I’m Buying a Motorcycle. And Joining A Club.
It was less than 24 hours ago that I was sitting in a bar with D, telling her that I officially had nothing to blog about because I had a very close to non-existent love life. Okay, it is non-existent unless you count that guy I make out with sometimes who’s adorable but an absolute idiot. Think Jason Stackhouse (if you watch True Blood), and if you don’t (you suck) think Ken Doll. Anyway… I was fully prepared to take a break from blogging, I didn’t think my mom would miss reading my blathering that much anyway.
And then God felt bad for me (because I’m going to be a cat lady) and stuffed the hours following that conversation full of blogworthy awesomeness that I no doubt will wreck while trying to explain.
I hung out with members of a known biker gang last night. What did YOU do?
I don’t do drugs, or ride motorcycles, or have a history of self-destructive behavior (ish)… but I love A&E and all those shows about people who do any combination of those things. Last night, I got to recreate one of those shows with my new friends Creeper, Tombstone, Jeff and the other ones whose names I don’t remember. (Jeff got kind of screwed as far as the naming went). Tombstone looked like Santa- if Santa had a serious meth problem and an affinity for leather and Creeper was missing a prominent tooth…But it’s cool cuz he had shit tons of tattoos. ON HIS FACE. One of which being a tear drop that I may or may not have stared at the entire time I talked to him.
Because I was thinking what an awesome blog this would be (and because when I drink I don’t think about how ridiculous I am), I took a picture of Tombstone and Little Black on my phone. Then they made me delete it, and show them all the pictures on my phone to make sure I didn’t have any evidence of some of the scariest mother fuckers I’ve ever seen, let alone drank with. And since I have a sincere love of awkward, and a sincere love of people who are bat-shit crazy- last night those two loves met, and gave birth to some awesome conversations. Conversations actually may not be the best word, as a lot of it consisted of me badgering these old dudes about what the patches meant, why he had a tear drop, if he sold drugs, if he’d, “like, ever killed someone”, if they believed in God, what their *real* jobs were, and if they were ever on A&E. Most of the answers consisted of some shocking shit, but some of them were just a scary smile and a “You don’t wanna know, little girl.”
And then D pimped it up and gave her number out like it was on sale and I watched and drank and watched some more. Lesson of this whole thing: biker clubs (the term “biker gang” I’ve learned is actually not very politically correct nowadays) are not blackberry friendly, but aside from that, they’re really quite pleasant.
**Oh yeah, and one of my roommates may have given her number to the youngest one and now I think we’re gonna get stalked because it turns out he’s married and some other stuff so if I stop blogging, I either died or I actually did just run out of shit to say. Good luck figuring that out.**