rock music – Doing The Write Thing

I’m trekking down the slightly bumpy path with my new exercise bicycle. I’m not allowed to do Soul Cycle or whatever anymore on the account that I came in hungover last week and barfed all over the yoga mats left over from the former class. I guess I can’t shoot vodka like I used to. So anyway, I have a new somewhat agent named Massie. The last agent I had I had to punch him in the face for saying the tracks on my new album were “weak.” I said his hair plugs were weak and then I just went off. I’m really not a mad person. I just know what I want.

People were giving me odd looks. I refuse to look like a fucking traffic fluorescent cone when working out. It ain’t my style. I see nothing wrong with my red sweatpants with the elastic on the bottom, bright red, by the way. I don’t need a shirt on, but the sun is blazing, so I need my Gucci sunglasses, my knitted blue hat and knitted blue scarf. What? My neck get’s cold easily. No, actually I’m hiding my hickies. Shut up. People do that, you know.

After my little ride on the bike, I jumped in the car to meet Massie again. I don’t get her. First of all, I can’t tell if she’s old, but looks young, or is young, but looks old. She’s cute in that “I’m not really that hot, but I am” kind of way. I think if she wore tighter leggings and showed more cleavage, didn’t wear her ponytail, put on some of that smokey eyeshadow, she’d be bomb as hell.

I walked back into the same shitty Starbucks with the rude barista who wouldn’t serve me a unicorn frappuccino. I actually peaked a glance and saw the same bitch again today. She quickly diverted her eyes. Good. I don’t want to have to be arrested today. Twat.

Little Massie was already sitting down at a table. She was scribbling some nonsense in a generic drugstore looking notebook, probably already plotting my demise. When she heard the door open, she looked up for a second then looked back down at her notebook. When she realized I was right in front of her, she stopped scribbling.

“Hey, David! It’s good you made it!” She clicked her pen. Annoying. She was wearing a blue fitted blazer, black leggings (of course), black flats with bows on each toe, and some I guess shirt underneath the blazer. I couldn’t really tell the color because I was still half high.

“I want you to sit down! We need to go over the rules, some set-ups, and what shows you’ll be doing!” I raised my lip at her and stared at her blankly. She is way too damn happy so early in the morning. Swinging ponytail and light brown eyeshadow and all.

“I know what to do, Matilda. I’ve got all my shows set-up with my new band. I heard it all before.” I pulled out my vape. God, I know when I go home I’m going to have to smoke a cigarette.

“David, stop vaping. This is important. Now, I’m laying everything out for you. Here, take these papers. Look over what I wrote, and then later tonight I’ll drop by your place to see how practice is going with the other guys.” Damn, she was professional and forward. I clutched the papers.

“Six o’clock, sharp, Madeline. Okay?” I headed towards the door. “The boys and I are practicing some banging songs.”

“Um, okay. Text me directions, and David, it’s not Madeline. It’s Macy.” I had already walked out the door before she finished her last sentence. Sucker.

* * *
I was having a mini jam session with the guys in our recording studio. I just happened to be plucking some random chords on my guitar. I was totally in the zone, almost sleeping, but not really. Duh. I’m not Johnny Thunders, but people really paid to see him perform like that.

There I was totally in the zone when I hear a loud bang on the glass plated door of our studio. I jolt awake. It’s Madison. She starts knocking and waving at me.

She’s so juvenile. I roll my eyes at her. I barely wave at that.

“GET IN YOU CRAZY SHIT! THE DOOR IS RIGHT THERE!” I don’t mean to shout, but Mabel is, like, so dumb.

“Hey, David! I’m just going to sit in and listen to your jam session. I’m going to take some notes.” Now, she was wearing some loose fitting tank and skinny jeans with those damn bow flats. Ugh, at least she was showing some skin. Her arms looked decent. Not that skinny skinny, but kind of toned when she flexed, but not manly. Ew. Her ass looked fantastic in those tight jeans. Like I wanted to grip it fantastic, but she’s so dorky and fucking bland, so that’s a huge turnoff. I watch her pull out that crappy notebook. Ugh, is she always writing or does she do anything fun?

“Go ahead, David. I want to hear you! I used to listen to old Goldlamp cds, so I bet your new music is just as good.” She clicks her pen. Stop. Also, “old?” I grab my towel and wrap it around my neck. I was now wearing gray sweat pants and a white tank top, kept the knitted hat. I changed after getting done with my bike ride and my meeting with Her Highness. Actually, I was high, but Mason’s too “go getter.”

“Listen, Maybelline. My music isn’t old. It’s classic. Okay? Second of all, the new shit sounds nothing like Goldlamp. I’m not going to sound like the 16 year old grunge kiddie everyone expects me to still be.” She just stares up at me like I told her her family died in a tragic car accident that caught everything on fire, including the car.

“Um…Okay? Sorry, I won’t call it old again. Go ahead.” I tell Mike to tune his guitar. Rex is behind his drum set. Arthur is on keys, and I got my bass, but I don’t need it right now. They begin to play. I’m singing. No shit.

“I got that sensual feeling, woman, when you…touch me. I get hot…just like you…when you’re feeling me.” I turn to look at McCoy. She has this look on her face as if someone told her she’s stepped in dog shit. Excuse you? Like you can write better lyrics, Junie B. Jones? I continue on.

“I just want to grab you…and fuck you…when you’re feeling me.” Now, I look over and she’s giving me this dead stare. I start pushing up my tank and feeling up my torso. If she doesn’t like that, she’s a total zombie lesbian.

“Aww, baby, it’s just a…sexual feeling, a fantasy of you and I…In a bed, on the beach, in an ocean…I want to feel you.” I continue on in the zone while side eyeing Miss Judgmental. She just has this scrunched up face. Squirrel looking ass bitch. I finish. Both vocally and in my pants. Yes, I can make myself cum just singing this song and sound good. It then get’s up.

“Wow, David. That was…Um?” I unwrap the towel from my neck and glare at Missy.

“Thank you!” I say before she can say anything else. I walk out the door and take off my shirt. I know she’s staring at the sweat dripping off my back.

She wants me, too bad.