Mensa Night at Hooters/John Prine Concert

Last night was Mensa Night at Hooter’s featuring the lovely Tara.  More about that later.  

Afterwards was the Kris Kristofferson/ John Prine concert at the Melbourne, FL, King Center.  Now I was feeling pretty happy when I got to the King Center and they had beer abundantly available there although only a limited number of outlets.  I was completely prepared for a fun concert.  I got two seats to myself on the end of the fourth row thanks to my wife's last minute trip to Vegas with her mom. 

Some fat chick had two seats to herself next to me.  I told her my wife was in Vegas and she said her boyfriend ran off with two other women.  I know I should have been sympathetic but I asked what his phone number was.  Here’s another thing.  You go to one of these fogey concerts by yourself as a good looking fifty-ish man and you find out there are a lot of fifty-ish homosexual gentlemen in Melbourne, FL.  Then again I was standing in the smoking area before the concert and this butt ugly woman came up to me and asked me if I had a light.  I said sure.  I explained to her how my wife made me come to the concert alone because she was in Vegas with her mom and the butt ugly chick bolted. 

Well these two old fucks that I paid a combined total of $150 to see come out and start their concert.  Kristofferson is first.  He’s good, but he is 75.  So being on the end seat I can easily get out and get another beer which they freely let you bring in as long as it is in a cup.  Apparently there was an ugly incident with beer bottles at a Yanni concert last year.  Now I have a pretty good buzz going.  So I’m out at getting a beer and I see on the monitor that john prine and kris are singing a duet which means it is just about time for the intermission.  So I double up my beer order and get a wrist band so I can go out to the smoking area.  I only smoke when I’m drinking.  I’m up to about two cartons a week.  Just kidding!

So I am totally primed for Prine.  I’m sitting on the end of the fourth row, with lots of legroom.  There had been a couple in front of me.  The guy looked like a Jerry Garcia wannabe and there was his old lady in the tie dye homespun dress.  They left after Kristofferson so I’m like a little island on the fourth freaking row.  It was great.  So Prine comes out and his first song is Spanish Pipe Dream, my second favorite John Prine song.  I’m thinking this is going to be far-out (It’s a fogey concert you can say that).  Well then he starts playing some of his really depressing life sucks and there’s nothing you can do about it songs which are nice but you don’t want too many in a row when you’re sporting a smile that is not completely obtained through approved supply channels if you know what I mean.  So I’m really starting to get bummed out.  I mean I am primed for Prine!  Old School style.  Let’s party!  Each of his concerts I have previously attended he was imbibing Budweiser at an impressive rate.  I admire that.  At the end of each song the sheeple start naming songs they want him to play.  He said “I know all of those”.  I said, some people might have called it a shout, most people in fact, “Do you know any happy songs?!” because I was thinking that if he plays Sam Stone next I am going to slit my freaking throat right then and there.

So I’m chilling all alone in my little island holding my beer and in an instant the entire fucking audience is facing me like I just told Oprah she was fat and black.   This little jackass in the end seat two rows up jumped from his seat and puffed up right in front of me.  He looked like Truman Capote, had the funky little hat and everything.  I said to him, “You must be joking.” And finding the whole situation rather humorous I laughed a bit.  This thirtyish chick in front of me told me to be quiet and have some respect.  I said “I have been listening to John Prine for forty fucking years.  I have thrown away a promising life in search of a topless dancer to teach me how to live.  I have done unspeakable things to my body in search of happiness only because I know I have the key to escape reality.  I could have been a contender!”.  That’s how I remember it anyway.

Well, Mr. Prine did in fact play a few happier songs.  After one particularly vibrant song he did seem to need a breather.  And he was drinking water.  He did play Sam Stone but it was far enough from similarly depressing songs that I was able to endure.  In the end I realized that John Prine concerts were a thing of the past.  The only thing he was doing now was John Prine tributes.  Whatever.  He's still a great artist, he just needs to lighten up a bit.

The big news was at the Hooter’s Mensa meeting.  As I said, my wife is in Vegas with her mom this weekend.  Before I sat down, Tara asked if I was going to the Bikini contest.  My entire consciousness went on special alert and a stunned expression took over my face. 
“There’s going to be a Hooter’s bikini contest tomorrow.  Are you going?”, Tara says.
So I’m thinking anyone that doesn’t believe there is a God and that he loves me is totally insane.  My granddaughter is safe in her father’s hands on tomorrow night.  My daughter will be out tomorrow night.  I don’t want to know anything beyond that.  My wife and mother in law are in Vegas.  I don’t want to know anything beyond that. 

“Of course”, I said.  Do you have a ticket?  She said. 
"I need a ticket?"
She said, "Yes.  General Admission is $35 and VIP is $50."
"Holy shit!", says I.  "What’s the difference?"
She says,  "VIP is on the front row, you get ten wings and two beers included."
"It’s on the front row?"  I said. 
"Yes", she said. 
"Will you be sweating on me at that distance?", I asked.
  She said "Probably". 
I said, "I’ll be needing one of those."

So starting in about two hours.  I am a VIP at a Hooter’s Bikini contest and I can tell you this ain’t no Westminster Dog Show.  I expect I’ll be taking a cab home. 

And later, I wrote,

Tara has gone without carbs for two weeks to prepare for this.  I told her last night, “You trying to get more beautiful is like me trying to get more fat.  Sure it might be possible but what’s the point?”

You won’t be getting many stories of me going home with chicks, fat or otherwise, or dudes (geez!).  It’s like my other musical mentor Rev. Billy C. Wirtz says, “What I used to do all night long now takes me all night long to do.”  Besides I’m married and very happy with my wife and family.  Some people might think that inconsistent with my philandering but I adhere to a strict look but don’t touch policy, unless I am somewhere that the do not touch policy is temporarily lifted for a nominal fee.  In which case I do some light touching but no one touches me.  That “do not ME touch policy” seems to be pretty near universal and totally outside my sphere of influence or budget.  Beside my testicles are in the same categoy as my appendix as far as my body is conerned.  They're still there but my body forgot why a long time ago and it wouldn't really miss them if they were gone.

If there is a way to get photos or a DVD I’ll get some for you.  Actually, I feel a bit awkward ogling Tara in a bikini.  I’m so used to seeing her in the Hooter’s uniform which is actually quite a bit more conservative than most people like to believe.  They wear those really think panty hose and the tank tops do accentuate the boobs but not nearly to the extent one sees at the beach or even the mall.  Sure, the uniform flatters the female form but the sense that you are seeing a lot of skin is strictly illusory.  In a bikini contest it’s going to be real skin and lots of it.  I hope I am up to it and I hope it isn’t obvious if I am.  Actually I’d be pretty proud if it was obvious but I’ve been engaged in the Viagra four hour challenge with very limited success. 

I’m am on the FRONT ROW, though, you know!

Well, it’s time for the pre-party.  I have to go put my VIP glad rags on.  Wish you were here.  Actually in a about an hour I won’t give a shit if you were or not.