The Tug

I got a call from FONTAINE (the touring soundguy with whom I shared a moment in a mic closet during my trip to SXSW). The band he works for was coming through town and he hoped I'd come to the show. I said I'd go.

After hanging up, I immediately pictured BOOM BOOM in a leather vest & gold pants.

It's a rare event that I have reservations about juggling suitors, particularly in the case of the out-of-town-visitor-hookup. But something was tugging at my gut in the cab on the way to see FONTAINE.

I arrived at the show, and popped over to the soundboard for a hug. It was one of those Holy Shit, I Forgot How Hot You Are moments. He had a beard again, with moonbeams coming out of his eyes that whispered, "have sex with meeee...."

After the band's set, we sat backstage and talked over pizza & beer. Eventually I told him I was ready to go home, and he leaned over and kissed my cheek very slowly. It felt good, and he smelled like a campfire, but my gut started tugging again. "I can't," I told him. "I like somebody." He said he understood, and we said goodbye, lying about how we'd stay in touch.

Going Steady

LOLITA continues to text me abbreviated versions of her feelings. This does not bother BOOM BOOM, with whom I am going steady.

That's right, I said it. We have yet to go on a date, but the other night when I stopped by his place around 1am for a typical bootycall, he sat me down on the broken-bench-seat-from-a-van he calls a couch and we had this conversation:

HIM: I like you.
ME: I like you too.
HIM: And I'm not running around with other girls....on purpose.
ME: Okay.
HIM: I don't want to fuck anybody else.
ME: Cool.

He was wearing a Chicago Bulls windbreaker circa 1993. Nothing says romance like the Three-peat.