I like bad boys. Always have, still do. They chased me on playgrounds, kissed me under bleachers at the high school football game and broke my heart. I ultimately married one and, to this day, new ones still randomly gravitate to me. After almost 40 years on the planet, I now know they fulfill that part of me that always wanted to let go but never did…ever.
This bad boy’s name was Joe. He had that long, blonde untamed hair of the middle 90s. Drove a beat up old Ford truck. Wore a leather jacket. Smoked. And skipped class on a regular basis. So when he asked me out, I of course said yes.
I don’t remember much about the few dates we went on. But I do remember the one where we went to a bowling alley on a Wednesday night (it was the 90s, don’t judge me) because Joe knew the bartender at their crappy little bar. And because I’m sure this guy loathed his job…and probably didn’t care if he lost it…he served ‘underage us’ wine coolers.
See, it was everything an early 90s date should have been, right?
The best part of the night though (and the point of this rambling story) happened on the way back to his parent’s house. We were listening to whatever was on the radio and Joe suddenly says to me, “do you like STP?”
Now what you need to know is this was WAY before I met my best friend who would later expand my music knowledge and make me fall in love with music. And WAY before I was even a little bit cool…although the husband would argue I am still not cool. And I’m ok with that.
But because of these two factors, when Joe asked me that question, I had NO idea what STP was. But because I didn’t want to sound like a complete dipshit, I said yes.
I know now I got lucky. Lucky it was a band (yes I actually now know that, I heard them this morning on my commute…hence this story) and not some new fangled drug. But to this day, everytime I hear Stone Temple Pilots, I remember how…oh so many years ago…for a brief moment…I thought they maybe WERE a drug.
And I think of Joe.