Shonnie: The Biker’s Wife

Not Shonnie, But Pretty Close (and almost) Beautiful Enough to be a Reasonable Facsimile

***

In Nineteen-Eighty-Seven San Diego County there was only one Country & Western Bar/Dance Hall (that I knew of). I was sorely missing Texas and even though I was never what one might call ‘A Hardcore Country Music Fan’, I was feeling nostalgic. So I bought me a pair of Nocona’s, and no, I did not varnish them,

a Stetson, couple pair of Wrangler’s, some shirts with snaps, a string tie, and off I went, ‘Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places.

But in this case, I had found ‘The Right Place’. Even though I didn’t realize it at the time.

***

(This One below is Personal and for Shonnie. Wherever she may be.

No need to watch. My narrative would survive without it. But my heart would not.

If you do choose to watch/listen, keep in mind it sums up, and also foreshadows in a nutshell, a great deal of the content in the chapters to come.)

***

The name of joint escapes me. Not important. But it was along the lines of ‘Gilley’s’ in Pasadena, Texas, albeit much the lesser.

I mean, Gilley’s had five bars in their Bar and the largest dance floor in Texas, if not The World. (My apologies to ‘Billy Bob’s’ in Fort Worth.)

This ‘Honky-Tonk,’ and I use the term loosely, had but one bar and one medium-sized dance floor. And it didn’t even have chicken wire in front of the stage to protect the band from flying Lone Star long-neck beer bottles.

What a gyp!

Would serve my purposes however, or at least sate my low expectations. I mean, we are talking Southern California here folks, after all.

(According to Sir Willie Nelson in his first book, “Willie: An Autobiography,” The Good Folks who ran Gilley’s, Mickey Gilley et Al, during the Early Years (1971) were compelled to install the wire. Without it, no band would agree to perform there. Things could, and often did, get ‘Rowdy’ at Gilley’s.

By the Time Peanut and I were spending Quality Time in the place–Mid to Late Seventies–I saw no chicken wire. But the rowdy remained. More often than not with Peanut in the thick of it and too often the cause of it. “That Sonuvabitch done pissed me off!”

“Thanks for the memories, P’Nut–You fuckin’ Nut.”)

Credit: Channel Two Houston and devonhart,

June 26, 2014 in ‘Historic Houston’

***

So I began to frequent this establishment in earnest. The thing that stuck me upon my first visit was that all the ‘Cowboys’ and ‘Cowgirls’ looked like Yuppies. Not Dallas Yuppies, mind you: ‘Southern California Yuppies’.

The walls were adorned with all manner of Rodeo Scenes, all of which looked as if Norman Rockwell might have dragged his brush across them.

Yuk!

There were also some lariats, a few saddles strategically placed against a couple of walls, a few ‘decorative’ spittoons (nothing more useless in the world than a spittoon ‘what never dun been used’), and many more things I cannot find the stomach to recount.

Double Yuk!!

The lighting was, well, Too Light. Hopefully, this would be rectified later in the evening’s adventure as the ‘real’ Cowfolks came sauntering in.

One sustains hope in situations such as these. There really is no other choice.

“Good Godawmighty! Lance! Son, you were more ‘at home’ in the Titty-Bars downtown San Dog than this abhorrent lame excuse for a ‘Honky-Tonk’,” voice in my head said.

The other voice in my head (Probably Peanut’s) said, “Cowboy?! You know you ain’t no real Cowboy neither; jes’ go wid it.”

There was, as I said, one bar. And immediately to the right of this bar… 

(a respectable looking bar, if I do grudgingly admit, replete with no less than four barkeeps and many, many serving wenches scurrying back and forth not unlike so many dutiful worker ants—all very pretty—in that Southern California-Wanna-be-Urban-Cowgirl-Beach-Babe-Kinda-Style)

…was the stage with a Cowboy Band. Actually a damn good one. They even had a fiddle player (so at least they could play ‘Amardillo By Morning’  a song which always reminded me of ‘Monsieur Le Peanut’, and forever held a special place in my heart and in my ears.

Immediately in front of the Bar was that ‘dance floor’, (No sawdust, but that could be grudgingly forgiven, I suppose).

The rest was mainly four-seater tables and chairs (And Candles! Fer Christ’s Sake! Candles!)

For the life of me, I could not spy a single pool table nor a shuffle board nor even an air hockey table. Certainly no mechanical bull.

Honky-Tonk Travesty!

The bar itself drew me first (of course). I asked for a Lone Star and got a vacant look. “Ok, gimme a shot ah Beam and a… ah… a Heineken.” (‘Jerry Jeff, please forgive them; for they know not what they do’.)

Now properly attired and bona-fide in my two-fisted drinker status, I went searching for a table close to the dance floor. As it was relatively early, I had no difficulty finding same.

I sat and drank and wistfully, wishfully, sorta woefully…

‘Cowgirl’ Watched, as I drifted back into memories of ‘for real’ Cowgirls.

The place began to fill up along ‘bout 1900hrs. The joint was semi-jumping now. (For San Diego, I guess. By that time I suppose the surf was no longer ‘up’).

I studied the apparently single cowgirls and spied a rather lanky ‘tall drank ah water’, long-haired brunette with Sloe-Gin eyes and all that implies, just tearing things up with several different dance partners.

I made my move between songs. Sashayed over to her and asked for a ‘daince’, (actually tipping my hat! Yes! Yes! I know! Bullshit!) trying ever-so-hard to establish that I weren’t no ‘Coke-a-Cola Cowboy’, but a real ‘un. 

From Texas.

Lance as “Cowboy”

We danced the dance and I could sense I was not her cup of… whatever it is that they actually drink here.

She whispered in my ear, “Hey ‘Cowboy’ (rather mockingly, I perceived), “I have a friend you should meet. Her name’s ‘Shonnie’ and she is seated (seated?) just right over there. C’mon! I’ll introduce ‘Y’all’” (Yet another perceived slight?)

I glanced in the direction she was leading us and saw a rather diminutive dirty blond, absently stirring her drink as she casually watched the band while they began to belt out some Randy Travis monstrosity.

We waltzed up to the table and my escort announced quite cheerfully, “Hey Shonnie! I found you a ‘real’ Cowboy.” (She quickly whispered to me, “Hey Sugar Britches, what’s your name?”)

“Lance”

“Uh, Shonnie, Girlfriend, This here’s ‘Lance’. Say ‘Howdy.’”

“Hiya”

I shook the diminutive hand she offered and sat down.

“Uh, Howdy Shonnie, Little Lady; Nice to meet Y’all.” (Yes, I was really laying it on thick, but I was somewhere between buzzed  and drunk and starting to figure, ‘What the hell I got to lose’?)

She smiled wily, if not demurely, through semi-white teeth, Marlboro smoke, and Paul Newman Blue Eyes. I must admit: I was intrigued.

Thus began one of the most bizarre ‘flings’ I have ever had.

***

More to come… 

***

“And I’ll be lookin’ for eight when they pull that gate.”

“And I hope that judge ain’t blind…”

We all do”

Peanut.

“We all look for ‘eight’

And we all hope the judge IS blind (but you knew that, didn’t you? You asshole! You were not supposed to die first. We made a pact. Didn’t we?? Don’t you remember?”)

Rest, My Very Best Friend.

You are severely missed.

I’ll catch up to you.”

Someday soon…

Suzy Bogguss – Someday Soon

Vid Share Cred: Robert W. Roddis, Esq.

Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.

Parts One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen

Screwed! Cork-Screw’ed! Properly In Peril!

My Corkscrew is a Broke-Dick Dog!

Those who claim to know me…

Will unner-stan what a crisis this be for me!

****

(Thank You Hank JR:—You have always Been an Inspiration for Me) :

I suppose I could always smash the bottle against some concrete.

OOPs!

************

But, in the doing of that… I may spill some of that, that, that I need so much!

Ever’ Drop!

(Lance is an alcoholic, doan’cha know—and Juicers are very good at rationing their Booze Provisions—we plan ahead!)

But There are always ‘options.’

Just requires some ‘critical thinking’ and ‘Critical Drinking’—

and a Brain–

None of which I have readily available to me at this moment.

“Hello! DT Me!–

(DT’s — Self-imposed!)

Been a while!

Long time no see!

How’s the family?

How’s the wife and kids?

(I have a bit of Scotch in me… but it came out of a bottle—not out of Scotland…)

Daniel and Lance and The Lion’s Den

I am living in The Lion’s Den.
(Not unlike Daniel)
Commerce, America.
Yeah, I just doxx’d myself.
Do not care.
Anyone got any ‘issues’ with me,
Bring it!
I ain’t scared.
I ain’t feeble.
I am still strong (with drink)
And stank
Don’t believe me?
Just ask Shawn.

Okay
That out of the way.

Washing the dishes…

This Lion’s Den is just an old renovated Hotel from the days when People actually had money and came to Commerce to see Jane or Johnny graduate from ETSU.
Ancient history.

Now it is just a trailer park with nothing with wheels.

Lots of White Trash here.

I fit right in.

It is cheap.
Centrally located.
Comfy.
And most important,
Outside the jurisdiction of the Commerce City Police.
Yeah.
This is important to me.
There are some minor inconveniences:
No kitchen
No laundry
No real bathroom.
But!
But!
But!
No one fucks with me.
I approach life with that
“Lazy-Fair” philosophy
Just leave me the fuck alone.
Do that and we will not have any issues.
Got that?
Groovy.
Cheers.
Thank You.
Drive Through
Bye

(And mucho amore to anyone who comments on this post—sometimes I feel lonely)

Oh Why the hell not?

It is kinda related.

*****

Added Unsolicited Editorial On This Post.

Moron Critic Sez:


“Lance, You May Drink Too Much.”

Lance replies:

“See that door?
Don’t let it damage you in the ass on your way out.—my First-Aid skills are somewhat rusty.

Cheers!”

Pick Up The Tempo

Just A Preparatory Warm up to get me warmed up to begin my Deep Dive into ‘Phases and Stages.”

(Too much Prep, over-training, will kill you on the field)

My HG Warriors, 1974, Learned this lesson the hard way when we stood eyeball – to -eyeball with them damn’d despised Cooper Bulldogs.

And got our asses handed to us…
We had spent the entire ‘off-season’ training for nothing but Cooper.

By the time we actually faced them,
We were spent.
Done
Exhausted.

They easily kicked the ever-loving shit outta us.
It was never ever even a contest.

Just a shameful old-fashioned beat-down.

Worst defeat in the History Of Honey Grove Warriors proud History.

Even today, that Friday Night Lights night still stings.
Not unlike Salt in a Freshly Open Wound.

hg cooper.jpg

Willie:

“People are saying that time will take care of people like me
That I’m livin’ too fast and they say I can’t last too much longer

But little they see that their thoughts of me is my savior

And little they know that the beat oughta go just a little faster
So pick up the tempo just a little and take it on home

The singer ain’t singin’ and the drummer’s been draggin’ too long
Time will take care of itself so just leave time alone
And pick up the tempo just a little and take it on home

Well I’m wild and I’m mean and I’m creatin’ a scene I’m goin’ crazy
Well I’m good and I’m bad and I’m happy and I’m sad and I’m lazy

I’m quiet and I’m loud and I’m gatherin’ a crowd and I like gravy
About half off the wall but I learned it all in the Navy”

So pick up the tempo…

Spoiler Alert: New Project — Stand by For Heavy Rolls As The Ship Comes About

Mind Lost!
Human Minds!
I do believe I have misplaced mine.
There are so many great posts for my blog I want to write
(on my ‘to do’ list)
Thank GOD I may now finally have time.
But…
Writing is hard!
And, by nature I am lazy.
Writing is HARD!
Hard work.
(If you’re doing it right —write?)
My ‘current ‘project—is breaking down the best C/W album in the history of C/W:
“Phases and Stages”
–Willie.
I WILL write on this!
Just as soon as I sober up.
(Might be a few little minutes…)
Anyway, this is my update.
Oh!
And yes!
I will also finish my
“Escape-From-Memphis” story too.
And someday soon.
But however comma,
It’s not supposed to be this way…
It should come ‘natural’.
It never does.
I am learning this.
Day-by-day.
“And crawlin’ ain’t no good at all.”
Wisdom words.