"avoid sketchies and rando's."

It's been a while since I've written, so bare with me...I'm warning you, this one is on the longer side.

This past Saturday I had the privilege of being able to perform at a local gig surrounded by friends, family, and strangers alike.  Yes, in my spare time, I'm a pianist/coming-out-of-hiding-singer in Special Ed, or as some people call it, The Special Ed Band....but you can just call me a rockstar.  What?  That's what my friends call me.  :)

Newfound confidence aside, Saturday morning I woke up to a day that would inevitably be an emotional rollercoaster.  I've been in Special Ed (the band, not the class) since last June, when I was in the middle of picking up the pieces of my life, between ending a relationship with a high school sweetheart, having a condo deal fall through 3 days before closing, and having to uproot my small city life for an even smaller, simpler life of moving back in with Mom in a tiny, one-traffic-light town.  Ed, the founder of the band, is my aunt's boyfriend, who my mother decided to move next door to.  (Refer back to Edville, or "the compound" in previous entries by Ash)

Anyway, I hadn't known Ed for too long, but he's just one of those people that I know was supposed to be in my life, pushing me into learning who I really was.  In fact he pushed me--and by pushed, I mean consistently, relentlessly harassed me--into joining his band once he found out I played piano.  And one not-so-particular night, I caved.  How did he convince me, you ask?  Was it the fame I'd one day have?  The money?  It was much simpler than that, folks...

Ed had a fantastic wing-man.

He buttered me up with a few drinks...incessant drinks with a potency most would turn their noses to, and that I didn't think twice about.  He cued up the music, a few tracks they played, after I was feeling all warm and fuzzy and most importantly, confident I could get the job done.  

ED: So, see?  This stuff is WICKED EASY.  And you're WICKED SMAHT, I know you could pick up on this stuff!

ME: Alright!  Why the hell not?!  No harm in trying, right?  Hey--can you make me another rum&coke?

And so began many new relationships...between friends, between bandmates, and between a sailor and her captain.  :)

Alright so fast forward to this Saturday.  The last gig I covered many songs, but also covered 2 in terms of singing.  This time, I was up to 6 that I was singing, so I was freaking out, because in my past, the only venues I've sang my heart out in have been:

and, when on tour...

So the entire day I kept battling between excitement and nervousness.  I kept myself busy, did some laundry, cleaned my room, went to Ed's to practice, and headed over to the horse barn where Ash, her friend Julia, and my aunt Meg all were. Hanging around the barn, the owner was questioning everyone of some random, sketchy looking bald guy walking around that she didn't immediately recognize.  None of us knew who he was, and he seemed to disappear, but I praised her for being so aware of her surrounding equestrian community.

ME: "At all times, you must we aware and avoid sketchies, Kathy."

JULIA: "And rando's!"

ME: "Yes, and rando's.  Avoid sketchies and rando's.  A rule to live by."

KATHY (owner): "HAHA!  I LOVE IT! Alright, let's go out for drinks."

...Didn't take long before we decided it was, at 4pm, of great importance and absolute necessity to go grab drinks with the barn owner, when she needed to be back by 4:30.  (Now by this time, I'm not even going to make excuses.  You've read our posts, you should know by now that we're all Olympians when it comes to inappropriate drinking situations.) 

So we pulled up in my aunt's pimpin' Cadillac to pick up the owner up front (you had to be there), and we were off.  We had our margaritas & cosmos in record time, after Ash, who forgot her ID, managed to look old enough to not get ID'd. You can thank her friend and I for looking like the youngins at the end of the bar.  (Side note: Must order new ID.  I'm no longer blonde or tan like my photo shows, thereby raising many eyebrows and general skepticism.)  Racing home, I showered, attempted to make myself look hot, and before I knew it, we were at the Rose Garden setting up.

Overwhelmed by the crowd that was already forming before we had gotten there, we scrambled to hook ourselves up, plugging in, and getting mics to where they needed to be.  And with my mom sitting up front like a VIP, without me getting the chance to re-think, we started.  I'm still so beside myself at how many friends came out to support us, and surprised by some of the people who showed up.  I had an amazing front row crew consisting of all my hot, young, female friends that screamed their asses off whenever I finished singing a song.  Talk about your confidence booster!  I felt like I was on top of my game, and they went ape-shit when a costume change left me a little more gangsta for our rendition of Love the Way You Lie...  

Sound quality isn't that great, but you get the idea...HOLLA!

I think one of the biggest challenges was maintaining my composure while a bunch of drunk sketchies and rando's (on the much older side) took center stage dancing their asses off and grinding in ways reminiscent of prom or a fraternity basement mixer.  But regardless, the crowd went wild in the second half, dancing and singing to songs like "Raise Ur Glass" and "Don't Stop Believing."  And although watching my closest friends take turns getting their grind on with my mom was unbelievable, the icing on the cake was seeing my girls, aunt included, form a grinding train as Ivan and I gave the audience a "Crazy Bitch" encore.

I had men and women I had never met coming up to me, shaking my hand, saying how we all had done a great job.  One particular forty-something sketchy who had spoken to me several times that night, according to my friends, had been eyeing me all night.  He was nice enough, complementing me, asking about if our music was online, and wanted to know whether I had thought about pursuing this further, or if it was all fun.  (Fun, definitely a fun hobby to keep me sane.) Well at the end of the night, as I was packing up, drunk off of the energy of the crowd,  Sketchy McSketch came over for a final word...

SKETCH: "So, I have a tip for you!"

ME: *wondering what performance advice I'm about to be given* "Oh yeah?  What's that?"

SKETCH: "No, really, I have a TIP for you!" *looks down at his hand, holding money*

ME: "What???!"

SKETCH: "Like a $50 dollar tip!"

ME: *wondering what I've gotten myself into* "Oh!  No, no, no!  Really, I can't accept that, but thank you so much!" *continuing to try to push it back to him*

SKETCH: "No, seriously!  That's just the kind of guy I am, you deserve it!  You did amazing!!!"

ME: *reluctantly accepts* "Aw, thank you, you're so kind!  Thank you for coming, come check us out again!"

SKETCH: "Oh I will!  Thank you!  And...by the way...there's a note in there.  Take care!"

Yeah it's too good to be made up...

"YOU WERE GREAT! I believe in you.  Call John 203-xxx-xxxx to discuss how to take your talent to the next level."

So, readers, with that happy ending to a night I'll never forget, I leave you with the following...


Life Lesson:  (you guessed it...) Avoid sketchies and rando's.  But when Sketchy McSketch or one of his friends shows up in your life, remember...


Bad Decision: Accepting a $50 bill in an almost hooker-like fashion from an older stranger.
Better Bad Decision: Keeping the money, and deciding that instead of calling the number, turn to Google to search the name/number combo, which eventually brings you to finding out the man's last name, that he's from Connecticut, that he graduated Bentley in '93, what his email address is, and then--because I am a professional Facebook creeper--using the email address to find him, but not friend request him, on Facebook.


Hey, it takes a sketch to know one.


LSLP, Amanda xoxo