Dirty Little Secrets

It’s no secret that I’ve been feeling a little depressed lately due to everything that’s been happening lately and then some. Particularly this last week, everything feels like it requires more effort and energy than I seem to have.

I know that this is not a good sign, so on Friday night, I decided that I needed to pull myself together and go see my friends, The Bottoms Up Band, play a gig at a Midget Bar. Their show is good, clean fun, they make me happy and I am, after all, The Rock Chick.

Secretly, I was also very curious about the Midget Bar. The name of the bar alone had me wondering as I always considered the M word to be less than politically correct. It's not a word I use.

Peaking my inquisitiveness about this place was the bar’s “claim to fame” that the manager appeared in a segment known as “Midget Fight” on the ever-so-classy Jerry Springer show. If you are interested in seeing this train wreck piece of video footage, it’s easily located on YouTube. A google search of this Midget Bar also reveals that it’s a favorite among a group of people with, let's just say, strange urinary fetishes. I figured this place was just chock full of dirty little secrets! Or at the very least, dirty little bathrooms.

I put on my best happy face (which was good enough apparently to fool some people), got in the car and drove to the Midget Bar some 30 miles from my house. To my surprise, the bar itself was really beautiful with a great stage, super cool lighting and a dance floor, too! Despite my Nancy Drew nose for anything suspicious, I didn’t see anyone or anything going on that I would even consider on the freaky side (and believe me, I was looking!).

I was really enjoying the music and starting to feel like myself a bit again when the person I was sitting with decided to unleash a tale of woe about a recent travel blunder. I am normally very patient and I listened, but after a half-hour with no clear end in sight, my nerves gave out and I accidentally spilled my cranberry juice. The sticky table forced us to move to another table closer to the band, which is where I wanted to sit in the first place. Closer means louder which normally prohibits conversation. Or so I thought. The band does take a break every once in a while.

I was going to take advantage of the short band break to take a potty break when a casual friend walked over to me and (out of absolutely nowhere in a span of about four minutes), completely spilled his guts about his own very dirty little secret. I was left speechless. Not so much because of the secret, because truth be told, I already kind of knew about it, but because he actually confessed it to me in the first place. We're not that close.

Go figure that I went to a bar that I thought would be full of dirty little secrets only to find it quite clean and my quite clean cut appearing friend turned out to have one rather HUGE dirty little secret.

So many problems, so little time.