The show must go on
Oh my god, we are sooo sick. I went down last night in the last half of my three hour chair massage stint at CSULB. I love those kids. It's been like five years since I've started doing that and the kids always come back and get their three minutes. I'm amazed that three minutes can make such a difference. It's kind of a challenge for me. I hit the timer button on my phone and burn through that three minutes. Full concentration for three hours, all the while answering questions of the passing students. How long are the massages? Is there a list? How long until my name gets called?
I had a coughing fit and I felt like my left eyeball was going to explode. I had to cancel my 6:30 pm massage and move her to Monday. I prayed I'd wake up feeling better. I've been taking the wellness shot at Whole Foods since Saturday. (Tequila like shot of ginger lemon tumeric and apple. I always do the puke shiver after drinking it. You know the one: is this staying down cramp?) The puss pocket on my left tonsil burst Sunday, and I could feel it sliming it's way down while I was massaging. It tasted like blood. Creeped me the fuck out. I creep myself out regularly. BY Tuesday, my cough had become webby, and gurgly. I've been making orange juice, aloe vera juice, slippery elm, spirilina, strawberry blueberry banana smoothies this week, trying to outrun this. Oh well, I guess I'm not impervious. Who knew?
Today I canceled my SIX Friday massages. I wanted to die. I take pride in not cheesing out on my clients. I had to the call the game on account of a cold. But! Scott has a gig tonight. One that I have promoted big time the past few weeks. Scott won't let me stay home. I've missed one gig in the thirteen years we've been married. One. And he was sad when he came home. We argued over it and I asked why it mattered if I was there? There are tons of people there who are ladeling adoration on him. WHY does it matter if I'm there or not. Scott's answer: It mattered.
How sweet is that? I thought it was because he didn't want to drive, and wanted help with his equipment. He was insulted. So I demanded the reason. He told me I was his touchstone. He doesn't want to be alone at the bar. I make him feel safe, if he's having trouble playing, he looks to me in the crowd. I'm his safe face. I'm usually dancing with the girls or filming him play. But I'm there, and I'm there for him, hooting like a monkey in the crowd.
Seriously, I sometimes I don't post videos because I can hear myself singing along in the background or I let loose with a particularly drunk sorority girl mating call. (Whooooooo! Yeah, baby!)
Scott once went on a wide sweeping rant about creepy emotionally needy groupies and the caliber of women who fucked musicians(a la Courtney Love and Jim Morrison's Pam). I was driving at the time and I almost veered onto the shoulder with laughter. Who the hell did he think he was bitching to? I told him I thought my caliber was just fine. Of course he says he wasn't talking about me. I said,
"Oh, but you were talking about me. I am a groupie. Alyssa(A friend of mine that Scott loves) is a music groupie too. She drives hundreds of miles to see shows, she's bought concert tickets instead of paying bills, because the show was worth more to her. The thing about groupies no one sees is music is in our blood, it beats in our hearts, and we in turn love the music makers because they move us so. Yeah, sex is often a part of it, because adoration takes a lot of forms and sex is pretty much the first layer. But real groupies find that one musician that has a music the universe needs. It's almost an honor to be a glorified flunky for an emotionally retarded OCD laden neurotic artistic personality that musicians are(not you dear, of course). But don't look down on groupies, their love is earnest. It's a true appreciation of music. Sure there are flaky groupies, titty flashers, who think handjobs are a greeting, but there are a lot more old schoolers. Women who have their own lives and loves. Women, who find their one musician and craft a safe universe around them so they can create in peace."
Which is my truth. I love that my life has a soundtrack. I love sitting on my front porch and listening to my husband play blues. I love cleaning house listening to Scott repeat a song endlessly, like a dog worrying a bone. I love our music corner that is stacked with amps, guitars, and classic blue hardtop overnight case filled with 9 volts, guitar strings and spare cords. I love going to gigs and shivering in parking lots with clumps of smoking people talking all kinds of life's madnesses.
Damn the torpedoes, the show must go on.
Scott's drummer Garth's fiancee Julie went to the last show feeling miserable. About two-thirds way through the show, I went to hit the bathroom and couldn't get in. She finally emerged. She took so long I went and got a glass of water for whoever spent that long in there. I was pretty sure it was her, but the length of time in there was of the explosive vomiting or diarrhea variety. Who ever was coming out would be seriously dehydrated somehow. She hugged me took the water then confessed she'd been puking in the trash can. I asked why she wasn't home. She laughed.
"And miss the show?!?!"
We fist bumped.
So, with tissues in hand and my loins girded with a cheerful attitude, I will be facing the gauntlet of a long ass show at Di Piazza's tonight. With a smile on my face.
VINI VIDI VICI, bitches.
I had a coughing fit and I felt like my left eyeball was going to explode. I had to cancel my 6:30 pm massage and move her to Monday. I prayed I'd wake up feeling better. I've been taking the wellness shot at Whole Foods since Saturday. (Tequila like shot of ginger lemon tumeric and apple. I always do the puke shiver after drinking it. You know the one: is this staying down cramp?) The puss pocket on my left tonsil burst Sunday, and I could feel it sliming it's way down while I was massaging. It tasted like blood. Creeped me the fuck out. I creep myself out regularly. BY Tuesday, my cough had become webby, and gurgly. I've been making orange juice, aloe vera juice, slippery elm, spirilina, strawberry blueberry banana smoothies this week, trying to outrun this. Oh well, I guess I'm not impervious. Who knew?
Today I canceled my SIX Friday massages. I wanted to die. I take pride in not cheesing out on my clients. I had to the call the game on account of a cold. But! Scott has a gig tonight. One that I have promoted big time the past few weeks. Scott won't let me stay home. I've missed one gig in the thirteen years we've been married. One. And he was sad when he came home. We argued over it and I asked why it mattered if I was there? There are tons of people there who are ladeling adoration on him. WHY does it matter if I'm there or not. Scott's answer: It mattered.
How sweet is that? I thought it was because he didn't want to drive, and wanted help with his equipment. He was insulted. So I demanded the reason. He told me I was his touchstone. He doesn't want to be alone at the bar. I make him feel safe, if he's having trouble playing, he looks to me in the crowd. I'm his safe face. I'm usually dancing with the girls or filming him play. But I'm there, and I'm there for him, hooting like a monkey in the crowd.
Seriously, I sometimes I don't post videos because I can hear myself singing along in the background or I let loose with a particularly drunk sorority girl mating call. (Whooooooo! Yeah, baby!)
Scott once went on a wide sweeping rant about creepy emotionally needy groupies and the caliber of women who fucked musicians(a la Courtney Love and Jim Morrison's Pam). I was driving at the time and I almost veered onto the shoulder with laughter. Who the hell did he think he was bitching to? I told him I thought my caliber was just fine. Of course he says he wasn't talking about me. I said,
"Oh, but you were talking about me. I am a groupie. Alyssa(A friend of mine that Scott loves) is a music groupie too. She drives hundreds of miles to see shows, she's bought concert tickets instead of paying bills, because the show was worth more to her. The thing about groupies no one sees is music is in our blood, it beats in our hearts, and we in turn love the music makers because they move us so. Yeah, sex is often a part of it, because adoration takes a lot of forms and sex is pretty much the first layer. But real groupies find that one musician that has a music the universe needs. It's almost an honor to be a glorified flunky for an emotionally retarded OCD laden neurotic artistic personality that musicians are(not you dear, of course). But don't look down on groupies, their love is earnest. It's a true appreciation of music. Sure there are flaky groupies, titty flashers, who think handjobs are a greeting, but there are a lot more old schoolers. Women who have their own lives and loves. Women, who find their one musician and craft a safe universe around them so they can create in peace."
Which is my truth. I love that my life has a soundtrack. I love sitting on my front porch and listening to my husband play blues. I love cleaning house listening to Scott repeat a song endlessly, like a dog worrying a bone. I love our music corner that is stacked with amps, guitars, and classic blue hardtop overnight case filled with 9 volts, guitar strings and spare cords. I love going to gigs and shivering in parking lots with clumps of smoking people talking all kinds of life's madnesses.
Damn the torpedoes, the show must go on.
Scott's drummer Garth's fiancee Julie went to the last show feeling miserable. About two-thirds way through the show, I went to hit the bathroom and couldn't get in. She finally emerged. She took so long I went and got a glass of water for whoever spent that long in there. I was pretty sure it was her, but the length of time in there was of the explosive vomiting or diarrhea variety. Who ever was coming out would be seriously dehydrated somehow. She hugged me took the water then confessed she'd been puking in the trash can. I asked why she wasn't home. She laughed.
"And miss the show?!?!"
We fist bumped.
So, with tissues in hand and my loins girded with a cheerful attitude, I will be facing the gauntlet of a long ass show at Di Piazza's tonight. With a smile on my face.
VINI VIDI VICI, bitches.
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