03 April 2006

Adventures in small town Minnesota.

Oh, what a weekend I had. The shows went over very well. I even had fun doing them. Though, by the 7:00 show last night it was really tough getting pumped up to go out on stage. The butterflies settled down more with every show. So that was good.

After the show Friday night I went out with my friends Kate and Chrisy to celebrate our birthdays. Because I'm a scatterbrained idiot, I managed to forget their presents at home. Now, I get to put them in the mail ASAP. We were going to go jagging (aka roading: driving around country roads and drinking). However, those two didn't leave the show early enough to get to the liquor store for beer. And neither of their parents had beer (this is astounding information coming from a bunch of borderline alcoholics). The only beer we had at the house was for the mini-party on Saturday. We eventually scored some beer from Kate's sister and then decided to head to Jamie's Pub, which is situated in the town (and I use that term loosely) of Pemberton, population 246. There are no cops in Pemberton, and since the cops in Janesville are major assholes, we decided to stay out of there.

Apparently, several of the patrons (who we knew, anyway) at Jamie's had been drinking for several hours. One was sitting (and swaying) at the bar eating pizza and drinking a glass of milk. An older guy with this group wasn't really talking, and when he did, he didn't make any sense at all. Seriously, I thought he was maybe mildly, or more than mildly, retarded. Turns out he was so fucking drunk, all he could do was string together random words while staring at your chest. I'm amazed that I didn't see him drooling. Two of the other guys in the group were coherent. Well, relative to their companions. Another one wasn't too bad until later. Lucky me, I somehow got sucked into playing pool with this guy.

I suck at pool. My seven-year-old nephew has beaten me at pool. I mentioned this several times, but it fell on drunk ears. My partner turned into Gropey McWanderinghands after I hit my first shot. I'm not sure I ever hit another one, but I digress. What started as a pat on the back after I hit this shot turned into a little game of grabass. He said, "You have a nice ass." Hahahahahahahaha. Like I said, the guy was drunk. After a missed shot, a move that started as an arm around the shoulder to console me for missing (yeah, 'cause I was totally gutted) ended up in full on groping. Thankfully, I was able to stop it just by pushing his arm away and saying, "Hey, watch it."

We made our first attempt to leave then. I got my first-ever to-go cup for my fresh gin and tonic. For some reason or another, we ended up staying. There was a guy there with a fantastic mullet. I tried to get a picture, but I was trying to be sly about it, and I didn't get a good one. It's too bad, because that guy was totally rocking the look.

Of course, very few trips to the bar when I'm at home end without someone remarking on the fact that I have huge tits. Ol' Gropey apparently couldn't let me leave without telling me, "I like your breasts." Um, thanks? It's fine when a girl tells me I have nice boobs. Well, there was that episode with the woman in the Aveda store in Southdale that was mildly uncomfortable. But for the most part, it's cool to hear from a girl. I like it when Tom tells me he loves them. But he's got an up-close-and-personal relationship with them. I never, ever know what to say when some drunk idiot tells me, "You have really big boobs." Sometimes I muster an "Um, thanks?" Most of the time I really, really want to be a bitch and just rail on them. However, I can't bring myself to berate a drunk moron most of the time. Though, I have been know to go on a mini-tirade that's chock-full of sarcasm.

Honestly, I really need a good response to that. Maybe I'll ask the football boys for suggestions.

I did have a good time with my girlfriends, though, even through the slobbering, gropey, leering drunks. It's always good to see them. Saturday night was pretty low-key. My brother, sister and I were home by 1:00. It was just an all-in-all exhausting weekend.

I heard from several people after the shows, both from fellow cast members and showgoers, that they had no idea I could sing. Or they had heard me before, but didn't know I could "sing like that." I'm not really sure what that means. I didn't think I sounded any different than I ever do, but I guess some of these people have only heard me at weddings and funerals. Or if they have heard me elsewhere, my voice has matured a lot. Anyway, it was a nice little ego boost. I hope it's another few years before they decide to do this again.

As always, it was really settling to get back to Minneapolis and sleep in my own bed. I always feel a little rattled after being home for more than a night.

No comments: