So there’s this guy that I consider ridiculously hot, and he shows up at most of the Crank County shows. I’ve never seen him in the light of day or anywhere else I wander, but in dimly lit bars surrounded by flailing drunks, he’s hot.
At the CCD/Luxury Pushers/Automanic show, he ended up shirtless…and I was like “heh heh heh heh heh…” Seeing as I was smashed into a herd of good-looking, strong, sweaty shirtless men, it might be hard to pick just one out. Ah, but there was one.
At Stella Blue on Friday, he was chatting with some chicks post-show. And I looked at him. And he looked at me, or at something near me, but for ego’s sake, I’m going to go with the idea that he was looking at me. And I looked at him some more, assessing if the chicks were chicks he was “with” or just chicks he was with…like, I was with some guys, but I wasn’t “with” any of the guys, know what I mean? I’m so glad you and I can have these deep conversations.
Anyway. I know that he knows some of the guys I was hangin’ with, as earlier in the evening they’d shared a man-hug (one armed, usually involves some slapping on the back or shoulder while trying not to spill the beer). But I don’t know him.
I am not shy. I blurt out all kinds of things to all kinds of people (hello, I’m telling you all this deep stuff, I’m not good at self-editing) all the time. For all the Jager in Stella, I couldn’t have walked over there and said anything to him on Friday. Don’t know why. And at Fred’s, he was close by at the end of the night, too, but nary a word could I blurt.
I think maybe possibly part of the allure is the unknown. All I know for now is that we like the same band, and that he’s hot. If I know real things about him, it could all fall apart and what’s the fun in that? He might still live with his mom, or maybe he has fifteen kids that he pays no child support for, or perhaps he has an extra nipple on the side of his neck—all these things would shatter the illusion of hotness!
This is extra especially on my mind this evening since the last local CCD show for a while is about to get underway at The Orange Peel as they open for the Misfits, and I’m here at home. I’ve got a huge project at work at dawn tomorrow, and Minime, of course, has school, so I’m at home, missing out on something. Or missing out on nothing. He could be gay! He could be celibate. He could be a celibate gay who lives at home with mom saving money to remove the nipple on his neck!
So I guess I’ll just sulk, I’ll pout, I’ll whine…and keep my fingers cross that we cross paths in the light of day (please God, let it be on a day I look good, not on a day I look like something the dog barfed up on the couch). And on that day, I’ll have something good to say.