Grilled Cheese

Well, shit.

It's about time I started writing again.

I'm in my underwear,
and I need a cigarette.

And I don't have any,
and it's hot as balls,
and I'm stuck inside all
day working on booking a tour.

I'm trying to make my way west,
through St Louis, Kansas City,
into Colorado, to make it to
Los Angeles by Sept 7.

That's when I'm heading back to
the Catholic University.

that's right,
they're bringing me back.

hilarious,
I thought they would
never speak to me again,
after the Mystery of the Clit debacle.

I've been using that story on stage
for all my shows, it's been a hit.

You see,
I sang Mystery of the Clit
as my last song at a Catholic
school with an audience full
of college girls.

pretty... awesome.

So....
I'm back from England,
I'm sorry I didn't write you more.

I was busy, usually drunk,
and always tired or driving.

Not driving while drunk,
but with either word starting
with "D", it's hard to write a good blog.

I played something like 28 shows
in 32 days, and my manager Ed doesn't
drive, so I did it all.

When I did get free time,
then only thing I wanted to
do on my computer was play poker,
or look for fat lady porn,
it's kinda my new thing,
don't ask.

I'm hoping it's temporary.

So, I let all those stories slip
away, like all the girls with
boyfriends who kept coming
up to me after shows, very directly,
I mean.. like seven of them,
until by the end of the tour,
if some lady started flirting with me,
I would immediately ask her to
point out her boyfriend.

ugh.

Now, don't get me wrong,
I have a girlfriend back here at home.

It's great, I get laid all the time,
I don't have any STDs,
or any chance of getting them,
and she's patient, and forgives
me when I get too wasted to do anything
but mumble sweet nothings.

But she's also realistic,
and I'm lonely on the road.

We've set up some basic groundrules,
no clothes coming off, no repeat business.

I think that's it,
but what it all comes down to is,
I can make out with all the girls,
or boys, or big ladies, or dogs,
or real dolls, I want.

I think we should all have such freedom,
it's just making out, for god's sake.

It's fun, harmless, and the most
you can catch is a cold,
or if you're me,
and the English lady's
boyfriend is right around the corner
at the pub watching you,
you might catch a fist in the jaw.

Whatever,
it's harmless,
and it helps me stay happy.

A little making out here and there never did
a bad thing to anyone.

Staying celibate on the road in England
was very difficult indeed.

holy shit,
English. Girls. Are. Horny.

And straightforward.

"Hi... my name is Melanie,
would you like to come to my bed with me?"

whoa.

um,
yes,
but no,
I can't...
you wanna make out?

There was this one very pretty hippie chick
who was kissing my neck and face when she
came up to hug me after my second show
of the night in Plymouth, England.

Now.... I don't know what the rules are in Plymouth,
but where I'm from, if you kiss someone's neck and face,
that implies a little bit of interest, and availability,
I don't care how much of a hippie you are.

So, I followed her like a puppy,
she got me high... another good sign,
and then she took me upstairs to the "club" section
to dance.

Word!

I'm in, I'm gonna dance, and make out a little,
and maybe stretch my trousers,
but no harm will come.

we were dancing,
a little naughty,
in a geeky white people
kind of way,
things are going great,
our foreheads are touching...
and then...
"oh shit, I think my boyfriend can see us"

wow.

You probably should have mentioned
him somewhere between the kisses and the
joint.

It probably serves me right,
I don't have the best track record
with faithfulness, I try, and I have tried,
but it's hard after shows, when I'm away,
and pretty fucking lonely,
and really fucking drunk.

Girls are pretty, and they smell nice,
and I just want to have some innocent fun,
like in middle school, a full year
before I started getting hand jobs in the basement
of my highschool.

ah.... those were the days.

I'll try to write you more,
it's a nice break from the monotony
of emailing 17 clubs who won't write back to you.

"Hey Pete! can you come play in my town?"

yes,
I would love to,
I'll be rambling all over,
from here to the West Coast.

If you've got a town,
and it's got a place to play music,
email me, I'll do what I can.

it's info@nicepeter.com

I'll be here.

-p