Summer 1994
The first few months back in town after the first divorce, and I am sandwiched between a singer and a surfer at the Bayshore Saloon. The singer was barefoot and broke, and the surfer was bronze and beautiful. I had huge crushes, flirting between both. We girls would fend off their constant belligerence. No fear, harmless drunken badgering, sloppy yet sweet. We would dodge them as we bar bounced, as they trailed and teased, hitting us up for rides, cocktails, or pills. I knew they did this with every girl in every bar from here to there. I have known this since the end of the 1980's. The last time I partied with the singer and the surfer.

It was at the Old Hillside on P.C.H. I was, fat, ignored, and utterly gameless. Yet I was a bride and a mother.

My Rock star husband had taken me to see his friend's band, and I was HUGE with my second pregnancy. I felt ugly, awkward. It was summer, and many were high and sandy from the beach. His friend, the Singer, was nice to me. The rest of the night, he trailed me, inquisitive, interested in our gestating marriage, teasing Rock-Star husband, offering us his drink tickets. Rock-Star husband and the Guy he smoked out with in high school laughed a lot and talked guitar shop. Guy he smoked out with in high school said goodbye because his band was going to play and Rock-Star husband bristled slightly. Guy he smoked out with in high School played his ass off, partied all night, and bagged a barefoot babe to buy his beers and drive him and his shrapnel home. Rock-Star husband also met up with many of his high school friends. We had a good time, and he enjoyed himself. They teased him for still being a longhaired Hessian despite having a Wife & kid & one on the way.

It did not really seem to have been very important then, because Rock-Star husband could not remember anyone's names. But at the end of the night, leaving us to head home rather early, Rock Star Husband dismissed it, driving away from an unending orgy of excess and excitement.

"Those guys are always gonna be getting stoned and scamming on younger chicks. We're like, what, adults now.” Rock-Star Husband bemused, his disdain forced and his dreams derailed.

They were getting too old to fuck around with the same people and underage girls. He said with a tone of contempt that they would always be resigned to play backyard parties for the price of a keg of beer. It is not as if those guys are even close to makin’ it, he bemused. At least we have a manager and a studio to practice in, Rock Star Husband thought as he stared out the window, hoping his Dad's garage and fax machine elevated his band.