Hello Bikers...

We have wonderful, diverse people in our world...

Last night I was at one of my son, Eric’s shows; he was performing for the second time in one day and it was a late night show at a pub in Daphne, Alabama. I settled into the nice plush booth located closest to the front so that I wouldn’t miss a thing, and waited for the show to begin.

It was at that moment that I noticed a large percentage of the audience was made up of bikers. I then remembered seeing quite a few motorcycles in the parking lot, so even though there were several businesses in this complex, it only made sense they were in here. 

They all wore shirts and leather jackets that were emblazoned with their biker club name, and monograms of our state flag. Most had brightly colored bandanas on their heads and tattoos of all sorts covered a large portion of their arms. Most of the men had long hair and it was pulled back and held into a style similar to a ponytail. The ladies wore leather jackets that had fringe hanging on each side and headbands or bandanas decorated each of their heads.

The moment Eric played the first note, a big group of the bikers, and a few others that were the regular crowd, scrambled to the dance floor and began to dance. To my amazement, the bikers danced in a perfectly choreographed style of the Texas two step. They were polite and appreciative of the music.

As the evening proceeded I observed them as they were all around me. Eric pointed to me and said that’s my mother sitting right there. Many of them came to my booth, introduced themselves, praised Eric’s talent and headed right back to the dance floor.

I noticed that the women were more in charge of things than the men. One couple that were seated at the booth right next to mine, were having a disagreement. He began to complain about something she had done that he did not like. She leaned over and kissed him, then said, “Shut it up now, or we will be leaving!” He did as he was told.

I saw several incidents where the females in this group truly had the power. The men were still tough in appearance, with beards, tattoos, proud walking and tough talking, yet it was obvious who was in charge. I had a feeling they respected and appreciated their women. 

After I got home my mind was racing about the new vision of bikers and biker clubs. I came to realize that bikers have been evolving for many years now. They have begun to take on great causes, such as raising money to help our disabled veterans and veterans returning from war who need assistance getting housing. They raise money for burn victims and children who face life threatening illnesses such as cancer. 

My mind went way back to more than forty years ago when I was 9 months pregnant with my first son. I had a flat tire and back then we had no cell phones to call for help. I was terrified as I looked up to see three rough looking guys on motorcycles coming my way. I had always seen them portrayed as ruthless, vicious and down right mean. So I truly felt that I was in tremendous peril. To my utter surprise, they were polite, respectful and they changed my tire and hugged me, then sent me on my way. I never forgot their kindness.

With these memories of my true life experience with bikers and watching them on the news as they help the community every day, and last night as they enjoyed themselves, I see that things are not always as they have been portrayed to us in movies and on the news. 

My conclusion, bikers may look ominous and some may be, but overall I have found them to be great big teddy bears, kind and considerate. I love them.

Newlyweds?

Just Married....

It was a late night show at a place called Brickyard on Dauphin Street in downtown Mobile, Alabama. The place was full and people were in different stages of relax dependent upon the amount of liquor they had consumed. Many in the audience began to drink too much and lose all traces of common sense and inhibitions.

It was a duo show with Eric and his friend Josh. They sounded awesome and things were going great. Everyone was enjoying the entertainment and calling out song requests of all sorts. I had a table full of young ladies and we were talking about just about anything and everything that popped up for discussion. So far the night had been outstanding.

I had four friends at my table, three were young adults; the fourth was a friend named Gina who was in her late forties. The young ladies were checking out the hot guys as they passed by or looked our way. I heard, “Ooooo, look at his butt!” many times that evening. It always amuses me when I hear that; it used to shock me, but I have heard it so often now the shock is no longer there.

Man versus woman roles have reversed since I was young. The way it was back then, may be old and antiquated, yet I liked it when men were the pursuers and ladies were pursued. That was the natural order of things and it worked well for centuries. Sure there was the exceptional case from time to time when a girl would pursue a guy, but that was very rare... often these girls were the subject of lots of gossip and they were said to have bad reputations. While I prefer the old ways of courtship, I believe the harsh judgement of those days to be unfair; it restricted a lady from being free and being themselves, if that was their choice. 

Gina and I spied a couple that had perched themselves on the dance floor right in front of us. At that point if we wanted to watch the show on the stage, we had no choice but to look at this couple.Though they were on the dance floor moving and swaying, there was no actual dancing taking place. It was so shocking that it went beyond vulgar. 

She wore some daisy duke cutoff shorts and a crop top that exposed a large portion of her mid-section. The crop top further exposed most of her breasts as it dipped very low in front. She was very pretty with her dark brown hair in a ponytail and her eyes were drooping as though she had missed sleep for weeks. He had that 5 o’clock shadow look on his face and his hair had way too much gel in it; he wore a plaid button up shirt and khaki shorts. 

Their show was not the one we signed up for. They were lip locked almost constantly; I am not sure how they breathed. He was running his hand up into her crop top and cupping her breasts, then down into her daisy dukes and grabbing her crotch. It was very graphic as we watched, hoping they would take their show elsewhere. A couple of people in the crowd yelled out, “Get a room!” Which they ignored or maybe they were in their own little world and all else was blocked out.

A large guy who was wearing a white ball cap, backwards, walked over and spoke to them. Moments later this couple and the guy who had approached them, walked outside. Gina and I were very happy and believed that this guy was security and had asked them to take their peep show elsewhere.

After about 10 minutes, the couple returned and continued their show. The large guy who had taken them out,  walked over to our table and explained that he had just married them. We sat there in amazement as he continued; he proudly declared, “Yes I am ordained and its official, they are now married!”

I asked how it could be official without a marriage license. He paused as he appeared to be giving this question a lot of thought, then he said, “Well if they get a license, I will be glad to sign it for them.”

I then asked, “Do you know their names?” The alleged, ordained guy replied, “I don’t remember what their names are,” as he turned up his bottle of Miller Lite and walked off.

We laughed about the absurdity of it all. Then Gina, who has little patience for this sort of silliness, walked to the “newlyweds” and advised them that we were sick of seeing there sex show and would appreciate them taking it elsewhere.

Both of them had perturbed looks on their faces as they moved to the back of the room and continued their activities, but at least now we could watch the show we came to see.

I wondered how long this marriage would last....possibly 3 to 4 hours?

NOT GONNA DO IT!

No, I won’t go THERE....

It was a hectic day and it felt like I had been running like a hamster on a wheel, getting nothing done but running as fast as I could, hoping for some results. I needed to feel that I completed at least one thing that day. Then just after dark, I found myself headed to a show my son’s band was performing that night. It was at a big bar downtown that is called Soul Kitchen.  As I pulled onto I-10 towards town, my mind was racing through the events of my day and then filled with wonder about what may be in store.

There was a young group of guys I had never seen before that opened up for our band. They all looked to be high school age and very nervous. As they awkwardly began their first song, I hoped they would gain the courage to play through their nervousness. They did well. The lead guitar was very skilled at playing his instrument but appeared to be extremely shy. He not only never made eye contact with the audience, but he never looked up from his guitar. He stared straight downward and it looked to me like he wished he could be somewhere else. All of the other little faces in that band had the look of fear emblazoned in a permanent stare. The fear never melted or even faded as the show proceeded. 

The minute this young band completed their show, it was like the weight of the world had been lifted from them. They smiled, they exited the stage and began to talk eagerly to everyone around. Their personalities blossomed right there before me and it was a beautiful transformation to watch. I only wished they could have shown that on the stage. I have not heard of them again and do not know if they are still performing but I do hope they continued. I could see clearly, post performance, that they loved music and they loved the ability to create music (even though they only sang cover songs, there is still creativity taking place). 

I made a special point to speak to the lead guitar and the bass player. They were so young and so excited about life and about music. It was uplifting to hear them tell of how it felt for them to be on the stage and to hear the applause. The bass player was about 6’ 3”, slim and he had a big cowlick in the front of his black hair. His smile revealed a chipped tooth in front and his big brown eyes were dancing as he told his stories.The lead guitar had long blonde hair and braces on his teeth. He spoke softly, yet he sang forcefully and quite loud, so I was surprised when I first heard him speak.

Our band cranked up and the place was filled with people dancing, swaying, laughing, crying, girating to the music. Suddenly a person popped up right in my face and startled me. I moved back to reclaim my personal space. She was so cute with her blonde pigtails that bounced as she stood there. Her words seemed to skip and jump in the air as she spoke to me. “Hi, I’m Juliette, and you are Eric’s mom!” I nodded and smiled. She continued on..“We met before, do you remember me?" I said, “Sure” (with my fingers crossed behind my back because I did not recognize her at all) I heard when I was a child that if you cross your fingers while lying, you are forgiven for it. 

Juliette spoke with a somber tone and had a serious look with a wrinkled brow; she continued her one-sided conversation as I listened intently. After babbling for a few minutes, she said, “I feel like I know you or at least that I can trust you, and I really really really need your help”. Intrigued, I leaned in toward her and softly said, “Ok, how can I help you?”

She went on to tell me that she had gotten a piercing in a very very private place two nights earlier and tonight the gold rod that was in the piercing had come out. She wondered if I would help her get it back in. She said, “I know you don’t know me but I have seen you many times across the room at shows and I FEEL like I know you well.” She told me it was embarrassing and freaky to need help getting her piercing back in place, but she just couldn’t do it by herself. 

While I was flattered that she would trust me with something so personal, there was just no way I was going to do that. When I declined, she then asked, “What should I do?” I told her to go back to the place where she got this done (it was just a few blocks away) and they should be able to take care of this for her. She nodded and thanked me for the advice.

I love people, and I will help you with anything....ALMOST anything. If it involves your genitalia...that is where I draw the line. 

She said, "LIFE SUCKS"!

“Everybody in Baldwin County Hates me”....she screamed as they escorted her out!

Last night my son played one of our favorite venues in Baldwin County. I always get an exhilarated spirit as we approach this venue; I was certain this would be a stellar night. It is a place that is a listening room type venue where everyone is there to listen and enjoy the music. Talking is kept to a minimum and the crowd is always respectful to the performer.

We arrived there with about 45 minutes to spare before the show began. We visited with the owner and his patrons who were also anxiously looking forward to the night and the crowd. I took a sip of diet coke and envisioned the fun ahead.

The show was filled with great music, a very responsive capacity crowd, roars of applause and laughter and one very miserable, angry, unhappy young lady.

Eric played several of his original songs, and some covers that he had recently added to his show. The crowd was really enjoying the performance and calling out requests right and left. At any given moment people would be asking for James Taylor tunes, or Eric’s originals or Dr. Dre; it was a wide spectrum of choices and craziness of a crowd that was there to enjoy themselves.

The show was about 3/4 over when this  young lady came in and she sort of scooted someone else over on one of the benches down front, so that she could sit down. She was about 25 years old, slim, blonde, attractive but unkempt. Her hair was half up and half down and to me, she fit the description of "rode hard and put up wet!" She had a strange, brooding anger about her unlike anyone I had previously seen.

Suddenly this newly arriving young woman screamed out, “Play something depressing, I only want bad, sad and depressing stuff!” Everyone was still and quiet as she continued, “My Life SUCKS!” she yelled to the top of her lungs. My son tried to play it off and said something like, “Ok, so let’s play something happy”. She said, “F-ck that, I want something depressing like me”  I noticed at that time, she was sweating profusely and appeared angry.

Eric played a cute little song that is really fun, but the subject matter is depressing, it is called “We’re having a funeral!” When he finished this same angry lady said, “Hell, that ain’t depressing, I want something really down”. She then added, “I left here and moved to California, they hated me, now I am back and everyone in Baldwin County Hates ME!” 

It was not long after that when the show was over, she immediately ran up, grabbed Eric’s microphone and said, “F-ck life and all of you!” At that same moment a gentleman who had tried to calm her earlier, escorted her out of the place.

I was saddened by her sadness. It made me think about something I had learned many years ago in a class that was taught in Parsippany, New Jersey. This facilitator said, “You can change jobs, change spouses, change locations, but no matter where you go, there YOU are!” 

That was a great class and a great life lesson that told me “No matter where you go, or what you do...in order to be happy, the change must come from within.

I hope this young lady has sobered today and has a clear head and a softer heart because she was a poster child for MISERY last night. 

A Night to Remember....

What’s that hitting my head?.....

It was Thursday night at a local pub called Fabacher’s. This pub was popular with college students and was located right across the street from The University of South Alabama, where both of my sons got their degrees. Eric was in a band but he picked up solo acoustic gigs to supplement his income. Most Thursday nights you could find us at Fabacher’s.

When I walked in the door, I could hear people yell out, “Mom!”, they had become accustomed to calling me that, and many still do. Through the years quite a few of them have poured out their hearts to me, after a few beers. They had troubles, issues and love-life problems that weighed heavy on their young shoulders and I would listen but I only doled out advice sparingly. I felt there was really no need to give them advice; they probably would not remember my words as the night progressed. Most were excited about the Thursday night specials of 3 draft beers for the price of one, for the first hour of the evening. Naturally it was imperative that they consume as much as humanly possible while the special price was on, that  just made good sense! Right?

This particular evening I was approached the minute I stepped in, by one of Eric’s friends from school. His name was Jeremy but we called him by his last name. For the sake of this story, I will just use his first name. Jeremy was in an unusually happy, upbeat spirit and he hugged me, then insisted that I sit at his table. He had a large table of friends which included his boss from the restaurant where he worked. After the introductions were made, I took a seat at his table. 

Jeremy drank a lot of shots as he toasted this and that with those at his table. I continued to sip on my diet Coke. I learned over the years how interesting things get after a few hours when the people you know transform into totally different characters as the night goes and the alcohol flows.

At about 11pm, Jeremy was pretty much gone. I had never seen him like this before and his boss was looking at him as he observed this new guy Jeremy had become. He kept insisting that I dance with him and I had no interest in dancing. I like to watch the show, on the stage and the show off the stage. But I had to keep telling him “no” and pulling my hand away as he attempted to drag me up. When he finally realized I was not going to cooperate, he walked around behind my chair. Moments passed and it felt like he was thumping me on the top of my head. It was annoying but I had decided to ignore it as long as I could. I suddenly saw my son’s facial expression change to an unhappy one as he stopped the song he was singing and he asked in the mic, “Jeremy, what are you doing to my mother?!”  Until that moment I had never known of my son stopping in the middle of a song...so something was definitely not right. When Eric did this and called Jeremy out, many of his friends; Jeff and Brian and others immediately ran to my rescue and stopped Jeremy from thumping my head. I moved to another table and I think someone took Jeremy outside and maybe took him on home. Several of the people I knew in the crowd apologized on behalf of Jeremy, “You know he would never have disrespected you like that if he were not drunk.” I nodded. But I made a note to myself not to sit at his table again.

After the show, late that night, my son and others explained that Jeremy had pierced nipples and he had pulled his shirt up and was alternating hitting me in the top of my head with his piercings. I was so embarrassed.

Many years have passed and Jeremy and the others there that night have grown up and went on about their pursuits in life. I have not seen him in years but I was told by Jeremy’s brother, who owns a music venue, that Jeremy recently became a Master Chef.

He holds the dubious title of The only man who ever hit me in the head with his pierced nipples, so I am thinking he owes me a nice gourmet dinner.

You pierced what?

The things young people do to themselves...

It was a normal Saturday night at the Riverboat. I was there to see my son play and sing. I also handled his mailing list and did whatever I could do to make things go smoother.  The audience was primarily college kids who were full of unpredictability. 

The Riverboat Bar and Grill was located on Dauphin Street in Mobile, Alabama. Only about 4 doors down from this bar, there was a late night tattoo parlor that also offered piercings of all kinds. Unfortunately sometimes these young people would have just a little to drink and then make choices they may not otherwise have made. Often they would bet one another to get a certain tattoo or get  something pierced. It was more of a game than anything else.

Those days at Riverboat were wild, crazy and memorable. One night a young couple decided to get their tongues pierced. I love them both (and they are still great friends), but I begged them not to get their tongues pierced. They returned to the bar, proudly sporting those pierced tongues and talking very strangely, “tha ms wanewa, lookmy tung, kewl, huh?” They laughed and partied with the crowd and I could see them frequently opening their mouths wide to show off this new piece of jewelry poking through their tongues.

One night a young lady from Bayou LaBatre that I had known for a couple of years, decided she wanted to get her nipples pierced. I said “Oh please, please do not do that!” Did she listen?....No. When she returned she ran straight to my table and asked all of us to come to the ladies room to see her newly pierced nipples. I declined but the other young ladies jumped to their feet and eagerly followed her in the direction of the restrooms. I watched as they rushed across the room, each trying to keep up so as not to miss anything.

When they returned from the pierced nipple viewing in the restroom, some of them were pale with fearful looks on their faces. Others were all excited, almost bouncing up and down and saying, “I want to do that!” I offered not a word of advice, as I knew my words would have fallen to the floor and never reached those young ears. 

I will always remember one absolutely beautiful young lady who smiled as she showed us her new work of art.  It was a spider tattoo, and it looked so real as it was perched on her neck. I am not sure what message she was offering with this distinctive tattoo, but it was pretty scary to me. I also saw one girl showing off her new tattoo of  her boyfriend’s name on her chest just above her heart. That’s never a good idea as relationships at that age come and go like a thief in the night.

Decisions are difficult for college age people, and if you add liquor to the mix, common sense flies right out the window.

I enjoyed the music and I enjoyed the show put on by the audience as they left with clear skin and returned with all sorts of things inked into their skin. Or as they returned with holes in them that were not there earlier and metal was pertruding from these new holes. I realized they were only expressing themselves and their freedom to be who they are; but it was amusing as I made every effort to decide what it was they were trying to express...

Oh to be young again....

She rode the mechanical bull...

Ride ‘em cowgirl

The night was moving right along and things were going well. My son’s band was playing a benefit show. The purpose of this benefit was to raise money for a new cage for a white tiger at the local zoo. Good cause, good crowd, great music all added up to a wonderful evening.

I met the people who were there representing the zoo and they talked about the joy of working with the animals and the crazy things that happen at a zoo from the worker’s side of the cage. It sounded fascinating but I knew as they described the nasty things and the dangerous things about zookeeping, that it was not something that I would ever want to do.

The zoo people and a couple of long time friends sat at my table that evening. It was the first and only time the band had played at this particular venue. It was called, “The Whiskey” and was a very large bar complete with a mechanical bull.

The band had just finished playing a Pink Floyd tune that I love, “Another Brick in the Wall”, when I heard some commotion in the back. We all turned around just in time to see a young woman on the mechanical bull and she was removing her blouse. She also removed her bra and the show began. This girl was very very large chested and it was a sight unlike any I had ever seen. We were breathless and speechless as she road that thing up and down with her huge breast bouncing with each thrust and twist of that bull. 

I looked over to see security coming towards her at a slow-motion pace. By the time they reached her the ride and show was over. Her friend grabbed her top and she quickly slipped it on over her head as they escorted her out of the bar. Many in the bar applauded her as she waved on her way out.

This was quite a show orchestrated by this young woman who decided to throw her inhibitions to the wind (if she ever had any). She is a descent, respectable young lady that I have seen many times before and she is a shift manager at a local restaurant. I would describe her as a responsible member of the community. Yet, she made the decision to show her huge breasts to the world inside The Whiskey Lounge and ride a bull that jerked her and twisted her and those breasts with wild, reckless abandon.

She stole the show from the band for her fifteen minutes in the limelight. I do not judge her but I do question her decision to put on such a show for the zookeepers and the rest of this crowded bar that Saturday night.

I guess I should thank her for such an exciting exhibition that I will never forget.

He taught me...

It was a learning experience for me....

We were in Pensacola, Florida at a place called Seville Quarter. This was a huge complex that housed an entire block and contained numerous bars and eateries under one roof.

There was a deli that made the best sandwiches and the sweet little lady who operated it reminded me of one of my aunts. She nervously giggled after every sentence and always had a smile. Just like my aunt, her smile was warped, the way one side of her mouth went up higher than the other. I spoke with her a few minutes, then meandered on into the bar where our band would be playing. My son’s band had played here many times before and I felt comfortable with the place as I knew my way around.

One of my friends from the area came out to join us and to visit with me during the show. We were catching up on the latest in each of our lives and commenting on some of the revealing outfits worn by a group of girls who had just walked passed. 

Then he appeared, it was a  man in his early forties who was wheelchair bound. I immediately felt such empathy for the guy as he approached us. His wheelchair was one of those electric kind and it looked like the state of the art with extra gadgets. He was very limited as to the movement of his arms and hands, his legs were completely still. I noticed he was tethered at the chest level to keep him from falling forward. He had a cigar in his mouth as he pulled up next to us. He held the cigar with his teeth and smiled around it when he parked himself right next to my chair. 

We stopped our conversation and turned our attention to this newcomer in his wheelchair. He began to talk and the cigar rocked up and down at a rapid pace as he spoke. Eventually it fell from his mouth and onto the floor. He immediately demanded, “pick it up and put it back in my mouth!” I did as he requested and he continued to talk.

From that moment on I felt uncomfortable and wanted to move to another seat to avoid this man, however, I was not capable of hurting his feelings, considering his condition.  I looked more closely at him and his electric wheelchair as he spoke. I noticed he had a clear plastic bag with a tube extending from under his cover to the bag. This bag was filled with urine and there was more in the tube. It was the fullest urine bag I had ever seen and I feared it might burst at any moment. So many things were going through my mind as he prattled on. Meanwhile I looked at my friend and she looked distraught as well. The evening was turning out to be less than stellar as it did not appear this gentleman was going to relocate anytime soon.

As he spoke, his cigar dropped to the floor three more times and I picked it up as his insisted. He would demand that I pick it up and he never thanked me or showed any sign of appreciation or respect. It was frustrating as I got on my knees on that bar floor and picked up his nasty cigar over and over when it rolled under the chair or table. But this man was handicapped, how could I refuse to help him.

Finally I reached my breaking point with him. He began making nasty, vulgar remarks about people as they passed by with complete disregard for us. He had gotten more harsh and angry each time he commanded me to pick up his fallen cigar. His cigar fell again and before he could scream for me to get it for him, I spoke. 

I said, “I will NOT get on the floor and get your cigar again, I refuse!” He sat there staring at me. I then said, “You have disrespected me and my friend and not once thanked me or said a kind word. So NO, I will NOT help you again!” 

It was as though he was in shock as he sat there in silence. I said, “I am sorry it came to this, but you know you were wrong and it has nothing to do with your disability.”

Moments passed in silence, a lady walked up and said, “Is this your cigar sir?” He said, “Yes,  pick it up and put it in my mouth!” She said, “Sure”.  He turned his wheelchair and rolled off into the night following this young woman who had helped him. He never spoke another word to me.

One of the managers of this venue told us later that this man in the wheelchair used to be one of the nicest people you could meet. He was in an industrial accident that left him in this condition. He won a huge multi-million dollar settlement and has a limo with handlers that drop him off and then pick him up when he decides. He said now it is as though a different person resides in him. Every time he comes in there are numerous complaints about him and his rudeness. 

I thought about this man after hearing the story. Not only was his body broken but so was his spirit. He was an angry person. He seemed to be angry at everyone who was able-bodied and at life in general. No amount of money could fully restore him. He was lost in a real life nightmare that was never ending.

My mind drifted back to something my grandmother said. She said “There are events in people's lives that bring out their real character!” She explained that when death, or major catastrophe occurs, some people face it with strength and compassion, they help those around them to face it and recuperate. Others become bitter, angry and unconsolable. 

My heart still goes out to that guy I met in Pensacola who was once a good person yet turned into an uncaring monster.

What were you thinking...

Someone put something in my drink...

I was sitting at a table watching young adults as they entered the bar. Their interactions were as entertaining as any play or circus I have ever attended. They were young people who were trying to find their place in the social arena. The dynamics of their interactions unfolded as the the night proceeded. Some of them seemed to shrink into the shadows and were content to just observe the activities.

As the band started their second set, some people had reached the point of no return. Many of them had loosened up and it was hard to find anyone who was shy at this point. They no longer had inhibitions or insecurities, their liquored up confidence had jumped out and was guiding them through the night. I saw a young lady that I really care about and I knew that she was over the limit. This was unusual for her and I knew she had driven here alone, so I kept a close watch on her. I asked the bartender not to serve her anymore alcohol, “only give her water”, was my plea. He handed her a glass of water and she was furious, she began demanding her vodka. She got another vodka and I got frustrated. She was no longer in control of herself. 

I knew her as a person who was reserved and who normally shied away from dancing. Yet moments later she was dancing with anyone and everyone. Eventually, one of the posts that lined the dance floor in support of the ceiling, became her dance partner. Try as hard as I might, I could not convince her to relax, to drink water or to at least stop drinking liquor for the evening. 

I grabbed her purse as by now she had cast it aside without any regard for its contents. Eventually I went to the ladies room, with both my purse and hers in tow. There she lay sprawled out on the bathroom floor, face down in the murky damp tile. As she turned her head to speak to one of the young ladies who was attempting to help her, I noticed a piece of dirty looking toilet paper clinging to her cheek.

Thankfully, I found a musician friend of my son’s, who I also consider to be my friend. He mentioned that he was about to head home. I knew he lived in the same direction of town that she did and I persuaded him to drive her home.  He told me days later that I owed him for that as she got sick in his car more than once on their journey to her house.

The next time I saw her, she insisted, “Someone put something in my drink!”  I know that does happen, I had seen it in cases I worked in the ER for years. But in this case my thoughts were, “Yes, someone put something in your drink...it was ALCOHOL, and you demanded it!” I really cared about this young lady and I still do. She is a physician, certainly educated and certainly aware of the pitfalls of reckless behavior; but she had herself “a night to remember!” The problem is....she did not remember it at all!

Who did he marry?

No need to ask, some things can’t be explained...

The ladies at my table ranged in age from mid-twenties to late fifties that night. We were watching my youngest son as he sang at a coffee shop. I love the feel of coffee shops and bookstores, for me it is like the mother ship has landed. Especially those shops that are quaintly decorated and privately owned; it seems they have an atmosphere unlike the Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts down the street. 

This evening held the promise of being special because an old friend was there from my high school days and we were able to fill some of the gap of those years we had missed as we became wives, mothers and grandmothers. It was wonderful and joyful to see her and know life had treated her well.

This was a calm environment, even with all the caffeine flowing. No alcohol was there to cloud anyone’s thinking or blur their vision. Suddenly two girls were approached by a third girl who looked so angry that I was surprised smoke wasn’t coming from her ears. It was obvious that she wasn’t there to exchange pleasantries. This angry girl spoke directly at a young lady who sat closest to the wall and looked like she would like to melt into the floor.
The words we heard were: "you have been seeing John and I am going to knock you out!"

Our conversations paused and all eyes were on that group of girls at the side table as we were fully aware that all hell was about to break loose.

In my observations over the years I have seen that many girls have much more volatile personalities than those from the past. Perhaps they just express themselves differently and no longer have inhibitions. It is a "no holds barred" world we live in sometimes.

As the story and the evening’s events unfolded we learned that girl sitting next to the wall at the table, had in fact been “seeing” the fiance’ of the angry girl who marched in to the coffee shop.  I always see this as a skewed vision when a person is angry at the intruder in their relationship, when it is the intimate partner that has betrayed them. It is truly a case of misplaced anger and disappointment, yet I see it often.

As I sipped on my vanilla latte with amusement, I watched the events unfold and hoped that security would intervene before anything physical began. Then I realized, I have never seen security at a coffee shop and thought why would you need security there? 

Suddenly the angry girl slapped her archenemy with all of her might. The sound of the impact of that slap resonated throughout the shop and I saw several people spill coffee or tea as they looked around to determine what was happening.

My son, was singing a soft, sweet song by James Taylor at the time it happened, and was startled to hear and see the confrontation happening nearby.

The third girl who was seemingly uninvolved, spoke softly and moments later all three girls were seated and talking. Within 30 minutes they were drinking caramel lattes, laughing and talking as though they were best friends. I was close enough to hear the calming girl say, "He isn't worth it!" The other two bumped their latte mugs in a show of agreement.

After years of seeing them at the shows and eventually meeting them, I was surprised to learn one of the ladies from that night in the coffee shop had married John. He was the fiance who had strayed from fidelity. The surprise was that neither of the fighting girls married him, the one who saved the day, stopped the fighting and calmed the scene was the one who married John. Life plays out before us and unfolds in ways we never see coming, such is the case of the coffee shop girls.

Let's make a deal...

An Offer I had to refuse...

It was a busy night with a capacity crowd at the bar where the band was playing that night. I knew many of the people there, some went to school with my son (who was the lead singer in the band), others were friends who had attended shows over the years. There were also many people in attendance that I had not seen before. This was going to be a party and an adventure. I love the music, I love to see my son perform and I also love observing the people as they party.

The night went on and I noticed a girl approach my son as he stepped onto the stage for the final set of the evening. He pointed her toward me and she proceeded to head my way. She was tall and beautiful. Her hair was like a flood of waves that cascaded down her back and bounced as she sauntered my way. I thought she was adorable but she did not look familiar at all. Later my son told me she had stepped up and asked, “where is your mother sitting”. 

She was wearing a white blouse that had eyelet lace across the top. I love eyelet lace, so I loved her blouse. Her pants were very snug and those shoes were outstandingly gorgeous. It was obvious that she had impeccable taste.

She first asked, “Are you Eric’s mom?” I confirmed that I was, then she continued. She told the story of her achievements in life including the fact that she was now a nurse. It was with great pride that she spoke of all she had accomplished. I was nodding and smiling and wondering why this young lady felt a need to give me such a detailed bio.

She then began to reveal her plans for the future. As it turns out, her plans included me and my son. Specifically, her plan involved marrying my son. She informed me that she knew we were close and that I would have a big influence over him. She said that the two of us should team up and persuade him to marry her. She said, “He has played music long enough, it is time for him to quit that and marry me”. “I have the ability to take care of him and it is something I want to do!” She was employed at the Skin Center and she said that if I agreed to her plan and helped her, she would remove all of my vericose veins and give me regular skin treatments.

I sat there in shock. She stood there waiting for my answer. I had to refuse her offer, my son was not for sale or trade for vericose vein removal. I had no vericose veins, but if she had offered lyposuction, or breast ogmentation,  we may have been able to work something out!

Too much alcohol can cause even a GOOD girl to be confused...

She did not know what inhibitions were. She assured me she was not some drunk girl in the bar...

My friends and I were sitting at the table, I was drinking my diet cokes and watching the action of the evening as my son’s band played. I love people-watching and I still get surprised after all of these years as each evening unfolds. 

Many in the crowd know me and they come by to speak or blow me a kiss from across the room. I love the young people of today. Sometimes they let their guard down and do things they normally would not consider, but overall they are good and descent people.

One girl came in wearing a large hat with flowers protruding from it and a ribbon tied under her chin held it in place. She was the center of attention for a while until her uniqueness lost its appeal. Then a guy pulled off his shirt and began to swing it in circles in the air. This was an attention-getter until bar security stepped over and advised him to  put his shirt back on or leave.

The band walked onto the stage and the crowd roared with excitement. After about 5 or 6 songs, a cute young lady came over to my table. She said, “Hi, I’m Candace” as she held out her hand to shake. I stuck out my hand and said, “Nice to meet you Candace, I am Juanita.” She replied, “yes, I know who you are, Eric’s mom.” I smiled and nodded.

She stood there bracing herself on my table for a couple of songs. It was obvious to me and my friends that Candace had consumed a little too much alcohol and was clearly unsteady on her feet. 

Moments later she leaned way over into my lap and declared, “I’m not some drunk girl in a bar”...”I am a good good girl!”...”I am a Christian girl!” Again, I smiled and nodded, as I said, "I am sure  you are."

Candace continued to linger next to my table. Eventually, she moved right up next to me and said, “Can I have your permission to ask Eric out?” I explained to her that Eric is an adult and my permission wasn't needed or warranted, it would be his choice. She screamed, “NO! you have to give me permission, I never ask out a guy until his mother says its ok!”

She stood there wobbling and waiting for my response. I spoke to her about the song they were playing and smiled at her. She was a beautiful young lady and I feel certain she was a good girl as she kept telling me, but I was done with the subject of giving her permission to ask out a grown man in his thirties.

She once again Screamed, “Give me permission to ask your son out!” I ignored her, then she laid her head on my shoulder and again, she said, “I’m not some drunk girl in the bar!” I replied, “That is exactly what you are right now, Candace!”

Candace turned to one of my girlfriends and said, “Don’t you think she should let me ask her son out, I’m a good Christian girl”?... My friend replied, “I think it is very strange to ask a guy’s mother for permission...he is in his thirties!” Candace walked away.

When the band finished their set, I saw her grab my son, Eric, as he stepped off the stage and scream something. He looked over at me and smiled. Later he said that she screamed, “Your mother hates me!”

When a person begins to lay on me and scream at me, I am done with talking. I do not hate Candace or anyone.

I am convinced she was not her normal self, the world takes on a topsy-turvy appearance once someone drinks to the point that they no longer have the ability to stand alone. I hoped she could see things more clearly when she had time to think about that evening. Candace was a good girl who was having a bad night.

What is Normal anyway?

They called her Liz...

I doubted Liz ever had inhibitions. I have never met her formally but saw her many times at a venue in Daphne, Alabama.

The band loaded in their equipment and instruments as I sat finishing up my Zaxby’s salad and watching them. Everything looked like the same old same old, and I sat alone watching the guys set up the PA and prepare for sound check.

The place filled up and my table filled up first. Many of the people who are fans know me well and they take a seat at my table so we can talk and share stories as the evening moves along.

This woman who frequented the shows and was far older than the rest of the crowd was called Liz. I too am far older than most people at the shows, but my purpose is to enjoy my son’s music and support his band. After observing Liz in the past it appeared her purpose was to pick up young guys. I had seen that on many occasions. There is no doubt that “Liz” was beautiful at one time but her beauty had faded. Some of her lost beauty was due to age but also heavy drinking and smoking had a hand in hurrying the aging process. She wore a low cut blouse that revealed very tan, and very wrinkled cleavage. Her face reminded me of one of those Chinese Shar-Pei dogs with deep folding wrinkles. Her denim skirt was too short and Liz wore lace stockings that particular evening that had so many tears in them, they looked much like the old cast net that my husband had repaired over and over. 

The crowd had begun to call her Liz because they referred to her as a “lot lizard". They had explained to me that lot lizards are prostitutes that hang out in parking lots to meet men.  Truck stops have many lot lizards, but sometimes they show up in bars as well. In her case, from what I was told, she was not exactly like a prostitute, because she paid the guys for their time and energy with her, rather than charging them.

Liz danced and she would use a pole that was near the dance floor as a stripper pole. She swung on it and embraced it and did all sorts of shocking movements with it as we watched her perform. Now this was NOT a stripping place, it was a large bar located in Daphne, right on Highway 98, but Liz wanted to be the center of attention. As the night progressed, a young man joined my table. I did not know him at all but I did know his brother who is a musician. About an hour later and much closer to the end of the evening, Liz approached my table, whispered something to this young guy and she sat down next to him as she whispered. Liz never attempted to meet me, she would not even look me in the eye so that I could speak to her. Soon she began to speak loudly to this guy. Her words were very inappropriate and outright raunchy (even for a bar setting) and he seemed to be amused by it. I said, “Hey I think you two need to take this somewhere else.” They moved across the room to a booth that was available and moments later they walked out together. 

That evening when I got home and settled into my bed, I thought of Liz. What was it she was seeking? What had happened to her that made her this way? Did anything happen to her at all? Perhaps she just liked this behavior, there does not always have to be some traumatic event or unquieted misery. I felt she was a very lonely person, but I could have been wrong.

It was not  normal to me for a much older lady to pursue younger guys, and for it to be only a sexual venture. I thought that was a role reversal, as normally older men pursue young women for sex. We are mighty creatures with individual spirits and it is not my place to decide for others. It does seem a bit unfair to call these sad ladies of the night, "lot lizards"; why don't they make it even by calling the older men who chase young women, a name. Maybe snakes in the grass? My actions are the only ones I control. I thought the situation was not normal but normal is a relative term.