The Dude can suck it.

Some of the perks of being a bartender are not only getting hit on by disgusting older men, but oftentimes accepting gifts from said disgusting older men. I have a semi-regular, Billy, who sits with me on Monday mornings upstairs at the bar and he generally just drinks a shit ton of iced tea and quietly eats his chicken fried steak while I yap his ear off. He's pretty legit. Billy is not one of the disgusting ones, although he is very hairy... he's an overall pretty nice guy.

Saturday, he brings a passel of good ole boys up to my bar and they're having a pretty good time watching some college ball, stuffing their face with wings, and messing with their bartender. After years of practice, I'm pretty good at handling being hit on. This is not meant to sound full of conceit... put any ole girl behind a bar pouring whisky and men are going to fall over themselves, it's just the way it is. Anyway, I actually had a good time with these guys, they were very nice guys and it's always nice to hear some new pick up lines.

Billy's friend, Tully, upon joining up with the crew: "Hey, Brynnan? Do you have a boyfriend?"

Me, reluctant to answer this question to any bar patron: "No, I don't."

Tully: "Well, do you want one?"

And then Brynnan, laughing her ass off. Good one.

Anyway, these guys eventually tell me how they are spending the weekend at Austin City Limits Festival, something that I have friends venture to annually but something that I would never imagine myself partaking in; waaay too much of a mess and waaay too much money. While I adore any outdoor live music venue, I couldn't bring myself to spend that much on three day tickets, plus miss out on three work shifts.

(Last year at Zilker Park, the ACL "shit" fest of 2009. People were literally wallering around in mud/waste from the fertilizer which caused rashes and other icky stuff, more affectionately referred to as "Dillo Dirt.")

Even still, if given the opportunity to attend ACL, I would jump on it. And Billy does just that for me. His buddy is leaving town on Sunday and they have an extra wristband so he says he'll bring it by my bar before then. I'm combelling! The utter elation of seeing The Eagles live and in concert is something that I cannot wrap my mind around. These guys are top five for me! (Zeppelin, Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, EAGLES, then someone else who I'm not sure of right now... in case you were wondering.)

So Sunday, sure enough, they bring me the wristband and I jet outta work and down to the park to join the mass exodus of music goers only to get to the entrance and find the old Billy boy has previously removed the band from friend's wrist and reattached it together, which in ACL world, apparently, is a huuuge no-no. The lady basically yanks it off my wrist and says, "I'm so sorry, I can't let you in." (I hate to use this term because it is so overused but...) FAIL. Fail, fail, fail.

There is suddenly a brief glimpse of my life flashing before my eyes. A life where I have never seen The Eagles and will never get to see The Eagles. How will I face my peers knowing that I had the opportunity and missed my chance? Floods of hippied out men and women are overcoming my eyes and I panic, but only for a moment. Fear turns to determination that I'll be damned if I got all the way through this shit storm only to have this bitch tear away my only chance at happiness this day. After I've been starring at her for about one solid minute while all this is unfolding in my brain, I turn away with fervor: I am going to find a ticket into this stupid show even if I have to steal one.

I push through the crowd and find a man walking away who I saw earlier selling tickets on the sidewalk. After I yell at him, he slows but we keep walking.

Brynnan: "You still got some tickets."

Guy: "Sure do."

B: "How much?"

Guy: "Eighty."

B: "AS IN DOLLARS?! That's insane. The day is more than half over."

Guy (smugly): "Eagles haven't gone on yet."

B: "Would YOU pay 80 dollars to see The Eagles?" (While I love The Eagles, I am also a pretty reasonable person.)

Guy: "I have, and I would again. I've also paid a lot less." (This does not help his case.)

So we haggle a bit, this guy being the world's smuggest ass I've ever encountered in my life, me, trying to pretend like I know how to haggle. Anyway, he's dead set on fifty and while I normally would just walk away in a fury, I gave it to him because, well, I didn't have the time nor the patience to find yet another smug ass and have it out with him and I really wanted to get inside.

And my elation was returned! ACL is gigantic, beautiful, fun, more good adjectives, etc, etc, overall: wonderful. I joined up with Best Friend (who had to financially care for me the rest of the evening because of Mr. Smug Ticket Holder taking most of my cash) had a few brews and rolled around in the grass in pure happiness. We had a nice little setup all ready for The Eagles, not too close to the stage, but just far enough where we had some room to spread out, but Reagan and I both knew that I would not be contained. It is a known fact that during any general admissions concert, I try my hardest to get as close to the main stage as possible, snaking my way through the crowd with a perfect mixture of avid pursuit and quiet nicety, so as not to piss off any crazy broads who think that their "spot" is some claimed piece of land like a Sooner or something. It's an open piece of land, people. I paid just as much as you, actually less, and if I want to sneak to the front, I'm gonna.

But for the time, I was quite happy to just be there and take in the band who was playing at that moment and enjoy my friends. We each had our picks, Reagan wanted to hear "Take it to the Limit" and I chose "Seven Bridges Road," which I thought would be ideal for this venue. Acoustic, stunning, and a great way to show off each of their voices. Reagan asked me if I thought Don Henley would be there... I hadn't even considered that he wouldn't be! This worried me.

The show begins and what do they kick it off with? That's right, my pick. I called it. And of course, all of the original Eagles were there. And after a few songs and after becoming extremely annoyed with the lawn crowd becoming increasingly more noisy as the show went on, and not at all nearly as awestruck and silent as I was, my long legs could contain me no longer and I turned to Reagan and said, "I'll find you later," and took off to the front. This was to be expected and she was not upset, she knows me too well. Luckily, the song was a jovial one that I chose to do my snaking around to, so the crowd wasn't nearly as mad as they would have been if I was just pushing my way through; I sort of danced my way to the front, finding friends along the way, rocking out with random concert goers, and eventually, working my way up to a perfect spot in the crowd where my desire was satiated enough to retire the trek. And the set was two hours long! Two hours of pure Eagles. And even though I got whacked in the head with a glowstick AND a massive roll of toilet paper (what are the odds? It felt like the Michelin man punched me in the back of the head), I could not have been more pleased with the evening. When they quit playing, I just starred at the stage and whimpered.

And so, in final, while it seems to be some sort of popular trend to despise The Eagles, which I think is in part to The Big Lebowski, (thanks, Dude) I am sticking to my guns and I say, The Eagles flipping rock. And Dude: suck it.