I Hate Tribute Bands

I've been in love before. It's a mistake I try to repeat as little as possible.

I remember the day I fell hard for this one girl. We were at a show, watching a fabulous Guns N' Roses tribute band called Appetite for Destruction.

Considering we were both huge Guns N' Roses fans and had heard such great things about this tribute band, we had to go see them.

Everyone was right. These guys did not disappoint.

For the first half the show, and every day prior to it - she and I were just friends. "Just friends" is a difficult place to be to begin with - especially if the chick you're just friends with has a perfect set of hooters. I managed, though. I kept faith that if I toughed it out long enough, one day she'd tug on my penis.

It wasn't until the end of their set that my dreams slowly began to materialize.

They began to play the song Patience.

What started as the two of us just swaying side to side with the music - turned into her grinding against me as the song picked up. I looked around the crowded club in hopes that someone, anyone, was taking notice of this monumental occasion. They were all too busy watching the band and listening to the music.

I had forgotten who was even on stage.

Be cool, be cool. I knew that if I got too aggressive, she'd back down. A singel misstep and she wouldn't pounce me that night. This was my big moment - and I had to be non-chalant about it. Life is ironic that way.

So I played it cool.

I grinded back, but not too much. I put my arms around her waist, but didn't get too grabby. I was casual about it. We were just two friends seeing a show together. And maybe once it was over, she'd ride me like a fucking race horse.

When the show ended, she remarked about how cute she thought the guitarist was (Izzy, not Slash). Was this a fucking test? I had no choice. Clubbing her over the head and dragging her to my apartment was not an option, so I went ahead and told her what I'd tell anyone I wasn't looking to do the hibbidy jibbidy with - "Go talk to him."

She did.

Mother fucker. If this little 18 year old punk pretending to be Izzy Stradlin bested me, I didn't know if I could live with myself. I stood there and watched as the woman of my dreams twirled her hair and flirted with some fucking kid in a tribute band. I wanted to vomit.

When she turned around and started walking back towards me - I felt like my life was over. She was going to tell me to go on without her, and that she was staying to fuck this little pretendster.

God dammit.

Instead, I heard the six most perfect words in the english language, "Wanna go back to my place?"

So fuck you, Izzy Stradlin.

I beat you. And I didn't even have a guitar.