Em and I went to the Dierks Bentley concert at the Tin Roof last night. No, I didn’t make-out with anyone. On the ride over, Em shook her head at me. “You should’ve worn jeans and a t-shirt like I told you,” she said. As I walked out of Wal-Mart earlier that day, I’d decided to stop by the nail polishes and look for some new colors. I had an old bottle of burgundy Revlon polish I wanted to replace because it was my mother’s from who-knows how long ago, and it was old and sucked. That’s when I spotted the red. The perfect outfit came to mind: black top, jeggings, tan knee-high boots. That’s gonna be hot, I thought to myself. So, I went home, showered, painted my nails Rendezvous Red, and assembled my outfit. Assessment: I looked good…and actually looked my age. I didn’t take any pictures, though, because short of just doing it to be funny, I think taking pictures of yourself looking hot in mirrors is kind of creepy.
“Now I know why mom used to say she had to fix this top before I could wear it when I was in high school,” I said, shrugging the straps back onto my shoulders.
Em widened her eyes with an “I told you” look.
“I know, I know. But Kristen told me with my hair dark like this it makes me look all mysterious, so I decided to wear black which makes me look doubly mysterious.”
“Whatever.”
“And I wore my boots because they look kick-ass and are good running shoes if something goes down, like say I have to chase someone.”
“Why would you have to chase someone?”
“Because maybe I’m in the CIA and am undercover right now.”
“Oh, please.”
“You wouldn’t know, because I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you.”
We walked in and took a place a few yards back from the stage, and I debated whether or not I wanted to go grab a beer. For whatever reason I felt paralyzed, as though the concept of walking up to the kiosk to grab a bruski was the most inconceivable since The Princess Bride. “Why are you afraid to walk up there?” Em asked. “If you want one, go get it. You can’t be afraid to approach people. If you want to look like an adult, you’ve got to act like one.” My fear was stupid, I know it was stupid. Hordes of people were already standing around with friends drinking Millers and Coors, and others were walking up to grab beers like it was no problem. And it wasn’t. But the root of my fear of people has always been that I’d have to speak up when I talk to them. My instinct is to talk low and soft so that no one will hear me thus pay me no attention, and I can live life comfortably and quiet. But, naturally, because I’m human and because the book of Timothy was written and all, my body is in a constant fight against my timidity, and that is why I stood there with Emily watching people approach the counters behind which other people stood serving beverages. “I think I have to go to the bathroom,” I said.
As we walked into the restaurant, my mind tried to adjust back to that night after Brew at the Zoo. The booth where the making out had ensued was sitting to my right. Even though the place was crowded with women, it suddenly felt like the bar was filled with Tin Roof Kyles, and I inwardly started freaking out, because what if I really did run into him? That would be awkward. There were names written on the stalls, and one long signature had been blacked out so that it was no longer legible. I assumed it was because management thought it was particularly vulgar and needed to be marked out. Ironic for a place who had a picture of a chick wearing a thong over her jeans and making a Gene Simmons face at the camera, but whatever. As I left the restroom, I remembered that night, walking back to the bar, holding onto one of the columns, and minding my own business before Tin Roof Kyle sauntered over. I blinked, people crowded me, and the memory smoked away. You need to stop acting like a pansy little girl, I said to myself. This isn’t a Sarah Dessen romance novel for young adults. You’re a grown-ass woman.
I’m not going to lie to you. I did look for him – Tin Roof Kyle. As we re-entered the concert area, I glanced around, but if he was there he was hidden in a pack of people. As more people poured in and Em ran out of water, I decided to stop being a wuss and went to grab more drinks. I chose a Miller Light for no particular reason and discovered, to my delight, that I actually liked it. Like, I could actually see myself walking into a grocery store and thinking, “Hey, I’m going to get some Miller Light today, because I actually like it.” I drank it entirely too fast, though, and by the time Dierks came out and told everyone to hold up their cold beers in honor of his Cold Cans: Back to College Tour, I was raising an empty scrap of tin and Em was tilting back her water looking at everyone like they were drunk and nuts, which was pretty much the case for at least 75% of people there at that point.
Oh, Dierks. He was lovely. You don’t realize how attractive some people are until you see them in person, and I thought, “Man…” And that was pretty much the extent of my thought, because when you look at Dierks in the flesh that’s really all you can think, because he is just too handsome for words, really. And then he sang this song about girls in little white tank tops, and I said, “Craaaaap,” because the night after Brew at the Zoo, I took off my chiffon cover because it was just too bloody hot, and I’d become a girl in a little white tank top, and I think we all know what took place after that. So, congratulations Dierks, I’m a tested and proven theory. You can now accurately sing about girls in little white tank tops turning on hapless men, in case there was any question before concerning its validity.
Can I just say that, despite way too many people were there and the whole place was hands and elbows and people excusing themselves through the crowd coming and going with more beers, it would have been a fun night had it not been for the douche bag frat guys. One freakishly tall guy whose butt came up to my waist kept knocking into me with his girlfriend, and I kept having to push him aside, and once even purposely stepped on his foot. Then another guy thought it was funny that I was getting pissed off and tried to rub his butt up against me and I was like, “Oh, hell, no, fool,” and both Em and I pushed him away. Then, because I’m small and Em knows how to kick ass if necessary and because I have the whole timidity thing holding me back still, she removed me to her other side and told the fratters to back off. And because they were drunk and frat guys, they thought that was hilarious, so they tried to poke her face and dance on her and all I could think was, “These flaming idiots don’t know how lucky they are that she decided to leave her knife in the car.”
At this point, I was ready to punch some people and nearly succeeded in punching one guy, but then he moved right as my hand came down, naturally. I guess for now I’m just destined to be the whimpy one, which is just as well, because I don’t think it would have been a fairly painful punch for him. In fact, it probably would have been more of a chick smack, which is at best laughable to watch on YouTube. As soon as people started chanting, “encore, encore, encore!” we decided to make our way to the back of the crowd and leave, which is just as well because I had to pee again. Em dropped me off at the apartment, I ate a bowl of Spaghettios, and we talked for a while before she left. That night as I lay in bed, I looked up at the ceiling, because that’s what I do when I talk to God, and said, “I need one of three things to happen: I need to forget about Tin Roof Kyle, I need another guy to come into my life to make me forget about Tin Roof Kyle, or I need to run into Tin Roof Kyle again to sort things out and then go from there.” Cue God laughing at me for being cute and thinking I can run the place.