Dog Day

The Rocker is an animal lover and it breaks my hardened whiskey filled heart to know that often they are treated as property, not a living being.  Yes, people come first, but owning a pet is a long term commitment.  You cannot throw them out like yesterday's trash when things get rough, or don't work out as anticipated.  Don't even get me started on people who buy bunnies and chickies on Easter only to abandon them when they are not so small and cute, or those who ran out to buy a Dalmatian or Nemo when the movies came out only to realize that maybe it wasn't the best type pet for their situation.  Then still others dive into pet ownership with no clue how to care for the animal they've chosen.  Really?  It only takes a few minutes on the internet to do some research.  

Let me back up.  Admittedly,  I was among those who impulsively made an animal purchase.  No, the hell you say!  Yes.  {bows head in shame}  Maaany years ago while shopping in the Garment District in LA, I stumbled across a vendor selling baby everythings.  Birds, hamsters, lizards, rats and turtles.  That's how I spotted Speck, my Red Eared Slider.  Just the size of a quarter then, he was absolutely the cutest thing I'd ever seen.  Didn't know a thing about turtles and feared this was highly illegal, but I wanted one.  Guess what?  I still have him.  I committed myself to caring for him no matter what, and let me tell you it's a fricking pain in the arse and very not cheap!   I even took him to the vet when he was little because he was sick, and gave him shots every day for a week.  Yeah.  I do, however, regret perpetuating the cycle of illegal animal sales by making a purchase from this man.  My only solace is that I know that Speck will be well taken care of with me, even though he might out live me.  They can live 40 years you know.

Here's my big boy, of whom I should perhaps rename Blob:

I have begun volunteering at a dog rescue and was shocked to see how many animals they have that need homes.  This is just one rescue out of hundreds.  I worked with several dogs this day but these two in particular (below) are from a litter of 4 that need socialization and a patient owner who will take the time to train them.  The female pictured below, was adopted but came back just two weeks later because she was "untrainable".  Bullsh*t.

I spent an hour with this dog and although she was a bit of a handful, she really wasn't that much of a problem.  I had only minor issues on our walk and am confident that she just needs consistency, making her a great pet in no time.  In this day of instant gratification, perhaps no one realizes the rewards of working at something for more than 5 minutes.

The boy pictured here (above) is the sweetest dog I have run across in a while.  He was a dream to walk and mostly wanted to roll around the grass and cuddle on my lap.  I had him sitting and and staying in no time.  He was very smart.  I'm in love.  I can tell he'd be a loyal, faithful and forever grateful if he was taken out of his situation.  {sigh}

Who Says There's No Free Lunch?

There is if you are resourceful.  When you are unemployed, like The Rocker, and on a budget, it can be difficult to maintain the lifestyle you once lived prior to your brokeness.   I wasn't rich, but I was certainly comfortable.   Although I have been able to adjust, giving up certain comforts, I still find it is possible to eat like a king,  avoiding Hamburger Helper and .99 cent fast food.  

I timed my Monday visit to Costco for a prescription refill and refueling to coincide with their free food sample extravaganza that previously seemed to be reserved for the weekends.   There I am scarfing up a delicious FREE LUNCH.  My menu consisted of cheese tortellini, granola bar, string cheese, waffles with strawberry jam, oatmeal cookies, Moon cake, pita chips and several samples pomegranate Hansen's soda.  Mind you, several laps are necessary to fill your gullet.  


I hovered closely to the most popular items, the shrimp scampi and salmon, waiting in vain as batches of these premium samples simmered and sizzled, along with the other circling vultures.  Unfortunately, I was trampled in a stampede several times so I gave up on those.   

On my way out, I finished my lunch with a shot of the Johnny-Come-Lately super food, Acai berry, in a health drink concoction.  It looked like someone spilled A1 Steak Sauce into a cup of diarrhea.  Mercifully, it tasted better than it looked, having a prune-like flavor.   The sample dude was quick to offer up all its health properties, of which I am already aware, though I can't see myself shooting this everyday.  I can get the berry in other tastier forms, say perhaps, in an enema?!

Sugar Coated Bastards Rock!!

You ain't got no job, you ain't got no money and it's Friday.  True.  And no gig.  Then let's go see Asian Halen in his side project, The Sugar Coated Bastards in BFE at some place called the Dawg House that is next to a Korean karaoke bar and a strip club.  OK!

I dragged The Pool and our friend Jax* out to the City of Industry to check out this (in the singer's own words) "abortion".  How right he was.  It was so bad it was freaking awesome.  I loved this train wreck.  What is better than watching 4 dudes dressed like morons, cranking out hilarious yet crappy punk rock tunes?  Not much except if drunk dude playing pool would have stopped bumping into me on purpose and trying to drool on me.  Really?  I mean, he was shorter than me and I'm short.  Jax thought that was his lame attempt to hit on me, but I just thought he was trying to cause trouble.  Well, if he kept that up, he was gonna find it.

I absolutely cannot wait to check out the next show.  I am there, so long as I don't have my own gig.

Knowing there is a karaoke bar within a 10 mile radius means that The Pool must check it out.  After the show, we made the required trip to the Korean bar where The Pool proceeded to sing an Elvis tune and I belched out Total Eclipse of the Heart, badly, while enjoying Chinese beer.

Actually, I totally dug this place.  I am often called an egg by some of my Asian friends (white on the outside, yellow inside) and they might be right.  I felt right at home here drinking Tsing Tao, watching the other Koreans smoke (yes inside!) and gamble.   We were also treated to a song by the old Korean guy in the eye patch who was cleaning up in poker.   Heck, we even made some new friends, of whom we were to go to the strip club next door with, but, the cover charge was way to high, ladies admission was not free and you weren't allowed to bring in a purse.  Uh, ok.   Do they know that they are located in Industry?  To top it off, the guys coming out of the place told us not to bother.  Ha!  So, that saved us a few bucks.

We opt to head down the street to Tacos Mexico for some carnitas and horchata.  That's the way to end an evening.  A belly full of juicy pork and spicy salsa.

Mercifully, the trip around the world I forced upon my gullet failed to result in gastrointestinal WWIII as I feared on the way home.   Everyone got along deliciously.

Killing time .... beating the heat

This week's job search has been in vain.  I have gotten some responses, although I am not particularly qualified to run Nigerian money laundering scams, even though they are kind enough to offer training.  Don't tell the EDD I turned down the "job offers" or they will stop sending checks....

Thursday was stupid hot, and The Rocker does not have AC except in the Katmobile.

What to do?  Go to the pool with The Pool to beat the heat and drink till you can't feel your flesh frying.

I crashed his place loaded up with all the necessary accoutrements:

Notice I picked up Honeymoon so as not to have to bring sliced oranges to the pool, as you would with Blue Moon.  This is a less citrus-y version that has a slight spiced flavor, though still summery and very tasty.  Ahhh!

The next day, I was to meet some girlfriends and former co-workers for lunch.  It's always great to see the Ladies Who Lunch.  After gorging on Wahoo's Fish tacos, one gal pal and I headed to the Cream Pan Japonaise Bakery in Tustin.  They offer to die for pastries and cream puffs among other delights.  Usually I pick up one of their famously amazing strawberry cream croissants, a light, creamy, flakey, not too sweet mouthful of heaven, but this day, I sprang for an Adzuki Pan for $2.  If you like to try new things, and I do, go for it.  The flakey croissant-like pastry is filled to max capacity with creamy goodness and a bottom layer of red bean.  I can think no more of this devil disguised in powdered sugar without drooling all over my keyboard causing it to short circuit.  Check it:

                         

Oh lord, why have thou made thee such a sucka' for this bakery?

In The iPod Today...

New Alice in Chains, Check My Brain.  Hell yeah!

Like they never skipped a beat, they seemed to have picked up where they left off with Staley after working through some initial not-so-good debut performances.   Although, the musician in me can't help feeling sorry for Duvall, the new singer, as he has a lot to live up to being that his only job is to be a Staley clone.   Then again, he knew what he was getting into when he signed up.   That aside, the new song rocks pretty hard.  Kudos that he plays rhythm guitar also.

I give it 4 hot groupies out of 5.

Did I ever mention I met Mike Inez (the bass player) whilst gigging in Big Bear with my former cover band?  He lives up there and cruised into a show, bought me a shot of tequila and offered to call the Wilson sisters, who he was working with at the time, because I told him they were my idols.   Jeez... what trip that night was.   He turned up for our New Year's gig one year too.  I think he left while we covered Man in the Box.  I understand he hates that.

Saturday at the Clubhouse

Last Saturday's gig was fairly uneventfully, hence my delay in a posting.   Also, the sew-delicious topic of fashion and food has preoccupied me this week seemingly.  I shall run through some highlights though.

It was my Pop's birthday last week, so I thought I'd surprise him with a triple layer chocolate cake at the gig.  I spent the afternoon in a thousand degree kitchen making my creation from scratch, and to my dismay, watching my hand decorated music notes melt in the heat, and drip down the side of the cake.  Oh well, at least it tasted good.

It was supposed to be a surprise, though my big mouthed guitar player of Rocktane, I will affectionately refer to as Asian Halen (more on this later), almost spilled the beans when he asked me in front of Pops, "Where's the cake?"

 "What are you talking about?" I retorted with daggers shooting out my eyes.

Realizing his gaff, his recovery reply was "I mean, where's Babs?"  {insert eye roll here}

Pops is getting older so he probably didn't hear any of that anyways, did you?  He seemed genuinely surprised when I brought the cake out after my first set.

One of our newest fans, the Marine, showed up for a few sets and kindly bought me a double shot of Jack, and the girls (by this I mean, Babs and my bass player's chick - hmm what a good name for you chica?) a round of drinks.  He's seems like a good guy.  It is refreshing to know that there are still some gentlemen out there who can enjoy my band without getting totally wasted and try get into my pants.  That's just annoying, because I am too old for that crap.  Oh yeah, and I am taken.  Of course, it is nice to know I can still attract the lads, but after so many gigs, I've heard every line in the book and been drooled on enough to last a few more lifetimes.  Also, I get tired of telling the boys I am taken if they are interested because they get an attitude with me as though I led them on or something.  Go figure.

The douche of the evening, (there's always one) was some guy who had put a $20 in to the tip jar so he thought he owned us.  Jumping up on the stage, he requests a total hard core riff or song, but at that point we were cut off.  It was already past last call, meaning the bar staff has got to get everyone out.  This also means we can't play anymore, but most folks think we have total control over when we stop and start.  No, there are laws, noise ordinances and you know, things you drunkards don't understand.   However, my guys are incorrigible, so they bust out a random 10 second hard core riff and against my better judgement, I play along by growling into the mic.  So of course, the douche goes for my mic too.

What is Rule #1 people?  Hands and mouths off the f*cking equipment!  In my fit of rage, I catch him by the throat and pull the mic away.  I hate that!  When I got home, I took the basket off (the cage that protects the actual mic) and disinfected it in alcohol.

Now, back to Asian Halen.  My reasoning for that name would be that he can play better than Eddie.  His hands are as fast, if not faster and he's a huge Van Halen fan.  Did I mention he's also Asian?  Philippine to be exact.  Not long after I joined up with this band, Asian Halen won a radio contest live on our LA classic rock station KLOS, where he competed with other guitarists performing Van Halen songs for a pair of VH concert tix.  He easily killed the competition, scoring the tickets.  It was awesome  listening to it at work (prior to my lay-off) with all my co-workers cheering him on.  Very cool.  So, he's our Asian Halen.  He's a hell of a chef too.  I am official taste testa'!

Sorry, no autographs, no photos, please..... NOT!

I don't know what it is like to be famous, but it must be at least ten-fold of what I go through on occasion.  Performing as many shows as I have over the years, I do get recognized from my bands, and even requests for autographs, as amazing as that sounds.  When I went to the International Street Fair with The Pool recently, I was recognized several times to his dismay, as he was not, and at my gig last weekend I was recognized from a previous band.  I appreciate the attention, but there are times when it can be annoying.  But, unlike some celebrities who seem to hate their fans, I accept the fact that I should relish what little notoriety I get, resigned to the fact that I am essentially a walking advertisement for my bands and those who help me express my creative persona, (i.e. my hair stylist)  Let me explain.

In a previous post I mentioned the hideous color of eye shadow I picked up from Sephora by Nars and that I was to return it soon.  I did so just the other day and also opted to have a free Express Service on their newest look, the Candy Eye.  While asking about the consultation, I was unexpectedly bombarded by the associates about my nails and my tattoo.   I ended up referring one gal to my tattoo artist and discussing at length about the shop, the artist and traditional style tattoos.  She mentioned that she read about the shop in the paper.  She was thrilled to see an example of the style in person.

Next, two girls wanted to know where on earth I got my nails and toes done.  I patronize a Japanese salon in Irvine, and I explained the difference between what I had done and acrylics.  The Japanese nail magazines have uber-hot concepts you need to check out, with hand painted artwork and 3D bling.  One time my own nail artist took a picture of the nails she had done for their portfolio.  She told me they love doing my nails because I always want something fun.  I had an extra card on me for the salon so I forked it over to the girls.

This happens often enough to even annoy the S.O.  When we were window shopping at the mall the other day, he was getting irked about the discussions I kept having with sales ladies about something I was wearing.

It's flattering and yeah, a bit of an ego boost, but those who know me know I not a megalomaniac.  In fact, sometimes I am embarrassed by the attention.  I can only be myself and if that means tongues will wag, so be it.   Shouldn't I be getting some sort of kick backs for all this advertising?  Don't get me started on how much business I have brought my long time hair stylist over the years.

Sephora's Candy Eye on The Rocker, applied by their artist using purple, white and aqua:

This one I did myself today using pale colors of teal, silver and yellow:

This consultation also included a free make-up brush, but I neglected to realize the coupon I received via email had expired.  They were kind enough to honor it anyways because they said I "was so lovely".  Ha!  Me lovely?  I even scored a free lip gloss in Nectar.  Ok, see, this is why I love Sephora.

Anyway, in conclusion, being recognized rocks.

Vanilla Lemon Drop

Right now I am enjoying a Vanilla Lemon Drop.  Yes, Lemon Drops are girlie drinks, of which I usually do not enjoy because girlie drinks are too sweet.  The Rocker usually prefers straight Jack Daniels, however this is one of my own creations and it rocks.

Mixing cocktails in my bar is a fun pass time for me, and what self respecting rocker wouldn't love playing bartender, particularly when it brings so much joy to friends and family?  I have a ton of my own concoctions, some of which may have already been invented at some bar, somewhere, but I am not aware such, which is why I have created them.  I don't think of myself as a sophisticated mixologist, though at a gig in LA not long ago, at the open bar (part of a perk of playing the party) I was asked if I was a mixologist because I ordered a vanilla vodka and pomegranate.  People this is LA!  Yes, I threw it together at home one night and thought it tasted great, but surely someone has ordered something more exotic prior where this guy has served?  Maybe not... Really, my libations are simple ideas derived from standards that I have put my spin on.

The recipe for the Vanilla Lemon Drop is such:

• Vodka (use a good quality vodka, Stoli is the Rocker's fav.  Don't even start with me about Grey Goose, yes Kettle One is fine)
• Fresh squeezed lemon juice (no lemon juice in the bottle, or the one in the shape of a lemon-FRESH)
• Vanilla simple syrup (I make my own simple syrups because it saves money and it's easy)
• Optional: Rim the Martini glass with sugar or vanilla sugar if you like your drinks sweeter, add a lemon zest curl or mint leaf for aesthetics

You will have to adjust the proportions to fit your taste buds, I'm not good at measuring so I tend to eye ball everything.  Also, a good quality vanilla vodka and plain simple syrup can be substituted, however vice-versa tastes better I have found.

In The iPod Today...

The Urban Cowboy Sound track.  Yeah, that's right.  Got a problem with The Rocker listening to country?  Well, what are you gonna do about it?  Before you can blink I'll have you hog tied and whistling Dixie.

I highly recommend picking this up on iTunes. The movie was cool (yes, I saw it in the theaters when it came out, gasp!), and how could it not be when it stars John Travolta in his hay-day.  Get it?  Hay- day.  Oh, never mind.  The quality of the song writing by the various artists is just plain good on this LP (LP as in "long play" record for you young-ins, also known as a 33 for us crustaceans).  Bottom line is if the song is good, it doesn't matter if it's hardcore, pop, metal, classical or disco.  I love a variety of music, it just happens that rock is my thing.  I never worry what anyone thinks of me if I am listening to something odd, or not hip, mostly because if you make fun of me, I might penetrate your temple with my switchblade stilettos.

It would do everyone some good to step outside their box to check out something new, (or old) particularly these days as we are all so plugged in and connected, but yet, oddly disconnected from things right on front of us.   I write this as I am glued to the computer screen.... oh, irony.

Pretty in ..WTF is that?!

I suspect I have sat zombie-eyed in front of the tube too many times during the 80's coming-of-age movie Pretty in Pink, for now, I seem to believe that I can make my own clothes as Molly Ringwald's character did.  I also suspect that the clothing I am modifying to suit my whims are just as hideously unflattering as the prom dress she made from several Pepto Bismol pink dresses.  But, you see, The Rocker does not care.

Lately, when no cash is available (all the time as of this posting) and I find myself in need of a new outfit, I resort to modifying my existing shirts.  Outfits must be rotated and updated frequently.  It is simply unacceptable to wear the same outfits too often if you want to maintain a relevant presence and current look.  I am not Jim Morrison: I will not be wearing the same leathers over and over to every performance.  Besides, I don't want to stink as he did either.  That's out.

The sad thing, besides the damage I do to the my unsuspecting frocks, is that I really need a sewing machine.  No, I don't know how to use one, but I am sure it would assist in making my creations, well, less ugly.  I have many ideas, but I am too lazy to sew by hand.  I have a pair of denim that I am dying to bring up to date by adding a modern twist, but alas, by the time I finished by hand, they would be out of style again.

I shall put a sewing machine on my wish list, as I am resisting the temptation to run my credit cards up any further.

Although, I do have a $30 credit at the Guess store, which might buy me half an outfit....hmm...?  Did I mention I was on the Guess List.  Yes, The Rocker loves the Guess store too.

Shoe Whoring

A former band member of mine,  I will affectionately call Pee-Face, one night at a gig labeled me a Shoe Whore.  When I asked Lucy to 'splain he replied that The Rocker has a crap ton of shoes and he'd noticed  most of them were spiked and/or platform.   Ok, true.  But I have flats too!  You can't wear those to gigs, I mean really?


I happy accept the title, which brings me to the newest pair of shoes I scored at the Frederick's of Hollywood website.  Pink, studded spikes that I knew, if I waited long enough, would go on sale.  I scooped them up for $20.

I am broke, but I would sacrifice almost anything to purchase a pair of shoes I loved.  I can always find the cash in my budget SOMEWHERE.   I will be breaking them in at my gig on Saturday.

Red Lobster Sucks (except for the biscuits)

At the risk of upsetting my only official follower of my new blog, Mr. USC96, who might I add, has his own deliciously funny blog about food, "Dude, Where's My Lunch",  I will continue to add food rants. 


The S.O.'s continuing pleas to visit a Red Lobster for the All-You-Can-Eat-Shrimp promotion finally wore me down, and I reluctantly pulled into the parking lot of the nearest location over the weekend.   Never before have I ever eaten at this chain, nor have I ever wanted to do so.   But I love my sweetie and I am willing to try anything once, particularly since he assured me the biscuits that come with the meal were fantastic.  This was an unfair tactic, considering he knows just how much I freaking love biscuits.  Bastard!


Generally speaking, I do not like chain restaurants for several reasons.  I find the food boring, too salty, too calorie ladened, and mostly, the necessity of producing it on such a massive scale makes the quality suffer.   A few exceptions to my rule are as follows: Wahoo's Fish Tacos, El Torito (yeah, that's right), Del Taco, In N Out Burger, Joe's Crab Shack, Lee's Sandwiches, Carl's Jr., Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf and Pinkberry.   There are always exceptions when traveling and you just need to eat: Denny's, IHOP, whatever is by the freeway.  I have utilized many fast food joints while traveling to gigs over the years out of necessity.  Maybe I sound like a food snob?  I'm not really, I just want to experience the best quality and variety of food available.   Food is really much more than just sustenance.  I will let you ponder that.


As we waited for a table, I peered out the window, across the street,  longing staring at Lee's Sandwiches, wondering if once seated, I could excuse myself to the restroom, and secretly run across the street for a bite and a crack coffee (my nick name for the creamy french coffee they serve).   Once seated,  I ordered a glass of Sangia that turned out to be descent and for dinner, the lobster and shrimp pasta.  The S.O. had the All-You-Can-Eat-Shrimp in cajun and scampi and a beer.  Long story short, the S.O.'s shrimp were minisquel sized, and my pasta was waaaay too salty.  After the first bite, my mouth puckered to a small pin-sized opening.  The only savior of the meal was the light fluffly biscuits.   Oh, those biscuits were delicious, just as The S.O. had remembered when he used to go there as a kid.  He was sure right about them being great.  Moist on the inside, a pale yellow hue with butter, cheesy strands of goodness inside.  Ok, I admit I will willingly go back and try a different dish there if I can get my hands on some more biscuits. 

The most notable memory, besides the biscuits, is of the younger set crowd in their Sunday Best gansta' apparel that think they are experiencing fine dining.   It was rather amusing watching them play with the crab legs and lobster tails while a tattooed fellow with a full sleeve sipped on a fruity girly drink concoction.  Well, you have to start somewhere I guess.  I used to think Taco Bell was real Mexican food too when I was younger. 

The Drunken Sailors

Saturday's gig at a venue in Orange near the Honda Center greeted me with drunken sailors.  What, you expected sober sailors?!


As I drug my keyboard into the bar, wearing my clear plastic platform shoes, I noticed some younger fellows huddled around my Pops at the end of the bar.  Yes, as I mentioned, Pops comes to most of my shows.  Turns out, they are in the Navy on leave, and Pops was in the Navy, instant bond, so they were having a good 'ol time together before I got there.


I keep tabs on Pops as I load in and set up to make sure he stays out of trouble.


Just as I am about done and ready to freshen up before we start our set, one of them, I'll call the Bulldog, comes up, starts talking at me about wanting to hear me sing, how he stayed cause my Pops told him all about the band, this, that, and other drooling ramblings.  I am trying to be as gracious as I can but he is rather obnoxious, even though I can tell he doesn't intend to be as it is just his nature, and somehow in all of this, I spill the beans that it is Pop's birthday this week.


Opps, it's full speed ahead upon receiving that transmission.  He wants to tell Pops happy birthday into my microphone, makes a grab for my silver Sennheisser,  and when I won't let him slobber all over it, he turns into a sour puss saying that I am mean.  Oh, but he likes it, says he thinks he's in love.  Ugh.  I politely indicate that his ship is not welcome in my port.


Rule number one: The equipment are not toys.  It is expensive, does not belong to you, so you do not touch it.  My microphones are not cheap karaoke mics from some dive bar, or the Guitar Center $49 no-name special of the week that you can play with, spill your beer on, drop and spit into.  Keep your grubby hands off our stuff.


What? Harsh?  Maybe, but after as many incidents as I've had, you'd feel the same way.  I don't come up to you and grab your purse, wallet, beer or whatever from you, so don't grab my property away from me.  Fair?


Eventually he goes outside where he unknowingly spills his guts to my drummer's wife about the mean singer inside, but he thinks he's in love with her because she's a straight shooter.  {Insert eye roll here}.  BABs (Bitch Ass Bitch, as I affectionally refer to her) thinks this is hilarious.


Additional riff-raff ensues periodically with the Bulldog buying my Pops beers and rousing choruses of Happy Birthday! shouted throughout the bar all night.  All in all, I'd say was smooth sailing.  The crowd was fun loving and as a band we sounded good.  I was also relieved I did not have to shove my stiletto up the Bulldog's rear because experience told me to expect he was going to get much worse as the night wore on.  Happily, he and his friends turned out to be OK fellows, they'd just had too much to drink, and ultimately, the Bulldog's friends forced him out of the bar into a cab.


In summary, I concluded long ago that there is no such thing as a sober sailor (and I the daughter of a sailor tells you much about me).   This evening was an yet another affirmative.  Hey, you'd drink if you were in the service too, I assure you.  The only sailor I have run across in my years that does not care for much booze is my G-Pa, but that's because he is 85, as of this posting.  But don't think he hasn't told me a story or two from WWII.

The Dubliner Gig

Ah, the Dub.   I am fortunate to have a regular gig with my cover band at this Tustin venue.  Great staff, good food, roomy stage area protected by a railing which safeguards us from falling drunks and/or rowdy fans, which doesn't happen very often here, and the location is close to my house.  But it's not all fun and glamour.

Load in is challenging to say the least.  By the time we have our equipment in the bar, we are drenched with sweat, some of us possibly even smelling bad.  Then, we have to set up the equipment.  Seriously, after all these years you'd think I'd have some roadies...

I don't particularly enjoy carrying equipment in my stilettos with a face full of make up as on lookers pester me about start time, what type of music we play, if I am the singer, who in the band am I with (really?) and other annoying questions that usually I am not ready to answer because HELLO PEOPLE,  The Rocker has only so many brain cells functioning and right now, they are working overtime focusing on setting up the equipment correctly.

It's not that I don't enjoy talking to the crowd, of course I do, but there is a time and place.  Unfortunately, since I am not a famous rocker, I don't get to hide back stage while a crew sets up, demanding only green M & M's, Evian and fruit be placed before me.  Fellow musicians understand where I am coming from, don't you?

Over all, the show went well, despite the snotty 20 something crowd that patronizes that venue with their to cool to be seen, don't dare crack a smile or clap attitude.  It's annoying but also amusing.  They are sure missing out on life acting that way.  I do get girls hitting me up in the bathroom telling me they love the band, which is nice.  And, we usually get many requests for business cards, but you really wouldn't know they enjoyed us otherwise.  They are too cool to hoot and holler, even though I do see them moving ever so slightly back and forth to the beat of the songs.  Be careful, you don't want anyone to see you having a good time...ah, kids.

I was very excited to see a former co-worker of mine on this night, The Accountant, his lovely wife and beautiful adult children.  They were having a great time and The Accountant was in rare form, swigging shots of Patron.  That was a side I never had the opportunity to see when were were working together.  They were kind enough to send a few shots of Jack Daniels my way also.  They are good peeps in my book.

By the end of the night, I was starved so I asked if there was anything left in the kitchen, and wahlah! Chicken finger and fries, YUM.  That's gonna' cost me some extra time on the stair master.  Oh who am I kidding, I'm allergic to exercise.

Great, now it's time to pack up to do it all over again the next night.

Make Up Whore Rides Again

Do they have MWA (Make-Up Whores Anon)?

Though I have no cash until my unemployment check gets here, I do have credit cards!  I couldn't control myself when the S.O.  and I walked by Sephora in South Coast Plaza.  I didn't even have to say anything, just look at him, and he knew.  So I merrily trotted into the store to pick up a few things that are necessary of course, because I had gigs over the weekend.

They practically know me by name, as I have previously spent my weight in gold here (and I am not as thin as I used to be), primarily when I was employed, but these days my trips are fewer and far between, which is excruciating between fixes particularly now that I have been bumped up from a VIP to a VIB (Very Important Beauty).


Now, let's discuss the piece of crap eyeshadow I bought by Nars called Mekong, worn to my Saturday gig.  Very disappointed in their eyeshadow, as every time I buy a new color, it looks like crap on my eyes.  The colors shimmer and look great on my hand, but when applied to the eyes, there is no sparkle.  WTF?  I am a cosmetics guru and Itellyouwhut,  who the frig' uses this vile powder masquerading as make up?  Who test markets these colors and says, "Oh yea, they are great"?!   Further, I couldn't smudge the color to make it look more natural, it was awful, and too late to apply a new color as I was readying for my gig.

Needless to say, I looked like a raccoon.  I made it work though.  At least I though I did until some guy came up to me and said, "Your eye make up is freaking me out and scary, but I like it."  Great.

I do have to say I absolutely love Nars' blush in Orgasm.  The two colors are lovely, but other than that, I simply hate their products.  Yes, Mekong will be returned shortly.

The other products I picked up were fine.  More eye lid primer, to keep my make up in place on stage,  blue eyeliner by Urban Decay and a purple lip gloss by Sephora from their new FAME the movie line and more fake lashes by Make Up Forever.  They have a fantastic selection of quality lashes.  Must haves!

I also scored a freebie night moisturizer because my Beauty bank hit 100.  Woo hoo!

Kanye the Douche

I would be remiss if I did not start blogging about music, since it is my life.  So let's start with the the Double Douche, Kanye West.

At the risk of further publicity (bad publicity is good publicity, just ask Kathy Griffin) I will rant about his juvenile behavior at the VMAs in an open letter.

Dear Colostomy Bag West:

Really, Douche Bag (Squared)?  What's the matter, record sales sagging?  Don't have enough talent to keep anyone's attention with your music?  Why not kill two birds with one stone by solidifying your rep as a Douche and continue to perpetuate the stereotypical rapper's image as moronic attention whores by making an ass of yo'seff (again) so we can all Twitter all about your antics the next day?  Why don't you pick on someone your own size?  I doubt you would have done the same thing to Jay Z, Snoop, Ice-T, 50 Cent or to someone that would shank, shoot, or squash you like the diseased filth you are.

I have always dreamed of receiving a VMA and if you would have done that to The Rocker, I would not have behaved as graciously as Ms. Swift.  There would be no hesitation as I yanked the mic out of your grimy hands, bitch-slapped you with it, then mercilessly shoved it, along with my fist, elbow deep, up your man-gina while you quivered, crying out for your body guards (but see, they are busy laughing at your beat down by a chick), showing the world what a cowardly, worthless pile of vomit you really are.  And, I'd have gladly spent the night in jail for it.   Then perhaps *my* records sales would flourish.  You are undeserving of your accolades and all the cash you are rolling in.

Do us all a favor: hurry up and OD like DJ AM (another undeserving douche that collected ungodly amounts of money for pushing a few buttons) or better yet, go back in time and trade places with Randy Rhoads, Buddy Holly, or Jam Master J so we can have one of them back and be rid of you.  Hell, I'd even take Tupac back.

Very Truly,

The Real OC Rocker

Make Up Whore

There I said it.  Yes, I am a make up whore.

Now, I am not your typical female, in the way that I am not terribly girly, whiny, not a picky eater, does not feel her biological clock ticking (in fact, I think its broken or needs new batteries), not desperate to marry, does not like drama, does not speak cryptically and make others guess what I mean, I like beer, cigars, hot rods, belt buckles, hard rock, being in bands with sweaty men, strip clubs, and other activities typically enjoyed predominantly by men.

Before my female friends send me hate mail, I would like to point out that I do no feel MY g-friends behave this way for the most part, otherwise I would not be able to stand them.  This is just behavior I have observed by females in public and through friends of friends, subsequently has led me to vow to never to be like.  Also, yes, most of my friends are male.  Moving on....

Now, I *do* love clothes, shoes and make up!!  My latest thrill was on my way to rehearsal last night in Gardena.  The neighborhood is heavily influenced by the Asian community, packed with many Japanese and Korean stores and restaurants.  One of my favorite stops in the area is Marukai, a Japanese market, mostly full of food but also offers Japanese cookware, dishes, electronics, clothes, make up, etc.

I love Asian culture by the way as well, so I have a membership to this store.  I needed a new pair of false lashes desperately for my shows this weekend, as all mine have been worn to death and I am unable to peel the glue off anymore, or the glue has ripped away clumps of lashes making them useless.  Argh!  I stopped into the market and scored the cutest pair of eyelashes for $3.98 that you would have easily paid $14 for at Sephora.  Woo hoo!

It's the little things that make me happy.

Dirt in my cracks

I am not feeling much like a Rocker today.  What does not rock about today is cleaning the house.  Since my unemployment began, it has been quite clean, (which also doesn't rock - the unemployment part, that is) unless we have company or band mates over, and then, it becomes quite messy to say the very least.  Today, my hand is cramping, not because I am playing guitar, writing music or typing, but because I spent an hour cleaning Cheetos, beef jerky, dirt, grime and other unidentifiable objects out of the cracks of our leather couches.  I hate it when my cracks are dirty.

What makes that task slightly more bearable is the vanilla vodka and Coke (my version of a vanilla coke) that I am swilling whilst cleaning.  However, there is a sense that I'm creating more work for myself due to the occasional spillage of my ice cold beverage, thus defeating the purpose of cleaning the house at all and I begin to talk myself into stopping.  Ultimately, I decide that finishing what I started, even though it is as hot as the surface of the sun in my house, it is much better than leaving a half @$$ job because if I finish, I can reward myself with another beverage.  Yes, that is a much better idea so, grudgingly I complete my task.  

Another beverage does rock.

Bad Kitty!

I tell you, I have no idea what is going through our cat's head lately.  Has she finally had enough of my antics and wants out?  Ungrateful feline o' mine!  Foxy is very well trained.  She doesn't claw our leather couches, has never gone potty anywhere other that her poopy box and is generally a really well behaved cat.  That is until The Pool comes over because she hates him.  Oh, and my friend who has a Dalmatian.  Foxy hates her too.

The past two evenings, she has darted out the front door.   She has never been outside.  We keep her indoors to protect her from the wild animal kingdom that is our backyard.  Serious, we have raccoons, possums bigger that dogs, squirrels, lizards, wasps, other vicious cats, like my Swedish neighbor's cat Merley (he even calls her Devil cat), and now as of lately, more neighbors with dogs.  Let's not forget mean humans, cars, fleas, lice, ticks and other things cats can pick up outside.

We have had her since she was a kitten (we recused her) and I cannot figure why she wants to dart outside.  Maybe she's had too much kitty pot lately.

Bad Kitty!  I will figure this out yet.

Viper Room, Hollywood

Honestly, I have no clue where to begin on this one, except... at the beginning.  

This was Mouthful's second gig at the Viper room.  We enjoy performing there because, for one thing, they are professional and treat us with respect.  And B, the sound is good.

This night found us with a great crowd that really enjoyed us.  (Phew!) After our 35 minute set, we stuck around for the band after us and WOW, their guitar player had the freakin' fastest hands I'd seen in a looong while.  That guy could play.  Too bad it was really nothing new and after a while it was overkill.  He was kind enough to approach us after to complement my vocals and our set.  Over all, they were tight and a very good band.

We decided not to stick around for the next band, but to head off to the Rainbow Room.  Since it was a Sunday, it wasn't very crowded, thankfully, as I was hot, sweaty and not in the mood to rumble with drunk wannabe rockstars, such as myself, nor washed up rockers or other posers and hanger-oners.

Did I mention that the bartendress inside working the downstairs bar was a total C-word? Jeez.  Looked like an ugly Elvira, only 100 years older.   Hey, I don't care if you have been working there 25 years, this is still a service industry position and you'll get no tip from me, witch.  So, after each beer was guzzled, I hauled myself to the upstairs bar and ordered from the blonde beauty, who was attentive and kind, and I proceeded to give her all my money.

Our drummer had brought his Mom with us.  She was from out of town and a total riot.  It explains a lot about him.  Unbeknownst to me, she was downstairs chatting up B-Real (of Cypress Hill).  We smelled a blunt cruising into the place, should have guessed it was him.  So she was hitting him up for one.  Go mom!!  We wanted to get a picture, but alas we forgot.  But we did get a pic of this guy... 

If you don't know who he is, I ain't gonna tell you.  This is a PG blog.  Well, bordering on R.  This was a great precursor for the Hustler store.  We couldn't get our drummer's wife to go in earlier, but after 5 or so cocktails, she was the first one in the store.  We piled in, moseyed around and ultimately bailed because we were tired, too cheap and broke to buy any of that over priced crap.  Ok, I confess,  I already own most of the stuff in that store anyway.

The Saturday gig

I'm pretty tired from my show last night in Fullerton.  Even though we kept it mellow, I may have been tired still from the previous night's Street Fair madness.  Good times though.  I always enjoy meeting other bands and now we have a new group that we can set shows up with.  Cool guys.

We were up first last night, but got a last start waiting for the sound guy.  After that was set, we ROCKED it!  You see, that is what I do.  The tattoo on my back says so, so now I have to or I'm a poser.

Seriously, the sound system at this venue is pretty good, the staff is cool and it is a large place.  Load in is also easy.  That's a bonus.  We don't like to carry equipment from BFE into a venue.  Then you tend to be all sweaty before you even start.  Eww.  As a chick, I really don't like being sweaty, but alas it comes with the territory.

I have to comment on the band that performed after us.  First off, they all looked like they were in different bands.  One guy's dressed like a pirate, one guy looks like a taxi cab driver from Brooklyn, one guy is a greaser with a pomp and the drummer looked like the chick from Tank Girl.  Secondly, they sounded like The Stray Cats met Social Distortion.  Now, the guitar player had a very nice Gretch and he was extremely competent.  I hope he finds a new project.  The singer was a moron and acted as though it was his first gig ever, yelling at the guitar player to "PLAY!!" when he broke a string, and then threatening to beat him up after the show.  I guess he was trying to be funny?  Oh, and he told bad jokes in between songs.  Really?

Well, its all in a day's work.  Tonight, we play the Viper Room, then later we'll be off to the Rainbow Room to party like it's 1989, when the Sunset strip was still THE place to play.  It's making a comeback though.

Rock on.

Lunch @ The Rooster Cafe

Read good things about the Rooster Cafe in Costa Mesa but had not had the opportunity to check it out.  First thing yesterday morning, the S.O. suggests we try it.  I'm game.  It's a cute little place with a nice menu.  I order the Randolph, which consists of turkey, bacon, avocado, lettuce, tomato on Ciabatta bread.  The excellent thing about it was they didn't drown it in mayo.  Very nice.

The S.O. gets a breakfast burrito that makes me jealous.  This good sized burrito looks great, bursting fluffy eggs and paired with fresh pico de gallo.  Next time, that is what I will get, or maybe the Huevos Rancheros.

We will definitely be back.

Street Fair Debauchery

Yellow is not my color.  The only yellow that I look good in is the S.O.'s giant yellow Chevy, and that is even questionable.  Besides debauchery, which we will get into momentarily, I am left with a memory  of the beautiful girl I met at the fair wearing yellow, with lovely long blonde locks.  She was a sweetie and it was refreshing to hang out with her for a while.

Overall, the Street Fair was a blast.  The Pool and I started the day with beer, I, Blue Moon (with no orange slice, the nerve!) and he, well, I have no idea, I think PBR.  Venturing out of the dive we met up at, the heat of the day required us to purchase more beer.  Next up: German.  I, Octoberfest and The Pool a Hef, his favorite.

Onward, we explored All American/Mexican Street.  Ceviche was calling to me and it was pretty decent, but needed more lime juice and larger shrimp.  Eh, what do I expect for $5?  The Pool had a street taco.

I ran into my choir teacher from high school, as usual here.  He was working a booth for my alma matter.    It was good to see him.  I can't believe his kids are starting college.  I momentarily feel sorry for myself and wonder where my youth went.  *Sigh*  Then I forgot that I never grew up, hence the reason I never married and am childless, right?

Moving forward, Irish/Japanese/Italian Street, where we sampled a sausage and peppers sandwich (YUM) and later in the day, beef teriyaki stick.  Now, the quality of the beef was disappointing, it was tough, though the sauce was tasty.  Still very hot out, more beer is required.  This is where things start to get blurry.  We stopped into another bar, I had a Bass Ale, and who the heck knows what The Pool had.  Oh, there may have been some shots of something in there as well, most likely Jack.  Then, it was time for baklava, which of course was fabulous as usual on Greek/English Street.  Pistachio is my favorite but some people like walnut too, ho-hum.

As this is a PG blog I cannot divulge much more, but I can say there was an attractive girl I convinced to show the fruits of her labor to us.  This is the same girl that accidentally burned my eyeball with her cigarette (ouch!)  Then there was an older lady that I was dared to poke in the rear, the girl in yellow,  I lost my sunglasses and irritatingly this will be the third pair I'll have to buy, more beer, cigar (yes, The Rocker enjoys an occasional good one), met some guy who said he was a doctor and wanted to examine my eye (sure), and toward the end of it all, The Pool was tired and wanted to go but I didn't, so apparently I started yelling at him in the middle of the street.

What a pill I can be!

Well, until next year, I bid the fair ado.

The Rocker loves Fridays

Even though I woke up to the sounds of The Rocker's kitty, Foxy, retching and puking in front of the bed, it will be a good day methinks.

Fridays are bad@$$ usually because I have a gig, and when I was working a day job, well TGIF is all I can say.  Not so today, but I have gig tomorrow night and Sunday (woo hoo Viper Room!).

I am ready for the weekend.  I got my hair done and am feeling good.  This stretch was a long one and my gray's were showing.  Yes, The Rocker is getting older.... But, all is well again now that I had the blonde touched up and put purple somewhere in the back of my head.  Love it.  I usually let my stylist do whatever he wants to my hair.  It's fun.  Some of my girlfriends think I am nuts.  What is it with woman and their hair?  You know, it grows back.

Afterward, my stylist and I went directly to the nearest bar, Claim Jumper (sigh), and had a pitcher of Sangria.  So-so sangria might I add.  Mostly juice and grapes.  I make much better sangria myself, but whatever, it had alcohol in it somewhere.  We were mostly there to chit chat anyway.

Over all, yesterday was a good day, except for not waking up in time to take my car in to the dealership.  Opps.  But at least I got some time in at the pool.  I have been affectionately referring to my Mouthful bass player as "The Pool" lately.  The Pool is not as pleased with that nickname as I, but hey, he IS the pool!

When I say to my S.O. "I am going to the pool," he knows where and with who I will be.

So, The Pool and I will most likely be hanging out at the Street Fair in Orange today.  I didn't get a chance to go last year, and growing up in Orange, I always looked forward to it.  Although I now live elsewhere,  I try my best to go every year.  The S.O. will be at work unfortunately so that leaves just The Pool and I, and whoever else that is not at work to check it out.  Mind you The Pool works, he just makes his own hours.

So, on the menu are my usuals: corn on the cob, baklava, bratwurst and imported beer.

If you see us, no autographs please, but we will condone pictures of us in questionable circumstances that you can sell to the tabloids.  Hey, we are rockers, you best not photograph us kissing babies and ruin our reps.

TTFN

The Kidnapping after the Show

First off, my freaking elbow hurts.  That's what I get I suppose for deciding to hitch a ride home with my MOUTHFUL bass player instead of my trusty guitar player.  Somehow, I fell out of the Jeep onto the concrete in back of some dive bar after our show last night.  I only had one double shot of Jack D up to that point making me totally sober, as far as you know.  Really, I just wanted to go home, but Bass player mohawk boy kidnapped me and forced me to go to this dive with half naked chick bartenders.  Ok, not so terrible, but, I *was* tired.  I proceeded to watch his buddy, who happens to be a bass player as well, evidenced by his bass clef tattoo (lame! opps *my* bass player has one too...) play pool with his chonies hanging out all night.  Ack!  Anyway, so giant bruise on left elbow hurts.

I digress, as usual.

MOUTHFUL kicked some serious @$$ last night at the Semi Final round of Battle of the Bands at this bar called Bigs in Fullerton.  Once again, I was bathing in my own sweat (this musician biz is not as glamourous as often portrayed unless you are famous) rocking it in fabulous designer shoes, that I scored for $12 by the way.  I have a shoe problem, but we will get into that later.  The owner/manger dude is pretty cool so even though there wasn't a load of peeps in the house, it was still a fun show with him and his rocking staff.  The other bands were very nice to us as well, doing some hooting and hollering on our behalf.  Oh, we even got drink tickets this time, woo hoo!

Seemingly, we won, however, officially, we won't know until sometime today if we go to the finals.  I sure hope we did, because my drummer snuck out of work to play the show and then snuck back.  In doing so, he had to play the show sober (gasp!)  Now that's rock star.  Gotta' do whatcha gotta do to support your music habit, you know.

I tell you what, they have these things called Vegas shots there and they are goooooood.  Oh yeah, I had one of those too before I fell.  Hmm, perhaps a contributing factor? Naw.

I was supposed to get up at 7 am and take my leaky car to the dealer however, for some reason, I didn't hear my alarm this morning.   Thankfully, the roofers were here for the millionth time to wake me up, pounding nails into the ceiling, leading me to believe initially it was my head doing the pounding.  Mercifully, I don't get hangovers anymore, I am too experienced.  The trick is to keep majorly hydrated.  Wahhlah, no hang over.

So, what to do now?  F-it!  Reschedule the appointment, make coffee drinks with Dunkin Donuts coffee (the best coffee ever!), splash of milk (lowfat of course, I try to eat/drink right) and homemade Kahlua.  Thanks Rocktane drummer's Mum for the Kahlua recipe! Kisses!

Maybe I will pee in my bass player's pool today, then much later, I am finally off to get my hair cut by my FABULOUS stylist of maaaaaanny years.  I have been too poor as of late to get a cut/color, but I saved up enough unemployment dough to get me a trim.

Life is good.

Lunch @ Eat Chow

Read about "Eat Chow" in Costa Mesa.  Met an old co-worker for lunch there.  Good food, but my Mac n Cheese left something to be desired.  It needed a panko crust, or some black pepper, or something...can't quite put my finger on the missing flavor. 


I really enjoyed the fried green tomatoes.  Very nice.  Next time however, I will order what my friend had, the beef dip.  Looked fabulous. Not sure if he liked it though, he licked the plate clean.   

Melting in Indio

This is a great week to start my new blog.  I had great shows over the weekend and 3 more this week, including one toni.....  uhhh, uhhh ohhhhh!!!!  Opps, sorry.  My neighbors across the way from a different complex are having, uh, playtime (AGAIN!) with the windows wide open (as usual) and all I hear is the female, uh, er, singing, so it is difficult to concentrate.  Yes, I have tried closing my own windows but it pierces right through.  Might I also add it is very hot this summer and none of the town homes have air conditioning? They seem blissfully unaware they even have neighbors and are deaf to those of us who yell at them to shut up.   This goes on for hours.  While I admire the endurance, COME ON ALREADY!!  Sheesh. But, I digress.


Anyway, have you ever had your lunch race through your colon at sonic speed and attempt to exit your body like lightning?  If so, you know what it felt like to make your way to the stage to perform in front of 3,000 people last Saturday night.


My cover band was scheduled to perform opposite a Michael Jackson tribute act at one of our regular gigs in Indio.  The stage is outdoor and this particular day was approximately 117 degrees, hotter than usual.  It cooled a little by dark, however still waaayy too hot.  The many people jammed 5 deep in front of the stage at the Rock Yard made the temp rise even more; all waiting for some form of entertainment to take their mind of the stifling heat.


During our sound check, people were piling in and I started to get the feeling it would be a big night.  Of course, I had no idea how big.  By the time I went upstair to dress for the show and come back down, a time span of about hour and a half, the crowd had multiplied ten fold.  It took me seemingly forever to swim through the bodies to get to the stage.  That's when the Italian Sub I had earlier came knocking at my back door.


Thankfully, I held it together by demanding that my guitar player get the flask of Jack Daniels out of my gig bag for me so I could down a few shots to calm my nerves.  Yeah I've performed in front of thousands of people over my 10+ years, but not at the same time!


After the first set ended, every stitch of make-up had run down my face leading my drummer to call me Alice Cooper.  That's quite a feat considering the type of cosmetics I use are water resistant and run proof.  Ah, so this is what is feels like to shower in your own sweat.  Yuck.  Needless to say, during my break, I ran up to my room, took the ruins of what was my face spackle off and reapplied a new coat of paint before the second set.  Hopefully, the Press at the foot of the stage didn't get too many shots of me sans face paint.... 

All in all, the show was a smash, we killed it, even with a few of my flubs - hey, it was too hot to concentrate!  The crowd was fantastic given the miserable heat and we all had a great time.  I am glad my Dad could be there to see it too.  Yes, Pops comes to all my shows if he can.  He's my biggest fan. 

Welcome

Hi. Thanks for stopping in to check out my new blog.  At the urging of some friends, I have decided to finally launch this blog for your entertainment.  I have been compiling tales from my gigs up to this point, potentially for a book deal (are you listening agents?) however from this date forward, I will share my current adventures with you in brevity.


Some of the names have been changed to protect the naughty!


Enjoy.