january 23, 2010

super-dee-duper supersuckers!
Current mood: hungover


So last night was a kick ass, grade A, rawkin good time. Last week I bought tickets to see the Supersuckers at a little bar/venue at the beach. I always enjoy a good rock show but these guys are seriously bitchin’ live performers. In fact, I think listening to them digitally will seem beneath me from here on out. I have devil's food cranked as I type this so I’ll save my elitist attitude for another day.

Anywhoozie, I bought the tickets for me and my sweet motorhead. Knew he too was a fan, didn’t know he had already seen them a few times while in atl but he was still buzzing with the idea of live muzak so it all worked out fine. I learned a valuable lesson last night. me, my sexy boyfriend, ice cold pbr tall boys (only $2 a piece!!!), an eclectic group of rock fans and loud ass good old fashioned rock n roll all rolled up into one night makes for a hell of a lot of fun...and a wicked headache.

Now I haven’t been to a live show in a dive bar in a long, long time. In fact, I honestly couldn’t tell you the last time. I loved seeing local bands live but when I married mark, he simply wasn’t interested. And frankly, I wasn’t either. Instead I wanted to be that happy little housewife so badly that I forget how much I loved being out and experiencing, among other things, live music.

Last night was completely different though. Many obvious reasons include being there with switch, no kids to return home to (it’s Mark’s weekend) and the simple act of going “out” after being held “in” for such a long time. But the thing that really caught me off guard was my complete lack of concern over what this crowd of other fans thought of me. You know that feeling when you walk into a bar; you are blatantly out of place and wonder what the hell you were thinking. Yeah, been there, done that but last night I didn’t give a rats’ ass.

I was initially hesitant when we arrived. It’s a pretty hip little dive with a mixed crowd of tattooed, pierced, under 30, rockabilly, rocking regulars who all seem to know one another. And accompanying these hipsters are the sexy women that match. Now picture me, wearing a plain tee, overweight, little makeup, hair freshly tussled from a little “warm up” at home before the show (me likey), jeans, plain Jane down to the shoes. Pta mom is in the house!!!

But once we sat down, had a few swigs from our handy dandy brewskis and some good convo started, I realized that I may not have fit in with the scene but I sure as hell didn’t care. Nope. Not a bit. In fact, I felt like I was one of a few truly original people in a crowd struggling to be so different. Granted, there were many of these folks that were there to rock out and have a good time, just like we were. But then there were some serious posers who simply like the lifestyle, the look, the ink and the way they appear to the rest of the fuckheads doing the exact same “I want to be different” thing.

I chalk some of it up to youth and the preoccupation of most 20 something’s to be “unique”. So the fact that you morons dressed up like James Dean’s evil twin and his pinup girl makes you different? Fuck that. Really, I’m not trying to be high and mighty here but give me a fucking break. The fact of the matter is that you are no more or less cool than I am based on what you wear or how you roll. And there were in fact several genuinely different folks there, minding their own business, having a good time and not giving a shit what anyone thinks. It may sound like I’m the one who is judging the book by its cover but the behavior exhibited by some of these people was anything but authentic. Poser assholes.

Now perhaps I don’t care anymore because I’m older and wiser (hey, I can dream). Maybe I was confident in myself because I was with the love of my life and felt good, good, good and knew what was in store for me when we returned home…hubba hubba. Maybe it’s because I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself. Or maybe I finally just don’t give a shit and won’t let other peoples false opinions of me matter. Finally. It’s about fucking time! This is what it feels like to just be myself. To be able to sit in a bar full of some cool ass looking people, beautiful women, people who are way hipper than I am from the exterior and not give a shit, go on my merry way and have a great time!

Whatever the reason, I couldn’t have cared less why my skin fit so beautifully last night. It just felt right. In fact, I have to be honest here and admit that my confidence was unshakable. I felt like a mother fucking badass bitch sitting there with my handsome boyfriend, listening to some great tunes, drinking beer, talking to crazy ass people in a dark bar and loving my life. Yep, I went along for the ride and the ride was fun. Super-dee-duper!