Dear Tom Selleck . . .
I'm no Parrothead, but I do love me some Jimmy Buffet. Who doesn't?! The Sailor (the guy I was telling you about yesterday) and I love to crank him up while we enjoy our summer evenings. We sing and we dance and we trash talk about whatever we're competing with in the kitchen and most importantly we laugh. Jimmy Buffett is the soundtrack of happiness to me.
If you've ever been to a concert, you know half the fun is the GIANORMOUS tailgate party beforehand. One of the best tailgate parties is one I went to with my mother of all people and her latest and greatest internet lover at the time. Just over six months after my dad's death, one could say I wasn't coping well. So I drank. A lot. Things are a little fuzzy, but I know there was a guy and lots of sloppy kissing. Later there may or may not have been a hotel room and an impromptu marriage. Details, details. We were in Pennsylvania (I think) so on my perpetual list of things to do is to see if I'm legally married there. Wonder what my last name is? Hell, wonder what my husband's name is?
Thanks to the tailgate parties, I'm not exactly sure how many concerts I've been to. Definitely two, maybe three. I wasn't always the designated driver. Obviously.
But one time, when I was the designated driver I decided when we got there to get stoned to the begeezus instead of drinking (don't judge) knowing this would render me tolerable of the goings-on around me and still sober enough at the end of the night to drive my friends' drunk asses home. Win-win.
A friend of mine's younger cousin got so trashed she passed out in the back of my car before the concert and I became the designated babysitter. Oh joy. Things were and still are a little hazy but I'm pretty sure I was kidnapped and forced to smoke more pot on a school bus. Again with the details. I'm just not a detail oriented person. I'm more of a big ideas girl.
So anyhow, when I returned from my big school bus pot smoking adventure I realized this youngster had puked all over the backseat of my car. Maybe locking her in the car with the windows cracked wasn't such a good idea. Hindsight tells me she would have been better served sprawled out in the parking lot next to the car.
The smell of rum tainted vomit was a total buzz-kill. I decided say a little prayer and leave her alone (again), this time with the car door open and head into the concert in hopes of finding my friends who had lawn seats at the outdoor arena. Have you ever looked for a needle in a haystack? Imagine thousands of drunk idiots milling about and being the only very sober person. It's irritating.
And then I got bumped into. Literally. Almost body slammed really by some drunk fool. This guy then screamed my name in that happy drunk tone. It was LDB. Oh for the love of baby Jesus. We had been broken up for years, I had moved on to The Chief who cleaned the puke out of my car the next day to prove his love for me. A drunk LDB was the last person I expected or wanted to see!
But he sure was happy to see me. He had lost his friends. And amongst thousands, he found me. What are the fucking chances of THAT?! This was well before cell phones, so I got stuck with him. Trust me when I say I tried REALLY hard to find his damn friends. I did not want to be held responsible for my drunk high school sweetheart.
But alas, there I was with drunk boy hanging on me. We found my friends during the finale of 'Come Monday'. They got a good laugh out of big smelly drunk dude trying to put the moves on me. He's just so damn cute and charming. But at that point I was not amused at all.
I was even less amused when thanks to geography, he was my last drop-off. He still lived with his parents! It was just one more reason I could give the 'you guys should be together' choir of proof that we should NOT be together!
Of course he tried his charm and moves on me when we pulled into his parents' drive. FAIL. Epic fail LDB.
What seemed an irritating coincidence at the time, now makes me smile. Our paths always cross in really random, but welcome ways. It's always nice to know there's someone else out there who has your back.
So the problem with listening to Jimmy Buffett for me is that his songs make me think of all the boys, not just one.
Edie B. Kuhl