This is a longshot, but you were at the Steel Panther show at the Viper Room last Saturday. You had blonde hair (real or bleached?), wearing cutoff jean shorts and a Dale Earnhart Jr. tank top. We locked eyes a few times during the set and I feel like we had an ethereal, unspoken connection one can only have during a comedy metal show after several hours of day drinking.
Actually, now that I think about it I’ve just described 80% of the crowd. If it helps to narrow it down further, you were flashing your boobs at the band while I was puking in the trash can next to the merch table.
I think you whipped your tits out during “Poontang Boomerang” or “Asain Hooker” and even though I was seeing double, they looked fantastic. All four of them were perfect. I think one of them was pierced, or that could’ve been my vision blending your ears with your nips as I was sticking my head in the bin. I think you were admiring my party animal aesthetic.
I don’t remember what I was wearing (my pants were missing when I got home) but I know you definitely saw me because I was clinging to the garbage can directly next to the merch table for dear life as the nine Jaegerbombs I had earlier evacuated my stomach. I was forced to buy three shirts because the backsplash from my puke landed on them. But they’re clean now, so if you want we could wear matching tour shirts on our first date.
When I regained the strength to stand on my own again, you were already walking away after the band invited you backstage. I tried complimenting another four other women who looked identical to you with a “show me your tits” chant, but they all told me they had boyfriends. All the more reason you were definitely the one that got away.
I’ll be back at the Viper Room next weekend for the Nikki Sixx show. I’d love to see you and your boobs again, and I’ll try to only drink six Bud Lights, max.