Okay, so there was once an attraction to SCM right? Had to be. I mean I just didn’t meet a guy I despised and said, “Great, let me marry this lazy smelly person and bear his child because my life isn’t quite shitty enough!”
The sad truth is, I have always had a fondness for artistic talent in any way. Maybe it is because when I was little I never got that big crayon box with the sharpener on the back so my talent did not get a fair chance to develop.
I am instantly drawn to anyone that can make art; whether it be music, photography, painting or basket weaving; I am drawn to that person like a brush to a canvas.
However, after a dozen or so years, the groupie thing has gotten old.
Butchering old rock classics in a manner beloved by middle-aged housewives and the mentally unwell isn't going to propel these wannabees to stardom. Hell, they often don't even make enough to cover their bar tab.
I try to be encouraging...I really do. Mainly because when he is out playing or practicing he is OUT and that is the way I like him. The problem arises when he returns home stinking of pot, cigarettes and beer farts and wants to tell me about his evening.
Listen Pookie. I don't care about whose wife was hanging all over the opening act drummer. I really couldn't possibly care less if the sound guy couldn't get his shit together or you broke a string during the Billy Idol montage. And if you think telling me about those twenty year old skanks that were buying you drinks all night makes me jealous...you're mistaken. The only think I get a twinge of feeling about it the fact that they didn't decide to keep you.
Live your dream until the day you die. Everyone needs something to look forward to. Just keep in mind that I look forward to you being out playing and I damn sure don't want a play by play when you return.