to tell you. That sucks?
GROUCHO: Well, fuck them. I'm debating whether or not I want a drink.
DARRYL: [muttering under his breath] Go for it, honey. But you can't sit with us.
GROUCHO: What's that?
DARRYL: [sharply] I said, go for it honey.
GROUCHO: Oh, really? Darryl, you are such a bitch.
DARRYL: [wide smile] Thank you. Thank you.
GROUCHO: Oh, fuck off, Darryl.
Groucho started walking away and just as he was about to go out of ear shot Darryl shouted, not looking up from his Real Detroit, "CUUUUHHHHHRRRAAAAAAAZZZZZZYYYYYYYY!"
We wanted to kill Darryl and also thank him, because I am very sure now that Groucho and his gross ass pants and crazy Nazi accusations will stay the hell away from us.
i take a whiskey drink. I take a vodka drink...
Sunday night was a fabulous way to put a bookend on the weekend. It was one of those nights when we've only intended to stay for one drink and then all of a sudden "the bar is closing in 20 min".
It was a nice little motley crew: my dads, Jen, Dave, Darryl and Jeremy was kind of in an out. It's hard to recount the night without doing so in a sporadic manner.
Dean ended up sitting with us for one reason or another. To put it simply: I cannot fucking stand Dean. I wouldn't say I hate him, but he's awfully close. My dislike for Dean has been long running. It began just over a year ago. I had just chopped all my hair off and he was super toasty drunk.
Dean is a mean drunk. I was sitting at the bar with my dad and a few others and Dean started talking to me. I had never met the man before. He sort of skipped right past any formal introduction and asked me what kind of product I used in my hair. I told him and he rolled his eye, "you don't know what you're doing."
He leaned forward in his chair, stretched his arm out and ran his hand through my hair. His fingers got caught a little and he sort of yanked them out. I had a shit ton of hair spray in my hair, because it's thick and wavy and I have to force it to be anything but. He totally jacked my hair up and I wanted to kill him immediately.
"See, I should be able to run my fingers through your hair. You're using too much product and the cut looks like shit." He took a long drag from his cigarette and sat back.
I was instantly fuming, "Okay, listen. What's your name again? Don't fucking touch my hair. Ever. I will chop your fucking arm off. That was rude and you're an asshole. Fuck off."
Dean is the kind of guy who will sit at your table uninvited and do whip-its mid-sentence or excuse himself to do poppers in the bathroom. All the while he is usually already blindingly drunk. And he's mean when he's drunk. I always want to punch him when I see him and notice that he is intoxicated. One of these days I'm going to and he won't be ready for it.
One time he was doing whip-its in front of everyone while lecturing us about the dangers of smoking. He had quit maybe two months ago and thus became an expert on the subject. If he would've taken his own advice, he wouldn't have started back up again maybe a week later.
This past Sunday, he ended up at our table nearing his angry drunk state, smoking and rambling on about his extensive knowledge of nappy hair.
Let me back up again really quick. Dean's hair is disgusting. He's a hair dresser who looks like he has not washed his hair since bell bottoms first hit the scene. It's really, really gross. It hasn't been cut in months and it's the color of straw. That's why I get so mad when he gives hair advice cause he looks like such a piece of shit.
Anyway, for one reason or another he started talking about Darryl's hair and how it was nappy and he was all of a sudden an expert again, even though he's never cut African American hair. I wanted to pour his drink on him. He kept saying "nappy" and it enraged me something fierce.
I said, "Dean, what the hell are you talking about? You don't know shit about 'nappy hair'. In fact, you don't know shit about most things, but you insist on running your mouth. No one gives a damn, Dean."
He brushed me off, "you're young and stupid. You don't know shit from shit."
"Aw, thanks, Dean. I hate you."
"Can I bum a clove?"
"You've got to be kidding."
"C'mon. Just one."
"You're out of your mind. Fuck off."
He started laughing. Then Loud Paul came outside. I also like to call him Seattle, mostly because the only thing he could really think to say was, "FUCK SEATTLE, man."
He sounded like a California stoner, but looked like a jack Russell terrier in human form. He was short and stocky and looked like he liked to bang his head on things, which probably explains his limited vocabulary.
Dean invited him to sit down, of course. And then Loud Paul started "talking". I put "talking" in quotes because it was more like yelling. Everything he said was in big bold capital letters followed by an excessive amount of exclamation points.
FUCK SEATTLE!!!!
Jen was drunk for the first time ever I think. It's not that she's never been drunk in her whole life, that night just happened to be the first time I'd seen her that way. And it was more amazing than I could have ever dreamed.
You see, that was the night that she discovered Cosmopolitans. After taking her first sip she said, "it tastes like Kool-Aid." And that's pretty much where it all started.
It didn't take much for her to get tipsy. She kept flipping straws out of her glass, trying to find them with her mouth. The ground was littered with them by night's end. Her Kool-Aid also inspired her to come up with some great one liners.
It's kind of hard to describe Jen without sounding too simple. She's absolutely lovely. She's a very petite Canadian with brown hair that's always pulled back perfectly, her bangs sort of sweeping across half of her forehead. She's very smart and that night in particular, she was very annoyed by what she feels is a misconception about her. People say she's reserved. I'd have to disagree. She can seem quiet if you don't know her, but not in an uncomfortable, "what's going on? i'm out of my element? omg someone just made eye contact!" kind of way. She's just smart, one of the few people I know who don't speak unless they really have something to say.
Here's a picture of Jen (middle, dark hair), Dave is standing to her right w/the glasses. Oh, and that's Rich. Also fabulous, of Chuck & Rich. Behind them: Becky and English.
Anyway, Sunday evening, the filter was removed and she offered these gems:
When my dad's neighbor asked him if he like Cosmo's and poured half of his drink into my dad's glass, Jen said, "do you like to wear Cosmo's?"
Earlier in the night, Jen was hungry. She did the girl thing, where she mentioned that she was hungry a couple times, prompting her husband Dave to walk down and get her a sandwich. Dave was either unaware or ignoring her. Either way, she started getting grouchy. My dad threw his arms up and went down the street to get a sandwich for her. Since she's a vegan we yelled after him, "EXTRA CHEESE!!"
Darryl got up and followed because he wanted a hot chocolate and Dave got up and followed after to make sure cheese wouldn't be put on the veggie wrap.
Oh, here's a picture of (L-R) Darryl and Tony! [<3] and Dave!
Later on that night we brought it up again and my dad said, "i don't know why you wouldn't just go get her a damn sandwich."
Jen piped in mid-sip, "yeah. why didn't you just go get me a sandwich, asshole?"
FYI: she was totally kidding. But she delivered the line dead pan, so it was brilliant. She was quick to follow it with, "oh my god, I'm kidding, honey. i love you. thank you for the sandwich. it was delicious."
Jeremy was in an out of the bar singing Karaoke. He put on quite a show for us. He did his usual Cher that Jen sang along to with vigor, her fist in the air like a soap opera character.
At one point, Jeremy grabbed a hold of the door frame and pumped his knee up and down to the tempo of the chorus. I would kill to know the name of that song right now. The point is, it was hysterical. Oh, and btw, Jeremy does the best Cher. I mean, he's no Sean Hayes. But who really is?
So, let me get back on track. You have to picture all of this happening at once: my dads and I with our belly laughs and Jeremy singing and jumping around and Dave laughing in a pitch so high only dogs could hear him and Jen's spitting straws and her fist's in the air and Dean is sloshy and bitchy and then Loud Paul walked out and ruined everything.
I mean, we still had fun I guess. But the fun changed. It became us, versus him and his obnoxious decibel level. My dad started it and everyone followed suit. We all started talking as loud as we possibly could and then Loud Paul would pause and realize that someone was actually louder than him. He would lean back and go, "...right on."
And then he started talking about his penis...
Now, I know what you're thinking, but that's not the angle he was going for. Instead of the chest pounding alpha male declaration of enormity, he started telling us about how small his penis is. Never in my life have I witnessed such a thing.
"MY PENIS IS SO SMALL!! I MEAN, IT IS LIKE, REALLY SMALL!!! MY PENIS IS REALLY SMALL! IT'S FUCKING TINY!! NOBODY WANTS A SMALL PENIS, BUT I HAVE ONE!! YOU CAN'T DO SHIT WITH A SMALL PENIS!!"
Loud Paul was sitting right next to me, so I got the brunt of his yelling. I turned to him roughly every two minutes and said, "dude my ears are seriously this close to bleeding."
He would apologize, but it would be a matter of seconds before he was at it again. Eventually Darryl got so pissed that his mama bear came out.
"Oh no, honey. Miss Elida is not gonna sit here and listen to you yell about your small penis. She's a lady."
So, they kicked him out. And we laughed all the way home cause Jen was still drunk.
There's something really fun about seeing someone who many people would consider reserved, really let her hair down for a night. It was fantastic, and since they are still on vacation until Tuesday, I'm sure there will be more to come.
One last thing...
My cousin jen sent me this. It's a picture of her son and we totally have matching hair. :)
