Shedding Skin

So I think we’ve decided on a name for the band. “The The” Get it? It's got "the" twice. It's a varitable goldmine. It can't fail. I...what? What do you mean? That’s absurd! No one else is crazy enough to...Just a moment. Be right back.

(Ten minutes pass)

I have been informed by the copy write people, who apparently have been watching my house and are now standing over my shoulder with brass knuckles and names such as Guido, that that particular band name has been taken. I have been asked not to make a scene. It seems we are back to square one.

The weekend was somewhere in between good and “what the fuck?” Last night my bandmate, Justin, and I went out to drink (surprise) and try and pick-up women. The first part we succeeded at, the second…all I can say is that I’m out of practice. Approaching women is hard to do when you are over six feet tall and have to walk sideways through most doorframes. I guess I am intimidating to the fairer sex, which usually leaves me no opportunity to talk to them and show them how funny, witty, and intelligent I can be. Of course the desperate gleam in my eye, from not being intimate with a woman since October, probably didn’t help my chances.

I did get to talk to a few women though, and I could feel the old charm trying to break its way back to the surface. Like a sloth crawling from a tar-pit, my cool and savvy flirtatious self emerged as the night progressed. By the end of the night I felt like I had at least made headway in my attempt at getting back into the game. Or maybe it was just the Rolling Rock. I wasn’t sure at that point.

Today I got some good news. I got a line on someone who might want to hear my songs. Apparently the woman has helped some people get noticed in Nashville, so maybe it will work out to where I can finally live the dream. I hear groupies are standard in music contracts now. This, though, could just be wishful thinking.