But the guy was 24 (I carded him. Seriously- A guy basically called me a cougar in Indianapolis so now I am a *liar* and very careful.) He ranted on, (cocaine binge I suspect. strongly suspect) about liberal politics, our awesome president and all that I hold dear. He did not get the hint when I put in my earplugs and jammed The Who as loud as a human can. He kept going like a coke-fueled Energizer bunny. So, I agreed. And argued. And accepted drinks (I AM ONLY HUMAN) from a 24 year-old extra from the show First Blood. Apparently, Anna Paquin is super hot and has a nude (not really) scene coming up. So stay tuned. And, apparently, I smell like vanilla. Which is odd because I flew into Denver from an undisclosed Midwestern location that stinks of diesel fuel and abandoned dreams. (poetic license). No, really, I lived in a Bruce Springsteen song for 17 years. Which is why I moved to a Kris Kristofferson song coupled Rolling Stones longing with some musical theater thrown in. After that tired of me, I moved to an Eagles song with some ironic Elvis Costello. Then some operatic wanderlust and Rolling Stones and Carpenters took over. Which is where I am today. Except for Baba O'Reilly and Memory Motel.
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