My Prickly Pair

I wish I had some self-control. If I did, I wouldn't have found myself in the following situation as many times as I have.

There's a secret Chastity Belt women wear when they go out on dates. If there's a boy (man) that they aren't sure if they want to sleep with, or that they know it will be bad emotionally to sleep with them, they don this particular Chastity Belt that nature gave us.

Hairy Legs.

At any given time in a conversation among women, the words "I didn't shave my legs because I didn't want to have sex with him" will most likely be uttered. Lord knows I've said it before. But when I tell a story about not shaving my legs, it always ends sadly.

There have been many dates where I deliberately don't shave my legs because I wanted to be a "good girl" and hold out. Always leave 'em wanting more... that's what they always say. So I try so hard to adhere to that. But damn, it would be easier if I had some self-control. So I try and help the prickly stubble on my legs keep me chaste.

It never works. And I always end up spending the whole night having mediocre sex because I'm mentally kicking myself for not shaving my legs and wondering how prickly my gams feel to him.

So if there's one thing I've learned about myself is that I will always end up having sex. So here is my advice to you. Shave every day. You never know when you're going to get laid and you don't want to spend the afternoon on your back, NOT having an orgasm because the Little Hooker in your mind is giving you a mental whoopin' for not taking care of the hair.

Moral of the story: Shave your legs, have more orgasms.

Breathalizer.

Notice the time stamp? I'm starting this at 3:27 am.

I'm not drunk.

Maybe a tiny buzz. But not drunk.

I got off work from the Brouhaha and met Momma at our neighborhood bar. She was hammered. I didn't know it, but I got to be baby-sitter. I quickly erased that thought from my mind because on hundreds of occasssions, Momma has sat there patiently (and probably a little too sober for her own sanity) and listened to my man/neuroses problems. So Kharma decided tonight was my turn. I was happy to do it. Seriously. That wasn't a joke.

After I let her vent for almost an hour (in verbal circles, I might add...) she said, "Tell me about you. I haven't hung out with you in so long and I miss you!"

I went into a very abridged version of the latest in the Rover/Grace Saga (there was a major advancement last night).

He and I have been on and off for over six months, but we've kept each other at arms reach... not too close, not too far away. That way, nobody gets hurt. But everyone gets laid. Perfect arrangement, I think. But at Christmas time, he said he got me a present. I have been very very very broke the past few months, and nobody got presents from me this year. I told him that "no, I didn't want a gift." Which is true. I will never accept anything from anyone without giving something in return. I hate being in debt.

So for the past few weeks, Rover has forgotten to give me this present he kept talking of. I've been really eager to find out what it was--not for material value, but wondering what the emotional value was behind it.

Last night, we had a Hockey All Star Game party at his house. When I walked in, he handed me the tardy Christmas gift. From the shape, I could tell it was a CD. To many people, that would seem like a shitty gift, but not to me.... music and books are the best things a person could get me. Ninety percent of all gifts that I give (that have an emotional meaning) are either music or books. He got me music. That meant something. Didn't it?

But wait! There's more....

A card. Simple. Understated. But it held just enough words to fuck with my mind for days.

"I thought you'd love this. Love, Rover."

Love.

What the fuck does that mean??? I think it's sad that four little letters can send my mind into a crazed tailspin. Fuck.

(The CD, by the way, was fabulous. An obscure Swedish folk-pop singer with a band by the name of "El Perro del Mar". He was right. I do love it.)

Back to tonight.... I'm with Momma. And I bring up Rover. Brave of me, since she snarls at the mention of his name. Literally snarls. She's so over protective of me, she snarls! I start telling her about the gift, and as I pull out the card to show her what it could or could not mean, she swallows her pride and says, "You heart him, don't you?"

"Yes. I think I do heart him," I finally admit. Then ask, "Do you think he hearts me back?"

She took me by surprise when she answered, "Yes. I think you two would actually be great together if you both would just put your pride away and stop being afraid of whatever the fuck you both are afraid of. He does heart you. But you both are fucking scared of broken hearts. That's silly. Just swallow your pride and tell him that you heart him. Now I'm done talking."

I'm not quite sure if she was insanely drunk or insanely (and briefly) lucid when she said that, but I think she actually might be on to something.

In the next few days, I think I just might tell Rover that I DO want to be with him. For so long, I've been so afraid of getting my heart broken (Hey, thanks Doughboy!!!), that I've done everything in my power to not let Rover get into my heart. But we would be so good together...

I spent the night at his house yesterday, and we fell asleep... and woke up... in each others arms. Why are we so afraid to admit that there just might be something there???

Who is John Galt? Part 1

I feel that it's time to bring John Galt out for his moment in the spotlight. I've told you a tiny bit about him, but there is more to him (and us) than I could ever find the words for.

I've known John for years, since I started slinging drinks at the Brouhaha, but I've always known him in the context of Mr. & Mrs. Galt. He and his wife would come in with his boss and his boss' wife, who turn out to be Crazy and Crazy Hubby! See... what'd I tell ya? Nashville is an uber small town...

John always remained a distant acquaintance until one day Momma ad I were at the neighborhood bar. I looked over at the other side of the square shaped bar and a handsome, familiar gentleman waved at me. John Galt. He came over and started talking to us.

And what was my smooth opening line? "Where's that beautiful wife of yours?"

She is gorgeous, by the way. Nutty, but gorgeous. Ok... really nutty. But I digress...

He pointed to his bare ring finger and explained it with one word. Divorced. Or, as he clarified later, in the process of...

He and I quickly got lost in conversation, jumping subjects from the music industry (he does the job I aspire to), literature (I urged him to read Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead") and our shared frustrations over the names our parents gave us. The banter between us was amazing. Momma realized that I was prowling and call it a night. John and I continued to talk, hardly taking a breath. He has mastered the Art of Conversation.

Somehow, in the frenzy of words and thoughts flying between us, I had the sense to realize that I needed to head home. He walked me to my car and kissed me. Not just a regular kiss. An amazing kiss. I returned the sentiment and really, I didn't want to stop kissing him.

Then the clouds let loose.

From the heavens came a monsoon like never before. He pulled away to ask if I wanted to get out of the rain. But all I wanted to do was kiss him, right there, in the rain. I pulled him back to me and continued. Something was telling me not to let go.

It felt like hours (but in reality was probably only twenty minutes) and we just kissed, soaked to the bone from the rain. We stood there laughing as the beads of water dropped off our noses and eyelashes and chins. And we kissed and held each other. The scene couldn't have been written any better in a movie. Magical.

The next day, he sent me an email telling me he hadn't had an experience like that and it was one of the most memorable moments of his life. From that moment, we knew there was something incredibly special between us. Since then, there wasn't a day that didn't pass without a flurry of text messages, instant messages and hours long phone calls. It started off as simply magical....

Boobalicious!

Last night, Rover took Snow White and I to the Predators game. Rover has The. Best. Season. Ticket. Seats. In. The. Arena. We were just a few rows up, right behind the players box--you could hear them talking to each other (with broken English and busted teeth) and the people that have seats all around Rover are so nice!

I don't know about you, but I love going to hockey games. Hockey is the perfect sport--it's fast paced (Not like football, which ends up losing my attention after two minutes), there's some nasty fighting (which is my favorite part), and the men who play are just so.... manly. But my favorite is actually going to the games. In Nashville, you can get tickets to Predators game pretty cheap and there really isn't a bad seat in the house. And I love all the distractions they have going on too... the funny games they play on the ice during the intermissions, the cheers ("You suck!" yelled in unison by 13,000 fans is just magical!), and the jumbo-tron. Oh the Jumbo-tron. I have a particular love affair with the Jumbo-tron.

The Jumbo-Tron and I first started seeing each other last April when I went to my first Predators game. Snow White and I were in a suite, dancing and jamming to the tunes blasting through the arena and the camera found us and, of course, fell in love with us. I was stoked that I was on the Jumbo-tron, but Snow White was less than thrilled. She ducked and ran, but the camera followed her all the way up into the suite. We ended up with a good 30 to 40 seconds of face time on the Jumbo-tron, when most people get 10-15 seconds. We were superstars, I tell ya.

Since then, the Jumbo-tron and I have had this amazing relationship, but he's been playing hard to get. My goal at every game I attend, is to have some time with the Jumbo-tron. There is always plotting and scheming and usually some funny hats. But the Jumbo-tron has always betrayed me. He finds other pretty girls and pays me no attention. Sadly, I leave every game feeling unfulfilled and betrayed by JT.

He must have known that something was wrong, because Jumbo-Tron more than made up for lost time last night. During the first period, Rover, Snow White and I were discussing how to get ourselves noticed by the camera. I've always known in my heart that the secret is boobs. Jumbo Tron is a Boob Man. But you have to be tactful about it. Jumbo-Tron doesn't really like nipple... he likes to use his imagination.

I turned to Rover and Snow White and said, "This is how you get on the Jumbo-Tron!" And I cupped my boobs and jiggled away. They laughed and agreed.

Then Rover said in slight horror, "You ARE on the Jumbo-Tron!" And sure enough, the camera had caught me bouncing my bosom. There was laughing and titters (pun-intended) all over the arena. Jumbo-Tron loves the boobies.

At first, I thought that maybe you couldn't really tell and that maybe they didn't get a good view of exactly what I was doing. Until my phone started lighting up with text messages from friends I had at were at the game. "Nice Rack!" one said. Another asked for "a private viewing." Dirty bastards. :)

Ahh, the great romance between me and the Jumbo-Tron lives on. I knew he'd come through for me one of these days....

Big Small Town

Nashville is an extraordinary place. On paper, it looks like a mid-sized American city. Hustle, bustle, freeways, suburbs, pollution, scandals... all the trappings of a large city. Don't you agree? But you have been fooled! Bamboozled, I tell ya! Nashville is no bigger than Mayberry.

Just yesterday, I was at Target. I rolled out of bed, popped on a ball-cap, and swished some Listerine and drove my happy ass over to the discount mecca to purchase some shampoo that I kept forgetting to buy. I had zits all over my face and I was in the stupidest outfit of ill-fitting yoga pants, a ratty sweatshirt, and Chuck Taylors. To my horror, I ran into five, count 'em FIVE of my regulars at the bar.

And this is not just a freak occurrence... I run into people I know EVERYWHERE! I drive next to them on the freeways, I see them in the waiting room at my gyno, they're at the movie store, the bank, even behind me in line at Kroger as I'm trying to discreetly buy condoms. One day a few months ago, I was at the mall and a woman stopped me to ask me where I bought the dress I was wearing. "Go to Target, but hurry, there were only a few, blah blah blah." Later that night, I was coming out of the bathroom at a downtown bar and the woman on her way in freaked out. "OH MY GOD! YOU'RE THE GIRL FROM THE MALL! I WENT TO TARGET BUT THEY WERE OUT! OH MY GOD!" Needless to say, I was a little overwhelmed.

I come from a Large Midwestern City and this NEVER happened there. I could live in comfortable anonymity, going about my life only finding people when I want to find people. I would never dream of driving behind my best friend randomly on the freeway in Large Midwestern City. But that has happened in Nashville several times.

And I shudder to think what this means to my dating life. Too few men for me? Am I going through the cache of available men too quickly? This Mayberry-ness has already reared its head in a couple of ugly ways...

So I've been known to "juggle" men... you know, date several at one time. My friends (and mom) have joked about the horror if all my boytoys ran into each other at the bar. Haha... funny. It's a good joke until it actually happened.

I was working one Sunday with Momma when I had gotten a text from Gibson that he was in town and was going to stop in and see me. Ten minutes later, DB walked in. (This is back at the height of when all the girls thought he and I were dating). Finally, Rover came in to have a beer. And they were all sitting a seat away from each other. Welcome to hell. Especially because none of them quite knew about the other one. To top it all off, Stavros walked in. Stavros was my college sweetheart--boyfriend of four years who moved down here with me. We broke up last year, but remain friends.

Momma just looked at me and laughed. Giggled, actually. With glee. She was taking way too much joy in this situation.

This town is too small, I tell ya. Don't people drink at any other bars??

Another time this summer, Gibson was in town and I decided to take him to a Sounds game on Thirsty Thursday ($1 drafts!). If you don't know, The Sounds are our minor league baseball team. Going to Sounds games is so fun, cause it's like little league with beer. Gibson and I had been seeing each other for several months by now, but most of our dates consisted of dinner somewhere nice then back to his hotel or my apartment for a sleepover. There were very little public outings... hey! He was only in town for a very short amount of time... I really wanted to maximize our activities :)

So anyway, we're at the Sounds and it was mayhem. Everywhere we turned, someone stopped me to say "hey." Even the people sitting behind us were long lost friends of mine from a bygone era. Which meant I had to introduce him to every person we came across which was hell cause I was having a hard time remembering everyones names. Gibson and I couldn't even have a conversation because we had to stop every few minutes to chat with someone else. He got a little overwhelmed, turned to me and said, "Do you know EVERYONE in Nashville?!"

"No, just the drunks," I said. "There are a lot of them."

I think it's time to move to another town where there are no men I've dated and nobody knows me. But sometimes it is fun feeling like a celebrity... :)

"I've Got to Go to More Book Signings!!"

A couple months ago, I found a hardcover book that I've been eyeballing on the bargain table at Davis-Kidd Bookstore. I started reading the book and fell in LOVE with it. It's a memoir, about a boy who somewhat grew up in his neighborhood bar, and I identify with so many things the author talks about... the daddy issues, struggling with alcohol, middle name shit, etc.

When I was almost halfway through with the book I noticed in the Nashville Scene magazine that the author would be doing a book signing at Davis Kidd bookstore at 6 pm on a day my girlfriends had been planning to do a big Girls Night Out (GNO).

We all usually do this every few months. All the girls who work at the Brouhaha get the same night off and we go for sushi, dress up in our best Saturday night dresses (big difference from Sunday dresses, you know?) and go out and break hearts. But I really wanted to go to the book signing, so I just got ready, and waltzed into this very proper book store looking like an expensive hooker. Three and a half inch heels, a dress that left very little to the imagination, and glaring florescent lighting, while a Pulitzer prize winning writer reads from his memoir. Sweet.

I get in line to get my book signed, and I was amazed at how HANDSOME this man is. Words I would use to describe: dashing, handsome, dapper, and pulchritudinous. (Thanks, thesaurus.com). He's not necessarily tall, but dark eyes, dark hair, early 40's... he writes for the LA Times... he SO has the Clark Kent thing going on. He's charming and talking to everyone at the signing, and spending some time with each person. So I decide to get in the back of the line.

When it's finally my turn, we chit chat, I tell him I'm a bartender, his book really hits home with me, blah blah blah. He writes his email address in my book and follows it with "Email me when you're done with the book. I'd love to hear what you think. Promise?" I tell you, that dress is trouble.

As I exit the building, I call Momma to let her know I'm on my way, and tell her I got his email address. She answered with "Shocker" and said I should have invited him out for drinks. Damn it, I should have.

So in the ballsy-est move I've ever done, as I'm driving to meet the girls, I call the bookstore and ask the clerk who answered the phone to leave a message for the author doing the book signing: "Grace The Bartender will be at Virago if you care to join her for drinks."

I felt like such a vixen! But I didn't really think the minimum wage workin' clerk would actually give the message to him. But it's still a nice story and my girlfriends were all impressed when I told them what I had done.

So we were all meeting up at the Brouhaha before heading over to Virago cause our reservations were at 8. When we finally got to that fantastic Sushi haven, we waited at the hostess stand for our table. I tell the girls I'm just going to peek around the bar, in case he actually got the message. At the end of the bar sat Pulitzer Prize Winning Author. Holy shit. I go say hello, surprised that he got my message and came down, then excused myself to go find the girls and tell them. I walk away as cooly as possible, cause I can feel him looking at me as I go (The Dress had an open back...), and as I turn the corner out of his sight, I tear up to the hostess stand like a kid who just got her first glimpse of the presents under the Christmas tree. The girls give me permission to leave GNO and I return to him at the bar.

We have drinks and get waaaay too much sushi and have fantastic conversation. He is charming, but at the same time, a little socially inept and shy. It's quite endearing. After dinner, we decide to leave the way too crowded bar and go get coffee (good thing I have a virtual Zagats in my mind when someone comes up with an idea, I always know where to go) at this little 24 hour coffee shop around the corner. We sit and chat for several hours. I ask him if it's wierd that, since I've read his memoir, I already know about some of the most significant parts of his childhood. Such as the time he lost his virginity.

By now, it's getting late and he has a 5 am flight, so I drive him to his hotel. We sit in my car, exchange phone numbers, awkward end-of-night first date kind of behavior. He extends his hand. I shake it. Have a good flight. Good bye. That's it. Can you believe it??

As I drive off to meet up with girls to finish off girls night, my phone rings. It's Pulitzer. He says to me "I can't believe you didn't kiss me goodbye." I told him that was his move to make, and that I was the one who went out on the limb asking him out. He said he didn't want to be too forward. As we have this coy, flirtatious conversation on the phone, I decide that I really did want to kiss him and turned around. I finally said "Well, if you come outside, I'll let you kiss me."
He came outside. We kissed next to my car for almost a half hour. I don't think he does this often. He was very very tentative with the whole kissing thing. I've kissed some boys in my day, I can tell when they "do this for a living" and when they ain't so experienced. At one point, I broke off the kiss and exclaimed "I've got to go to more book signings!"

We finally said good bye again, he turned and went inside.

"Choose Your Own Adventure":
-Grace gets back in her car and drives off into the proverbial sunset, turn to page 81.
-Grace gives her keys to the valet and follows Pulitzer into the hotel, turn to page 69....

Forward, Preamble, Prologue, Threshold, Whatever...

I'd like to introduce you to the characters that frequent this Greek Comedy (or tragedy??) that is my life.

GRACE-That's me. The leading lady. Ingenue? Hardly. That implies some sort of innocence and "damsel in distress" type chick. That ain't me. I'm in my mid 20's and I'm looking for my place in love, in the entertainment industry and eternal happiness. Shouldn't be too hard, huh?

I'm dramatic and clumsy (a powerful combination I tell ya). I'm joyous and loud, often at the same time, with a bit of childlike happiness thrown in for good measure. But at the same time, I'm sex driven. I might as well be a fourteen year old boy sportin' endless wood. My tendency to get lonely easily has led me astray on more than one occasion, looking for that elusive knight in shining armour. Hell, who am I kidding? The armour doesn't exactly have to be shining...

In addition to the day job that I love that pays next to nothing, I sling drinks at night as my primary source of income. This used to be only a job, but lately I've realized that bar tending is where I do most of my socializing and the only way I meet men. So not only has the Brouhaha been my primary bill payer, but also my brick-and-mortar match.com

MY FRIENDS... GOD BLESS 'EM...

MOMMA--a fellow bartender at the Brouhaha, and one of my very best friends. Mid-20's beautiful, prim and proper. She's my opposite in every way: level-headed, responsible. She is the eternal voice of reason. When I have my head in the clouds, she is usually holding my feet to the ground, ensuring I don't float off into the La-La land I create.

The other girls at the bar can often be heard gossiping about their sexploits from the previous night, and all stories end with "But don't tell Momma..." We all live in fear of disappointing her, even though she is definitely the "one phone call" I would make.

TISA: My other best friend, and the other end of the spectrum from Momma. She's a mid-20's beauty, willowy and blonde. If I didn't love her so much, I'd hate her out of sheer jealousy. Tisa was my roommate in college and I may or may not be the reason she didn't quite graduate (although at one point, she and I formulated a plan to make her parents think she graduated...) She lives somewhere in the Midwest but hopes to move to Nashville sometime in the spring to pursue her musical dreams. My true partner in crime. When I turn to Momma, it's cause I need to be scolded. When I turn to Tisa, I get coddled. Perfect :)

SNOW WHITE: A bartender at the Brouhaha in her late 20's. Beautiful and slightly misguided, she has been in a long term relationship with SHOOTER that doesn't seem to be working out. Both are great people, just maybe not great for each other. Snow White is a lost soul, biding her time by working at the bar until she figures out what she wants to be when she grows up. I hope she finds it soon because I see her heading towards a self-destructive path littered with Miller Lite bottles and cigarettes. But a wonderful soul nonetheless. She has often been a shoulder to cry on when Momma will only say "Told you so" and Tisa won't answer her phone.

CRAZY: Sometimes featured in conjunction with CRAZY HUBBY. Early 40's party-er! She's a fabulous distraction from the shitty dates I find myself on. One never knows what a night out with her will include--you may find yourself sneaking backstage at a Bon Jovi concert, or another night could include a fashion show with all her clothing from 1983, fueled by margaritas. Sometimes she can be a bit much--I've found there is a direct correlation with the amount of tequila that goes in her to the type (and volume) of information that comes out of her mouth.

DB: Now I'm not sure exactly if this guy belongs under "Friends" or "Love Interests." An early 30's dude (dude!?) I met at the Brouhaha. My first words to him were "You and I would have beautiful children" but our friendship really took off after a date he and I went on this summer--a night that nobody has been able to classify as "Yes, this is definitely a date" or "No.. soooo not a date."

He's like a brother to me--we go to movies, concerts, we talk on the phone for hours. All the girls at the Brouhaha claim that he and I are dating, but there have been none of what I call the hallmarks of dating... namely, make-out sessions. And the girls don't quite realize that our hours long phone conversations are mostly each of us venting about our dating lives--the girls he's trying so hard to screw and all the boys that are constantly revolving in and out of my favor.

DB can be a little brash. He has a penchant for shocking people with all the idiot things that come out of his mouth, and he's been on the receiving end of a punch on more than one occasion. After ten minutes of talking to a girl, he's more likely to receive a slap on the face than her phone number ("Wow! I just want to give your boobies a high five!") Many of the girls at the Brouhaha can't stand him, they think he's cocky and self-centered. I, however, have gotten to know him enough to figure out this behavior is a guise and done mostly for shock value. I find his antics quite amusing.

BRIAN: My gay boyfriend located in Chicago. A friend from college who is always good for a laugh and a little perspective. He is wise as hell. Brian is the greatest friend because he will find a reason for you why everything that is going wrong in your life is not your fault, but in fact, is the universe's fault. He has a file folder that contains all his friends' astrological star charts and when you call him with a problem, he consults your chart and tells you the reason Boy X never called was because Mercury was in retrograde. Every girl needs a gay boyfriend.

AND NOW PRESENTING.........(INSERT DRUMROLL).... THE BOYTOYS

These characters are constantly entering and exiting from my world. Some make interesting cameo appearances from time to time. Momma hates them all.

DOUGHBOY: Hopefully you will never get to meet him. The days of his cameo appearances are long over, but he's essential nonetheless. I'll give you the abridged version--the whole story is sordid and tragic and ugly. He broke my heart badly. Badly. I jumped into a relationship with him with all my might--giving away my heart a little too freely. We broke up and he moved away, which is partly why we broke up. It ended so badly that we act as if the other doesn't exist at all. He's the reason I can be so guarded with my heart now with some people.

GIBSON: This is the first bar customer I actually dated. Late 30's, recently divorced and he actually lives in Seattle but was in Nashville one week a month for work. Brilliant, charming, hottie. He is one of the most amazing writers I know, since most of our communication was done via email. Did I mention he is HOT?? HAWT! We had amazing chemistry.... oy....

He no longer comes to Nashville, but occasionally, Gibson will make an appearance in the form of a text message or a steamy email. For a few brief moments in time, I believe we were in love with each other, but it was never a relationship that was meant to last. We both filled a need that the other had at those particular phases in our lives. I can't help but compare every guy I meet to Gibson...

ROVER: Momma once referred to Rover as Gibson 2.0. He's very much like Gibson--a successful executive, Detroit native, hockey freak, daddy, and he even lives across the street from the house that Gibson lived in while he was based out of Nashville. But Rover is the improved Gibson because he's HERE! Not in Seattle.

But Rover has his flaws... A bit of a womanizer, Rover doesn't know exactly what he wants out of life and love. A mid 30's Nashville playboy. He's notorious for breaking dates with me, and he's fallen out of favor with most of my friends (and yet I go back for more...). I have a hard time believing the complimentary things that come out of his mouth towards me--they just sound too.... "right thing to say," you know? It's like he's said that same thing to many other women before me...

He and I are both guarded towards each other. Don't ever call him my boyfriend. He's my boyTOY of over six months. He's constantly referred to, in my mind, at the Great Mistake of 2006. But I go back for more...

JOHN GALT: He is a mid 30's entertainment exec going through a bitter divorce. (I sure know how to pick 'em, huh?) He was once upon a time an acquaintance but one night after a heated discussion about literature and politics and the music business, we started to see each other. Stupid Grace...

So there you go. Those are the most important characters in the play that is my mid twenties. I guarantee you a story filled with laughter and unbelievable situations. I couldn't possibly make this shit up.

Oh yeah, I cuss a lot, too.