Tying Up the Vanilla Girl - Part 1

by ThornDaddy

I’d just turned 37. My band had broken up the week before. The drummer had quit, and the guitarist had checked into rehab. I could have waited for him to clean himself up, and started fresh with another drummer, but my guitarist probably wouldn’t stay clean. He’d been caught breaking open payphones and stealing quarters to support his habit between tours. The judge had given him a choice of nine months in county jail or a year in rehab. Wisely, he’d chosen rehab. But his heart wasn’t into it.

Besides, I was sick of touring. I love playing music, but the grind of one gin mill after another, arguing with club owners to get our full payment at the end of the night, and going home with an anonymous string of broken women was losing its appeal.

Rock and roll is a young man’s game. It’s exciting to sleep on floors and play for beer and gas money when you’re 21. It’s less fun when you’re 37. Sure, we’d developed a following, and signed to a major label, but being on a major isn’t ...

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