There was too much happening Saturday for me to do a normal mcgrew diary.
The guy who owns Bootleggers, a bar south of town, decided to host three bands on his birthday. Posamist started, followed by Luke Turasky and Friends, with The Station playing until they closed at 3:00.
To make a long story short and litigation-free, there were a couple of young women there who thoroughly en-chanted me.
Levi is infuriatingly ass burgers; excuse me, Asperger's in one respect – he can't tell when women are hitting on him. I mean, they're all over the guy. Later I say “Dude! she wants you! Christ man!” and he doesn't believe me.
He introduced me to the enchantresses.
I got a pizza. Nobody seemed to believe me when I insisted I couldn't eat the whole thing myself. “Don't tempt a fat man!” Levi exclaimed, and started eating.
I've noticed two things: it's OK for a man to be fat, and it's OK for a woman to be skinny. But fat women and skinny men are decidedly uncool. But fat men don't realize this.
The second band, Luke Turasky, was playing and...
“Hey,” I said, “isn't that the Green Grass Pickers?”
After much debate, it was. They were one of the old Dempsey's bands, two or three owners ago.
The enchantresses disappeared about the time Levi did. Probably went to the Firehouse, where Posamist was playing later. I stuck around for The Station, who I hadn't seen in a couple of months.
So all day yesterday I was blue, thinking of the young enchantresses and how fucking old I was and how I wouldn't be able to tell if a young woman was some kind of pervert who just liked old guys. Like such a thing even exists.
I was lonely.
“I'm getting pierced,” Patty said. “Mom's taking me and signing for it.”
The doorbell rang like a dirge, a feeling of doom was in the air, and Patty let Evil-X in.
My God that woman has gained some weight! Fuck! Holy shit! Damn I'm glad I'm no longer married to that ugly fucking whore!