I'd like to tell you the story of a time when I dreamt of meeting and actually got to meet and date Paul Stanley of Kiss. Looking back now, I don't really know what it was about Paul that I had taken a liking to, but I was head over heels (mind you, this was when I was in my early teens). The story, in fact, of my dating Paul Stanley would be a far more interesting tale, filled with alot more juicy details and unbelievable stories... unbelievable, because well that story didn't happen. Which is why I can't really tell it.
Instead, one fine evening while a friend and I were playing around Beale Street, which is what we normally did on weekends, I met and settled for Steve Stanley. You may be asking yourself... "Steve Stanley, now is that one of Paul's semi-famous cousins perhaps?" The answer to that is invaritably "No." Partly because Steve Stanley isn't worth being urinated on by Paul, and also, Stanley as i'm sure you are aware, is not Paul's real last name.
Alot of the things you do when you're young make no sense to you when you get older. Things like eating crayons, sticking your finger in light sockets, jumping in front of cars [none of which I ever did btw, but I bet they'd have been a site better than dating Steve]. You know, just things you regret like that... Oh and Steve, if you happen to read this, which is highly doubtful... 1) because I never really saw you read, so I don't know if you can read or not, and I highly doubt it and 2) because well, hell Steve, you know you were a low-life piece of $#!t, so let's not kid ourselves... i'm NOT apologizing.
One starry night, we ended our Beale Street partying at a little place downtown by the river called "Captain Bilbo's" which we did sometimes frequent... always had live music, and wasn't all that 'seedy'. My friend Amy and I were there having a good time as usual, when somewhere in the night I crossed paths with Steve, we hit it off (?) and began 'dating'... I emphasize that because looking back, I can't really consider it dating... I barely knew the guy, but yet I acted like it was some serious thing... He drank... ALOT, and I still found myself riding in the truck with him. I rarely brought I guy home, or had him pick me up at the house who I KNEW was this wrong for me, but for some reason, I allowed him to pick me up there. How he wasn't shot by my Mother (just from the pure fact that she did not like him) is beyond me. But 'dated' we did, probably for a few weeks, maybe every weekend for a couple of months. Riding in his ugly little grey truck, listening to Joe Walsh and ZZ Top, me watching him pretend to sing and pretend to give me beauty advice (like how to apply my mascara like his ex-girlfriend who became a model after he gave HER make-up tips and then left him) and "experience"... experience that I could have done without.
June had arrived, it was my birthday. I had never had a real date pick me up on my birthday and take me out but Steve was going to. He was planning on picking me up and taking me out someplace special. I was so excited because I had never really had a great birthday that I could remember, well one in my adult life where it involved romance, and not being stood up or feeling like a loser. This was it... I'm finally all grown up and having the time of my life. I spent all afternoon until the early evening preparing my hair, make-up, picking out just the right outfit so that I could really bowl Steve over. It was probably about time for him to come rolling up my driveway... so I thought I would go and sit in the livingroom, and watch out the window for his truck. I sat for hours watching, waiting--wondering what might have delayed him... he's coming, I know it. Sometime after midnight, I gave up. 'Stood up again! Happy Birthday you big loser!' (I thought painfully to myself). Maybe he got arrested and never made it down, or maybe he got too drunk and forgot or found 'alternate' activities. Whatever the case was, I was crushed.
A couple of weeks later, we were back in Bilbo's dancing and having fun, and there he is. I spot him somewhere near the bar, so annebriated that he could barely focus his eyes to see it was me. Still steamed, and miffed, I approached him and asked him what was up. He mumbled incoherently about something only god knows. Feeling vulnerable (how women sometimes do), I attempted to talk him into leaving with me... why?? I can't honestly say. He acted drunkenly confused and proceeded to flirt with some skank that was sitting next to him at the bar... "So Long Steve." I say sternly. Amy and I turn and leave the bar never to lay eyes on Steve again.
Moral of the story? Well, I don't know many times I gleaned morals from my stories but if I did it would be that I was way too good to settle for anymore "Steves". However, it didn't stop me from trying.