Status: i'm no longer going to be updating mibba. you can find me on ff.net at 'deanambooty' if you would like to continue reading any updates. thank you.
Paradise City
feat. Dean Ambrose
tc: Guns 'N Roses
Nothing would have prepared me for that phone call. It wouldn’t have mattered if I was sixteen, twenty-three, or sixty-five. I would have never been ready for it.
Thursdays were my favorite nights to work. It was “Regulars Night”, where the entire roster of regulars came in and had drinks together and sang karaoke. The atmosphere was always great; a tiny little bar, wedged in between a bowling alley and an Applebees, and filled to the brim with Hank Williams singin’ rednecks. They didn’t tip for shit, but they were always nice, and they loved me.
February 20, 2014.
I remember that night for two reasons; first because Stephen, our bartender, sang She’s A Brick House by The Commodores, and everyone loved it. He even started taking his shirt off, but stopped because he’s a very hairy man, and the crowd began to ‘boo’ him.
And second because Officer Peter McHannon called me and told me that my parents were dead. When he first told me, I could barely hear him over the music, and thought that I wasn’t hearing him correctly. I asked him to repeat himself twice.
Both times he said the same thing.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Jordan, there’s been an accident.”
Suddenly the room fell quiet. Time stopped. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. My stomach felt like it had dropped to the floor and there was a knot in my throat the size of a cinder block.
When I say that nothing would have prepared me for that, I do mean it. It felt like a joke at first, and I even laughed and said, “Come on now, my parents aren’t dead”. The drive to the hospital felt like hours, when it was only fifteen minutes away, and I was going twenty-seven m.p.h over the limit. I kept thinking to myself, this isn’t real. It couldn’t have been. These things only happen to people you just happen to read about in news articles that pop up on your Facebook Newsfeed. You feel sorry for them, and you pray, and move on. This doesn’t happen to people in your town, or your friends, and it certainly isn’t supposed to happen to you.
But it does.
And it feels like drinking gasoline and swallowing a match.
Nothing could have prepared me for that.
tc: Guns 'N Roses
Nothing would have prepared me for that phone call. It wouldn’t have mattered if I was sixteen, twenty-three, or sixty-five. I would have never been ready for it.
Thursdays were my favorite nights to work. It was “Regulars Night”, where the entire roster of regulars came in and had drinks together and sang karaoke. The atmosphere was always great; a tiny little bar, wedged in between a bowling alley and an Applebees, and filled to the brim with Hank Williams singin’ rednecks. They didn’t tip for shit, but they were always nice, and they loved me.
February 20, 2014.
I remember that night for two reasons; first because Stephen, our bartender, sang She’s A Brick House by The Commodores, and everyone loved it. He even started taking his shirt off, but stopped because he’s a very hairy man, and the crowd began to ‘boo’ him.
And second because Officer Peter McHannon called me and told me that my parents were dead. When he first told me, I could barely hear him over the music, and thought that I wasn’t hearing him correctly. I asked him to repeat himself twice.
Both times he said the same thing.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Jordan, there’s been an accident.”
Suddenly the room fell quiet. Time stopped. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. My stomach felt like it had dropped to the floor and there was a knot in my throat the size of a cinder block.
When I say that nothing would have prepared me for that, I do mean it. It felt like a joke at first, and I even laughed and said, “Come on now, my parents aren’t dead”. The drive to the hospital felt like hours, when it was only fifteen minutes away, and I was going twenty-seven m.p.h over the limit. I kept thinking to myself, this isn’t real. It couldn’t have been. These things only happen to people you just happen to read about in news articles that pop up on your Facebook Newsfeed. You feel sorry for them, and you pray, and move on. This doesn’t happen to people in your town, or your friends, and it certainly isn’t supposed to happen to you.
But it does.
And it feels like drinking gasoline and swallowing a match.
Nothing could have prepared me for that.
- Everything Must Go
- Piece of Home
- Games
- So Rude
- Checkmate
- Pick Your Battles
- Look After You
- Hi Neighbor
- Maybe
- Wicked Games
- The Truth
- Win Some, Lose Some
- Go Slow
- Careful
- Complicated
- Mean Girls
- Happy Birthday
- Try A Little Tenderness
- The Morning After
- Honest
- Doing It Wrong
- Surprise
- I'm Afraid
- Hold On To Me
- Not Again
- Late
- The Test
- Heartbeats
- How It Hurts Me
- Trick or Treat
- I'll Try
- Hard To Say
- Make You Happy
- I'll Be Home For Christmas