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the cat seems to be on the mend. we have, in the last 24 hours, forced 7, count 'em, 7 pills down the poor thing's throat, and she hasn't barfed a one of them. my fingers are still tightly crossed, but at least i can sleep at night. figuratively. i can't really, but it's not the cat's fault. anyhoo, this freedom from constant pet-worry gives me the luxury of time to tell you a little about my weekend. hub's back in the band and had a show saturday night, so we lined up the gparents to watch the babe, got a bottle of small-batch bourbon and a coke slushy and headed to shawnee. yea, that's right, i said shawnee. for a rock-n-roll show. or something. a "festival". and as we're driving east, i'm realizing that "festival" denotes "outside" ... "outside in fucking hot-ass july oklahoma mosquito-swarming hot ass weather". mmm ... maybe this bourbon ain't such a good idear after all. oh well. my husband's girlfriend went with us, and i forgot how much energy a 20 year-old girl can have. what? oh that? "my husband's girlfriend"? oh that's just a joke. this girl is just all the things my husband should have been looking for in a wife, but instead chose me. go figure. but anyway, she has so much energy and ... and ... joie de vivre ... it makes me feel like a washed-up cynical bitch. oh wait ... i am. damn. anyway, we get to bf shawnee america and start following the directions to the "festival". i am navigating and realize that the directions are pointing us to some dude's house ... out in the middle of nowhere ... and i'm thinking about that rave scene from Freddy vs. Jason ... hmmm ... and as we reach the driveway of the place, i see the sign advertising the "festival" ... Punk Rock Band Camp! This way! ummm ... punk rock? band camp? "jeremy ... you do know your band plays ska ... right?" he seems unconcerned. until we pull into the driveway. now i have nothing against punks or the punk scene in general. i am simply saying that there are vast differences between the punk scene and the ska scene. esp trad ska/reggae like the magnificent 7 plays. we're driving in, and i'm seeing lots of different colors of hair (not occuring in nature), a lot of leather, ... and metal, spikes, studs, piercings ... torn fishnet hose ... and then i'm looking at the mag 7 ... there's kent in his skinny rudy suit ... jeremy in his toasters worker shirt and his long/shorts short/pants and a baseball cap ... danny ... for god's sake danny's shirt is tucked in ... and i just knew we were going to die. i'm kidding of course. that's a common misconception and i know better. everyone was very nice and actually really loved the music. they screamed until they got an encore, man. it was awesome. and altho the band has been on haitus since jeremy left and just got back together last week, they sounded tighter than ever. and jeremy is a total rock star of a drummer. so, if you get the chance, go see them play, dammit. but make sure you get kent good and drunk before the show. he likes bourbon. rot-gut bourbon apparently, as he snubbed my knob creek in favor of some crap with a handle. gah, some people.
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