Folk and Roots Wrap up!

Ah, Folk and Roots, how I love thee. Like, a LOT. Like way more than pretty much anything else I do every summer. Things I hated about F&R:

• Only three friends visited me. Y'all are lame.
• PBR. Bleh. Even free, it's bleh.
• Rain is good, but not when it cancels the last band Sunday night!
• A little too hot. Like sweat under my boobs hot. Bleh.
• The stupid vol who dared to call me a bitch, but then ran away like a scared little school girl. Bitch, I've got your number. And please note that the volunteer coordinator heard you, and you're kinda in trouble. Stupid.
• The lingerers. Like the silly brunette: when your shift was over at 6:00, and you are standing around at 8:30, looking for someone to talk to, and no one wants to talk to you - GO HOME
• The GuitarDuo. Way too mellow for a festival.
• Double wide strollers. Hate you. Hate the people that buy them, and sometimes the children that are in them.
• On the same strain - drunk parents and wayward kids. Last I checked festival grounds do NOT equal free babysitting by perfect strangers.
• Receiving three pitchers of red wine that we thought/hoped was sangria. Alas, it wasn't.

Things I loved about F&R:

• Can I say pretty much everything else? Kinda want to. I really love this fest. I'll try to elaborate.
• The backstage magic. These people run a very large, awesome, tight ship. You'd think it was easy breezy to do this music fest thing, with the way they've got it DOWN.
• The appreciation. I'm not a appreciation-seeking-whore. I'm there because Old Town is my super happy place, and the fest is a part of that. No less than a handful of staff thanked me each night as I dragged my tired ass out of there.
• The spontaneous concert/jam session that happened backstage after the Sunday night show got cancelled due to lightning. I am so very very lucky to have been around for that. It just personifies, to me, what Old Town is all about.
• All of the people I worked with this year. (Except that whole "bitch" thing). I'm lucky to get the roles that I ask for, and it's easy to work hard for/with a bunch of folks that I consider friends. I want to buy drinks for TH, KO, DJ, CM, AB, SJ, JK. I'll have to put that on my to-do list.
• The t-shirts this year. Oh.my. You need to see this. I'll post a picture of it soon. Y'all are going to be jealous! (Except ZRM, because I got him one)
• Ok, even the rain on Sunday (before the lightning - shakes fist at lightning). It was cooling and kinda fun, for a while. Nothing like running around in the rain in the middle of summer.
• The mood and/or vibe. You just can't beat it.

How much you ask?

In an effort to have a good follow up to yesterday's blog, I asked VonHairdresser: "About how much of my hair are you cutting out?" She thought about it for a minute, continued sawing away. "It's about 1/3 to 1/2." "I'm sorry, what?!!?" "1/3 to 1/2. Of your hair. Gone. You asked a question, I answered it." There you have it. 1/3 to 1/2 of my hair. Gone. *lone tear....tracks down my cheek.....I miss my hair....*

The thinning....

No, not my body, much to VonMom's very vocal and unpleasant disappointment. The thinning of the hair happens tonight. And I can't wait. Here's the thing. I've got H A I R. Not super long, not even very thick, it's just a LOT of hair. I keep it well, it's my very best asset. It's blonde (expensively and falsely so) with rock n' roll dark brown (also falsely so) underneath (this is a recent change). It's longish - a little past my shoulders these days. It's wavy enough that people comment on it, and in these humid days, more so than not. AND IT'S FREAKIN' HOT See, I'm like a dog. No kidding - I have so much hair that my head can't breathe and I sometimes get sores. On.my.head. So, every summer my hairdresser thins the hell out of it. It's an ugly, ugly process. She takes thinning shears to my scalp and just cuts and cuts and cuts. It's kinda funny, in that the first few weeks if you were so inclined you could have me flip my head over and from the neck to about half way up you could see little lines of crew cut. There is a horrible crunching sound as she cuts and cuts and cuts, followed by masses and masses of hair falling all around me on the floor. This process has even gotten unsolicited comments from other salon goers. One woman actually yelled at me. She said "What are you doing?! Are you insane!? People would kill for hair like yours!" Ever since that cobag incident, we now do this at the last appointment of the day, when we are pretty much the only people left in the shop. This needs no audience. When I was younger, we used to have to wash our hair in a laundry tub. One summer, I told my parents that the water temperature actually went up between when it hits my head and when it rinses out. VonDad didn't believe me, so he followed me into the laundry room when I washed my hair. I had him feel the water as it came out of the hosething, and then feel it after it had run over my head. "Holy shit." he said, "There really is a difference." This is how hot my head gets. So, don't mind me as I count down the hours and minutes until thinning time.

Home, home again

I'm back. Those few days in Michigan were too few. I look forward to this trip every year. I took a moment this year and did the math. I've been to Shannon's mom's place in Michigan every year for the the 4th of July for the past seven years. While we forget how much we change over time, when you take a second to think about it, we really do. I'm fairly certain that that first summer I was invited was because I had called off my wedding in January of 2003, and no one, Shannon included, quite knew what to do with me. Take her to Michigan - I'm guessing that's what Shannon thought. It worked. It was exactly what I needed that year, and every year after. I headed up to the snowman room to find that this year SM (Shannon's mom, get it?) has hung very dark burgundy shades because she remembered that last year I was up early every day because it gets so bright in there in the mornings. Who remembers that stuff? Who bothers with anything I say? This year, day one, I slept until 11am. Why? Because there were delightful burgundy shades to block out the sun. The new boat is awesome, there are many convenient cup holders and these reclined things that make each bench a lounge chair. The company, as always, amazing. Shannon and TheMarty are so easy to be on vacation with. I want to read/sleep/sit/stand/ignore/snack whatever....they leave me to it. TheMarty won at Uno on night two. I told him to sleep with one eye open. I think he did. When I walked by their door at 4am headed to the bathroom, I had to let out an evil giggle *hehehe*, just because. I only wish we could have been there another day or two. Or five. Things accomplished on this year's trip: The Sunrise Sampler is really the best value at Cracker Barrel, or so Shannon tells us. Every time we go to Cracker Barrel. Toy Story 3 was even better the second time around. But blue slurpees immediately following Cracker Barrel breakfast is a baaaad idea. TheMarty and I have nearly nearly gotten Shannon to agree to go to Boston in October. Not sure if we're invited there yet, but we think we're going. And there's talk of us renting a RV to get there. Woo hoo!! The fronts of my legs are tan-ish. and a little burnt-ish. So is my scalp, and my ears. I came back on night three and clobbered them all at Uno. I did not have to sleep with one eye open. These are a peaceful people. I was also very honest with TheMarty about one of his friends. (see wedding recap post). I wanted him to know how I really felt, lest I be forced to hang out with this chick again. Not only did he take it really really well, he let me just vent and vent and vent until I was finished. I think they both got it. Ok, and yes, we talked about y'all, but only a little. Like "Hey, TheMarty, MenD's coming to town next month." and stuff like that. And a few other things. I can't tell you EVERYTHING. But I will tell you that's it's very likely Shannon, TheMarty and I are getting tricycle tattoos. Squee!!

Fridge note

The Tricycle of Awesome rides again, today at 4:00 sharp. This means: I'm heading to Michigan with my people for a good few days. This means: No computer. No Internet. No blog. This also means: Yes, we are TOTALLY going to talk about y'all when we're drunk sitting around playing games. Have a great long weekend. Don't go blowing any of your fingers off. See you on the flip side!

Im a gi ne

That's about how slow I can play "Imagine" on the guitar. Sigh. I LOVE guitar!!! This stupid song has a few quick tough chord changes, so that's why I'm playing it so very very slow right now, but I am playing it!! The wacko was back. This time she asked if "We could play the Madonna version?" of the song. Our teacher, a member of Old Town's Beatles ensemble said "Hell no." She's gotta go. For real. New problem in Guitar 2. So, these folks have been together for the staggering amount of time that is 18 weeks, and are, like, totally besties! And so not keen on interlopers (aka new people, aka me). I'm not having it. They need to realize this is not their private little group, people come and go at Old Town all the time. Some are warming up to me because let's face it, I'm awesome AND hilarious. Others? Not so much. I've figured it out with one of them, though. Apparently she had dubbed herself the "funny girl" of the class, and OF COURSE I'M A THREAT because I'm 10 x funnier than her without even trying. Ah, well, she will lose. Too bad.

I'm sorry but

No, I'm actually not. The situation: Got to my nasty urine-scented Metra station this morning, right around 7am, as usual. Today, there were six teenagers drinking beer and laying around in the parking lot. Literally. One of them was laying in the drive way. At 7am. God damn right I called the police. WTF. Not sure when Chicago became an open container city, or when 7am sounded like a good time to throw a party in a public parking lot. I actually tried to call 311 first. They then told me no, I needed to call 911. SO I did. I was merely giving them the heads up that not one city block away from the largest police stations in the city, there's a little drinky drinky party going on that they might want to check out. Everyone on the train seemed pretty incensed about it to. SO Get to work, post on teh fb that this happened. AND GOT BERATED FOR IT. Ok, now I finally understand that many many many people present totally false bull shit versions of themselves either on teh fb, or on their blogs (you know who you are) or both. Whatever. FINE You are SOOOOO much cooler than I could ever be!! Being consistently the same person is passe, I guess. BUT Don't go telling me that I'm old, or a fuddy duddy for calling the cops on these cobags. OR telling me that I was just like them. Yeah, so I drank when I was not 21, I fully and freely admit that. Did I do it at 7am, right out in the open? A block away from a police station? Um. No. No I didn't, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. I was a LOT smarter than that.