It's the end of the world as we know it...

Politics, philosophy, the law, current events, left leaning debates, religion, baseball, football, pop culture, growing up Greek, random events in my life...whatever hits my mind at the time.


I'm Ready For Next Week's American Idol Auditions Now

So now all that I left off was Friday night to my weekend. Which I’ve been avoiding. (Wait! Sunday, I started peeling border on my kitchen walls, which is this awful border of grapes, and I took off this valance above my sliding door in the family room, which was all kinds of pastel hideouslyfulness.) OK, procrastination is over; Friday is all that’s left.

The harmless part: I went with work people for Happy Hour. Which is always happy on Fridays. Bar #1 had free food as well. Especially important before a night of debauchery. Then we went to another happy hour (on the water; which was sadly pretty dead). Then we separated, and they went to somewhere on the west bank of the flats to get $1 drinks (and apparently they so enjoyed $1 drinks that they don’t remember anything after about 10 pm. Yet that person still drove, because she was the *most* sober. Yikes!) I met up with Jen (who has covered the evening much better than I ever could, so I encourage people to check her recap about There Once Was A Man Named Tony rather than my stuff. I’m a boring ol’ lawyer.), Howl At The Moon.

First, it was Susan and I drinking lots of these big plastic things of alcohol. Purple things, red things -- does life get better? A resounding NO, and that's without factoring in the normal happy singing of 80s music. What do people born in the late 80s and 90s sing to? All those boy bands? God forbid!

I wasn’t at the 1988 Bon Jovi concert at the Coliseum, but I know all about it - who opened, who was next, etc, from Billy, the adorable piano player who will play at my wedding reception one day, probably to my future husband’s chagrin - once I meet him. His opening statement for Bon Jovi’s Living On A Prayer is a weekly tradition. (And for the record, when he starts the slow version of the song, it's one of my favorite things they do at the bar. Period. It's fantastic. He can really showcase his voice, which dear friends, really and truly started the lust. That was noticed before I realized that he wasn't a blond. (*uncrosses fingers*)) Other weekly traditions include asking Rich to sing It’s The End Of The World, lusting after Billy, and wondering why T (Theodore!) wears those dangling earing that either remind me of a pirate...or RuPaul.

This is, quite possibly, my favorite place earth, because it has (1) alcohol; (2) voice losing happy reflective good music (3) and is low key -- more my style than the pretentious "I-make-six-figures" "see-and-be-seen" "the-entire-point-of-going-out-with-friends-is-to-ditch-them-to-hook-up-with-a-stranger" mess otherwise known as West 6th. On Question 13 on the 21st where I gave my definition of a perfect night - perhaps I should have amended it to being at Howl At The Moon (Jody Gerut is still there though...) ;-)

I love taking people who have never been there before to see Tony (The guy who drinks the beer). Jen even has a picture! (I also learned on Friday that Tony is an Indians fan, which makes him even cooler, if that’s even possible. Beer and baseball - the American way. (Can you sense my bitterness at apparently finding every singe male on the face of the earth who doesn’t like beer and sports?) I had to keep checking out the score of the game - we won in the bottom of the 11th, for those who forgot that it was baseball season. And yes, I get even more obnoxious next week when FOOTBALL is in training camps and baseball is still going on. You thought I’m annoying when only one sport is in season. Just wait until it’s two sports. Again, I digress.)

Tony, the guy who drinks the beer amazes people. That’s because he’s amazing. The amazingness amazes all. I want to be like Tony and drink the beer when I grow up. I sadly, am talentless in beer chugging skills. The world is his oyster with such mad skills. And I seriously mean that. The crow goes WILD for Tony, the guy who drinks the beer. And he SO looks like he enjoys his job. How many can really say that??? He’s a fan favorite. He’s like Derek Jeter in NYC. Tony gets chants for his name. He’s literally a walking superstar. When I was 16, my best friend told me that one day, the world would read my words and worship my thoughts. When Tony was 16, his friends obviously told him that one day, the world would see him drink and would worship the beer drinker. Sadly, I haven’t attained my potential. And he has. Now that Tony The Guy Who Drinks the Beer has made me feel like a loser, I’ll go on.

Jen has already mentioned that I was pulled on stage by Tony for the SAFETY dance. (I remain a huge fan, despite that snafu.) In all the times I’ve ever been there, that is the first time I’ve been on stage, forced or otherwise. And I have no idea what the safety dance even was! Dancing in general is not my thing. Dancing on stage - aagh! All I wanted was off the stage...

BUT - once I was off the stage, I wanted ON the stage. Not to dance (god forbid!) But to sing. Sing the song of gods. Sing my theme song. Sing my (one day) wedding song. Sing (yes, we all know this answer) It’s The End Of The World As We Know It. I asked Jen if I should, and she was scared for me. I actually wasn’t even sure I was allowed to, since they had already sang the song once for me. So I had to ask. But was given the ok. So now once I go this far, I can’t change my mind. It was kinda like jumping out of the plane - once I got to the edge of the plane, I wanted to bail (or, rather, not bail) but was already so far that you can’t turn around and are flying before you knew it.

Anyway, $20 later, Billy goes on the drums, and Rich (the only one who knows the words) was next to me. I think he was the crutch for when I crashed in a blaze of glory (which, trust me, I did). I go up there with my LAST cigarette of the evening. I had gone through an entire pack. Actually, I had put two packs into one pack, so I had been through two packs of candy cigarettes that night. This was my final cigarette. So it had to count (and keep count of the time. I'm Greek. I talk with my hands. My secret is out.)

I talk fast. For those who don’t know me, I prefer to think that it’s because I’m so passionate about everything in life that I get really excited and that spills out. Or so brilliant my brain is so far ahead of my mouth that I have to talk uber fast to even slightly keep up. For those who do know me, they will confirm that in actuality, it’s because I’m an idiot. And also because, in this situation, I’m nervous. Yes, dear friends, I can talk even FASTER when I’m nervous. Believe it or not. I actually talk SLOWLY (for me standards) for you all most of the time. And while god (aka Michael Stipe) sings this song somewhat fast to begin with - I’m WAY ahead of the music. At some point I even gestured to Rich and Billy to go faster (and they were going the right speed!) because it was easier than telling myself to slow down. You all know me, I don’t listen anyway.

Anyway. I nail verse one (Almost 150 words. The hardest verse!) Billy makes a remark along the lines of "could I get verse two." Please, I could do this blindfolded. (On second thought, maybe I should have been blindfolded...) Of COURSE I can hit the 75 words in verse 2. It’s only half as long! So I do. Billy again inserts a remark about "there is no way that I can hit the 36 (yes, dear readers, 36) words in verse three." Obviously, he knows nothing about my freshman year of college - pre-internet people! - obsession where I listened to it over and over and over and over for months learning the words. Often drinking whenever I messed up. I could do this in my sleep. Right? Right. (HA! That’s the part that I messed up. That struck me as humorous. I’m such a dork.) Anyway, I start verse three. But as we all know, the words, "You symbiotic, patriotic, slam, but neck, right? Right." And that is WAY too close to "You vitriolic, patriotic, slam, fight, bright, light, feeling pretty psyched." So when I get to the "patriotic, slam" in verse 3, I finish with the rest of verse 1. D'oh! And then, for those who have good ears, I inserted a "fuck" as soon as I realized I did it. Which was a moment before Billy said something about "Not being able to get it, Right? Right." Grr... Had I not been so angry with myself for messing up my anthem, I'd have to give him a touche for his smart assed comment.

As we were leaving, T, the dangly earring RuPaul one that Jen and Erin adore (though both have Billy tendencies as well), came up because he had seen earlier me singing along to It’s The End of the World and was impressed. (He obviously didn’t know that later in the night, I tried to sing it myself and failed like I did my last math class!) Anyway, I mentioned how I love the song and am going to walk down the aisle to it one day. And he says how flat out weird that is. Ok, I know I’m weird, I accept that, I actually even embrace it. But it’s slightly freaky to me that apparently any deviation from the concept of a traditional wedding is just too much to accept for everyone. (Females, ok, many of you have been building up the idea of "the wedding day" since they were like 4. But males? What’s up with that? What do you care? My dad even said he refuses to walk me down the aisle then. I said ok.) So where are all the weird, sports loving philosophers?? The march to the beat of own drummers, the colors outside the lines, the "fuck the world, this is me and I don’t care if people think the I'm cool or not" people? I need more of them in my life! Otherwise, I'm all weird alone. And not that it's a bad thing, or that I could even change if I wanted to, but sometimes, it's easier to be weird when someone understands that weird is ok and not contagious. It's not like I need friends to be weird in my own way because I know that ain't gonna happen. Anyway, I digress.

All in all, despite the inability to sing the song correctly, it was well worth the $20. I mean, if one of my friends can drop whatever the price of a prostitute in Spain is to lose his virginity, I can drop $20 to sing my favoritest song in the universe. Plus, as I sometimes remind myself, I’m a gosh darned lawyer. I can afford whatever I want. (Then I remind myself, I’m a lawyer who just bought a house. And no I can’t...But I’ve never been one to deny myself what I want.)

My mom later asked me how drunk I was to sing. (I was still high from my Michael Stipe moment. I just LOVE that song!) I reminded her that this was me, the daughter who loved attention, not the other daughter. She just laughed. And anyway, I have to get in practice of American Idol next week! Come on, they raised the limit at the same time they are coming to Cleveland - how fortuitous! It’s like it was meant to be. I was meant to embarrass myself in front of Simon!! Who is such an asshole, I'm sure we all know that's totally my type! But I sure better practice that offending line - verse 3 is not "fight, bright light, feeling pretty psyched" but "but neck, right? Right." Danged "patriotic, slam" twice that did it! And the fact that Billy cursed me by saying, "she can’t get the third verse." The danged easiest verse. Bloody bastard. Which I am saying as meanly as one can at the object of one’s lust. But I have worked out the kinks for the American Idol audition. I'm all ready for Simon...

Oh, but today, Ms. Jennifer decided to EMAIL Billy and become friends with him. Yes she did dear friends and random people who googled "lost virginity to a prostitute" and ended up here.. Meanwhile, Stephanie is slightly bitter at any attempts to make Billy a real person rather than the adorable piano person in a nonreal way. I mean, what if he’s a Republican or something like that? Who wants to know stuff like that?? I’d rather he be the nonreal piano player. And he seems very nice in Jen’s correspondence. Of course, we all know how I feel about nice people. ;-) It’s much better when one doesn’t know him and he can be as asshole. So Jen and Billy are, naturally, the best of buds, because that is what Jennifer does. As long as it doesn’t involve Mike from Jackdaw.

She had emailed me all of these correspondences between her and Billy and I hadn’t immediately emailed her back. Why, you ask, dear blog readers? Or rather, blog reader and anyone who Googles "lost virginity to a stripper"? Well, because I was talking with a partner about my upcoming trial. My computer "pings" every time I get an email. So it was pinking a lot! At one point I saw the subject "MORE BILLY" and had to start laughing. So now I have to explain to the partner (i.e. MY BOSS!) why I’m laughing. ("We went to the piano bar, and there is a piano player who is just adorably cute and she keeps sending me email messages with his name in the title to get my attention." Or so I thought - little did I know at that time!) Finally, she calls my cell to find out what’s going on. I hit the button to see who it was and it accidentally answered - I have to learn to fix that. (Yes, the partner is still with me). She immediately asked, "did you see my emails?" I had to explain that the partner was there and promise to call her back. When he left, I read over the emails and had to call her. Immediately. To exclaim, "you did what?!?" I was later talking to her when he walked in again. I’m still shell shocked, to say the least, that she turned fantasy man into real man, (and we can discuss my intimacy issues to not want pretend people made real later), and had to explain why I’m so shell shocked to the partner. And he laughs at me again and tells me that the entire situation reminds him of the Verizon commercial where the one college frat boy got the job before all his friends, and they are all In, so they call him all the time to guess how many cookies they have in their mouth and to remind him to bring home toilet paper. So Jen, the toilet paper will be there in 3 hours...


  • At 11:34 AM, Blogger Alli said…

    "In all the times I’ve ever been there, that is the first time I’ve been on stage, forced or otherwise."

    HA! THAT is a complete lie, and I must question why you would tell such falsehoods to the blogging world. Are you practicing for the presidency? Are you going to invade a competing piano bar next? Take up drugs? Buy a major league baseball team? oo, I will try not to tempt you with that one.

    You were on stage at Howl at the Moon in Cleveland sometime in summer 1999 (or was it 1998? I think 99), probably around our birthdays. Someone - Rob? Kris? Me? - paid for them to pull you onstage. I distinctly remember this because you stood up there flipping me the bird with both hands, and this was the first time I had ever seen that. Then you made me come up there with you.

    Double handed. Flipping the bird. ahhhhh, the memories! It's a good thing to have seen, sometimes I use that maneuver now myself.

  • At 11:36 AM, Blogger Jen(nifer) said…

    This is the greatest blog post of all times and I why I adore you... ; )

  • At 1:05 PM, Blogger Erinna said…

    Stephanie, you rock, and this is why we love you. :)

    "You can dance if you want to..."

  • At 1:47 PM, Blogger Me said…

    Oh, yeah. Alli is right. I vaguely remember that. After first year of law school? That summer? I also remember not being happy that time at being on stage either...I don't remember flipping you off though. That might have been the first time I was ever there too. And here I thought that the first time I had ever been there was when I moved back to Cleveland after clerking.

  • At 1:52 PM, Blogger Me said…

    WAIT! Buy a baseball team?! Is Jody Gerut on it?!?

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