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you dont get a second chance to make a permanent impression - willterrytragic [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

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you dont get a second chance to make a permanent impression [Mar. 27th, 2011|04:06 am]
We had just finished playing our set. I thought we did pretty good, the sound was reasonable. This classy looking dame came up to me afterwards and said she really liked the songs.

Classy dame: “I really like your sound.”
Me: “Thanks, we like your sound too.”
Confused classy dame: “So when did you form ‘Sweep the leg Johnny’?

You see she must have come in late because she was actually confusing me with a different guy. She thought I was the lead singer for “Sweep the leg Johnny”, which I’m not because that band is fucking horrible. If you propped up a sack of apples on a stage and taped instruments in their apple cores it would sound like “Sweep the leg Johnny”.
In actuality, they are a band that we compete with frequently, they are always taking our slots, making a horrid mess on the stage, and their makeup gets all over the backstage area like clown paste.

Me: “Yea I formed “Sweep the leg Johnny” in high school because, as you can see, we love karate kid”

You see when a girl is really attractive, the rules and useful social graces that everyone else uses like a pair of socks no longer apply. I don’t think of myself as a dishonest person, but a really beautiful girl will make me forget my own name or which band I actually do play in. Maybe forget is the wrong word.
So I sat there talking to her for a while. She was wearing ripped up leggings and a tie in her hair. She would look right on the set of “Desperately Seeking Susan” with the amount of bracelets she had on. A real classy diamond. She was hard to look at for too long at a time. But I carried on, for maybe thirty minutes, pretending to be this other guy. I invented all sorts of tales. I told her a make believe life story, I unwound yards of phony brothers and sisters, parents who lived in Bolivia, a job as a Yarn Consultant near a sugar packing plant, aspirations for clogging and macramé, a secret love for banjos and steam powered bicycles.
I talked shit about my own band to her, “Ragdolls on Fire”, she played along. She went really far actually. She said some pretty crazy things about our sound. Some of it was way off base, the rest was just distasteful. Towards the end of the conversation, I was starting to get really angry, standing there at the bar, with this beautiful woman telling me all the ways that my music was cheapening her night time experience, how we copied this band and this band, how I was a really shitty front man. Funny thing, it wasn’t even night time, imagine my laughter.
But to be there with a dangerous girl, with her malicious insults about my band throwing around like rice at a wedding, I just stood there listening. She could hold a conversation with herself. Eyes glowing lightly in the reflection on the bar mirrors opposite. I saw the lead singer for “Sweep the Leg Johnny” coming around from the backstage room, rubbing a bit of eyeliner around his eyes. I told the dame; Sophie was her name, that I would hold her drink while she went to bathroom. I grabbed the lead singer from the other band and led him to the bar. I looked at him, for a while, saying nothing, but thinking violence.
Eventually he said, “What the hell Will?”
Me: “You know your band is pretty good.”
Him: “You think so?”
Me: “No.”

I couldn’t see any resemblance between him and I. We looked nothing alike, unless you counted the fact that I don’t look like a glob of mascara shoved between a slumping pair of shoulders. The dame was walking back, I told him to wait here because “There’s someone I’d like you to meet”
I walked out, to pack up the rest of the gear, and get the hell out of there. I saw them talking to each other as I went into the backstage room. There was mascara everywhere.