Warning: Not To Be Used As A Security Device

If you haven't read today's earlier post, this video and the associated comments won't make any sense to you. This assumes that anything I write ever makes any sense... which is debatable.

Anyway, this is actual video that I shot while the silver SUV was in our driveway, and our door had just been knocked upon. Notice Brody's vehement reaction... one might assume of a protective nature. If nothing else, he's loud.

See? Who could get anywhere near our house? Like, to toilet paper our trees, trash cans, and mailbox? As it turns out... pretty much anybody, as long as they come at night.

I am reminded of the pool rafts that have the warning label: Not to be used as an emergency flotation device.

BroZarkWin: Not to be used as a home security device.

And now we know.

I Knew I Needed A Moat

(This marks the 500th edition of Fermented Fur. Somehow I expected such a momentous post to be on a more meaningful topic, but such is my life.)

I woke up at 4:30. As in, A.M. On a Sunday. Which is all kinds of wrong. My brain started doing its "revving and stuck in first gear" thing, and I knew sleepy-time was over. I was thinking about work stuff, chaos in friends' lives, my first book, the new book, and the fact that Tom had to go to work this morning and I had no idea if the alarm was set and would be blaring at me at any moment.

I tossed and turned till 5:30, then got up to feed BroZarkWin. It was still dark, the eastern sky beginning to show a rosy glow. I started coffee, fed the dogs, and went out on the deck for a few minutes, trying to convince myself that the cool tranquility of a Sunday morning was a good thing, much better than being snuggled in my oh-so-comfy bed. I was only partially successful.

When I came in, Tom was in the bathroom, and I parked myself on the Sofur, checking email and Facebook. Dawn was breaking. A short while later, Tom wandered into the living room. We had the following conversation:

Tom: You're up early.
Me: I've been awake since 4:30. My brain wouldn't let me sleep any more. Stupid brain.
Tom: That's too bad.
Me: It's OK. I plan to punish it later. (With sweet tea vodka. Take that, brain!)
Tom: (Approaches the front window and peers outside) Um, why do we have toilet paper in our trees?

There was really no way to answer that question.

Sure enough, two of the giant trees in our front yard, a pine and a maple, both well over 50 feet tall, were festooned with un-festive toilet paper streamers. Oh, and also our mailbox and trash cans.

My first action? Post this news on Facebook, then Google how to get toilet paper out of trees. Of course. Then I glared at BroZarkWin. Or, as they shall henceforth be known, The Worst Guard Dogs In The History of Ever.

These dogs reach galactic levels of hysteria if a bike passes the house. If they see another dog, our windows get slathered in bark-spit, and window handles get chewed. Brody frequently gets up there and barks maniacally just in case he missed something.

I guess this only takes place during daylight hours. Huh.

I've always asserted that we could sleep in absolute security, because there was no way anybody could get near our house, let alone break in, with BroZarkWin here. I will now have to reevaluate that opinion. Because it seems my "guard dogs" clock out when we go to bed.

I am not under the impression that toilet-paperers are particularly stealthy. I envision giggling, whispered comments and instruction, and general scuttling around. Yet they remained undetected by our furry security system. Which is apparently defective.

Question: Who toilet papers houses?
Answer: Teenagers

I do not know any teenagers. I haven't had a conversation with any of our neighbors since sometime last summer. Like, summer 2009. And none of them have teenagers, unless they've recently bought some on eBay. Our friend T has teenagers, but they live 12 miles away, are out of high school, and wouldn't do this kind of stupid shit anyway. I have not even spoken to an actual teenager... um... since The Boy was one. (He is 26.)

There was that silver SUV in my driveway yesterday, though. Someone knocked at the door. BroZarkWin (well, not so much the "win" part) went batshit, barking and clawing at the window. I, as usual, did not answer the door. I have not answered the door in response to an unsolicited knock in 14 years. Not about to start now. Eventually, the bark-bait left.

Current theory: The knocker of doors was with the local football team, and the purpose of their unacknowledged knocking was a fundraiser. My failure to answer the door resulted in no funds. They did not like this. So they went to Cub, purchased a 4-roll pack of Cottonelle, and paid us a visit.

I can't imagine any other reason for such juvenile vandalism.

(Side note: The entire varsity football team is currently under suspension while the police investigate allegations of hazing... so I guess they didn't have anything else to do.)

Tom and I ventured outside and began removing the biodegradable insult from our towering foliage. We were able to get about 75% of it. Tip for aspiring delinquent assholes: Use the cheap stuff. It tears when you try to untangle it from branches. Higher quality toilet paper holds up better, making the clean-up easier for your victims.

Tom also pointed out that it was a fairly amateurish attempt. Two of the rolls still had a significant amount of un-deployed paper on them. Pretty wasteful for the budget-conscious vandal.

It's supposed to rain in a couple of days, which I imagine will take care of the residual mess. At least there were no beer bottles or used condoms.

Then Tom went to work, and I have to have a long talk with BroZarkWin. They're going to have to start sleeping in shifts, or learn how to get toilet paper out of trees. And somehow I know that Tom is eventually going to arrive at the conclusion that if I'd only let him get that helper-monkey, tree-toilet-paper removal would be a snap.

It's A... Chair?

We have had guests from out of town all week. This presents a number of challenges, one of which is what to do while they're here. We don't go out often, since I'm a total hermit and don't tend to enjoy things that involve being in the presence of others. Also, I don't like to do too much walking, or be too hot or too cold, or use any bathroom other than my own. So, "activity director" isn't a job any rational person would give me.

We went to the Mall of America ("Hell On Earth") on Monday. I ended up with (self-diagnosed) hip dysplasia, no skin on the back of my left foot, a mild panic attack, and a really cool shirt. There is something seriously wrong, though, with any shopping establishment large enough to have a full amusement park in it.

(I mean, really... do we need to encourage more people to bring badly-behaved children out in public?)

But on Wednesday night, I had an idea that turned out great. For me. Which is all that matters. I discovered that Tom's sister likes antique stores, and there happens to be a nice one near the pub where we were going to have dinner. I hadn't been there in a few years, and I was on the hunt for various things.

• Old, scary-looking, stabby-type knives to use to make a butcher knife chandelier for my future Writing Lair
  
• Unusual little bits of pottery (for no apparent reason other than I like them)
• Books that I used to have when I was a kid
  
• Pretty antique desk for my future Writing Lair
• Interesting pieces of Fostoria glassware, American pattern, that I don't already have

But then I saw it. It was not on my mental scavenger hunt list, but there it was. The world's ugliest-yet-most-wonderful chair. It's probably from about the 1950s or so. Wine-red crushed velvet with wood accents. My grandmother used to have a couch and a chair very similar to this chair, but they were purple. I loved that prickly-pettable couch.

And now I was in love with this chair. Completely. I must have this chair.

Look at it. Isn't it gorgeous/hideous? It's sitting there in the store begging me to take it home and love it. Notice matching pillow on the wicker sofa next to it.

I sat in it. Its aging springs sagged and went "sproing" a little bit, but that only made me love it more. I sat there a while longer. Then I got up and took this picture. Then I sat back down and sent the picture to Facebook. Then I texted Tom (who was elsewhere in the store) and told him I was sitting in my new chair. He knew what that meant. He replied, "Let's go."

Ha. Did he think that getting me out of the store would make me forget my chair? We went across the street to dinner. Then we went home. Then Tom got tired of listening to me worry about my chair all alone in the store, and how devastating it would be if someone else bought it. Then Tom went and got my chair and the matching pillow because he loves me, and he also has a low annoyance threshold when I get all obsessive. In return, I had to promise to play Wii Bowling with him and the guests later in the evening, with absolutely no bitching, whining, moaning, or complaining.

(Side note: I totally kicked ass at Wii Bowling, most likely because I got to sit in my great new chair between frames. This chair might be magic.)

The velvet of the chair is exactly like the fabric on a lint brush, which means it would attract and trap dog hair like no other piece of furniture on the planet. So it is down in the family room, which we keep blocked off from BroZarkWin.

(Ah. Safe and sound at home. And the matching pillow... has tassles! Tassles!!!)

In keeping with my compulsion tradition of naming significant inanimate objects, such as George-the-Kindle and Elroy-the-HTC-EVO-Smartphone, I knew this new family member needed a name. Red Velvet Throne was too obvious. And boring.

The Lair Chair. Because it will eventually live in my Writing Lair, when I have one.

That's the thing about antique shops. You might think you're looking for certain things, but then you see the one thing you didn't know you had to have... until you saw it.

Most Harrowing Morning Ever

The most harrowing morning of my life, documented primarily through social & electronic media...

8:48 AM: I wake up. I don't have to go to work. I open my eyes and try to remember which one I have to use to see across the room to the clock. I squint until I figure it out. 8:48. Should I get up, or see if I have another half hour of snooze left in me? Then I remember... the tickets for the final Cross Canadian Ragweed show go on sale at 10:00 AM. Must get up, ingest copious amounts of coffee, get online, and be functional and ready to hit that fan club pre-sale at ten on the dot.

9:15 AM, my first Facebook update of the day: Waking up the brain. Tickets for the FINAL Ragweed show (at Joe's in Chicago 10/24) go on sale at 10AM... must buy. Then see if the writing brain will come online so I can get to know Mitch & Ethan as well as I know Seth & Abby.

Comment from CJM: What, why post that! That's secret info!

My reply: Well, they're only on sale to fan club members for a week... I figure fan club members already know, and those who aren't... still can't buy a ticket till next week.

Comment from CJM: Holy shiznit! Another half an hour! What's that crap!

My reply: I wonder how they're going to handle it. I mean, they could EASILY sell out the club just to fan club members, unless they hold some back for "regular" people.

Comment from CJM: Let's hope that happens. That would be pretty wicked. But I'm terrified of Chicago in October. I have Florida blood. I may freeze to death. But, one last shot of Grady before he starts cuttin' the grass, ooooh sooo worth it.

My reply: I'm terrified of Chicago all the time. Way too much city for me! But you KNOW they're going out with a bang. Wade opens, and I wouldn't be surprised if other friends make appearances, they'll bring the party ON, and might play for hours! MUST be there! Do you know where you're staying yet?

Comment from CJM: My mom is picking the hotel. Her first Ragweed show, is her last too but at least it'll be the most AWESOME show ever!! The night before we're going to see Cheap Trick!! I'm in freakin' concert heaven!!

My reply: Let me know which hotel you pick. I'm not seeing any decent choices anywhere near the club, but I know nothing about Chicago, and don't get a lot of practice tracking down lodging in strange cities.

The moment is near. I am sitting on the Sofur, holding Elroy (my dearly beloved HTC EVO phone), staring at his clock display. I have the email open on the laptop with the link to log onto the fan club site, where I will click on the Joe's show and order the fan club pre-sale tickets.

At 9:57, I sent this text to Tom: Getting ready to buy tickets! X0xo.

It is 9:58... 9:59... 10:00!!! Go, go, goooooo!!!!!!

I am immediately confused. When I get to the "buy tickets" page and click "buy tickets," the description of the show is there, but no little boxy things to choose the price level or quantity. Hit "back." Click more. Same result. Exit and go back to the email, go back to the ticket page, same thing. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh, dammit!!!!!!!!!

A new comment arrives from CJM: Am I stupid? I can't see where I can ACTUALLY BUY THE TICKETS!!

My reply: ME EITHER! Nothing seems to be clickable!!!!! GAAAHHHHH!

Back up. Re-enter the ticket site. Refresh. Refresh. Still no visible way to select and actually buy the tickets. Heart rate escalating. Stomach starting to feel a little sickish. Panic is imminent.

Finally! A price level and quantity box! I enter my selections. Ticket site informs me that they do not have two tickets available.

What??? These things have been on sale for, what, four minutes? Five? And up until thirty seconds ago, I couldn't even start the process to actually buy tickets.

At 10:10 AM I send this private message to CJM: NOW it's saying there aren't 2 tickets available in the $25 level!

Back up. Try again. Nope.

Try again. Almost faint, vomit, have a heart attack, or all three simultaneously. Because now it says... SOLD OUT!

Another comment from CJM: Ah, I feel so complete now!! Thank goodness!!

Huh? She got tickets? That bitch!!!! (Not really. Love CJM.)

My reply: NO! I'm getting SOLD OUT message!

At 10:13, I sent this text to Tom: No! Nonononononooooooo! Sold out???

I check my private messages, and find this reply from CJM: oh wow!! I only bought one $25 and one $15. My mom doesn't need a wristband too.

She also adds a comment to the Facebook update thread we have going: holy shit! I just saw that!! OMG!! I wonder if they had a certain amount of tickets available for fan club members?

My private message reply to CJM: I GOT ZERO! I kept refreshing, backing up, going back in, till I got the buy box... and it was ALREADY SOLD OUT!

My Facebook thread reply to CJM: They need to release more!!!!! Did you get yours? I will DIE if I don't get to that show! I could try when they go on sale to "public," I guess. Ohmyfuckinggod, I am going to DIE!

Follow-up from CJM: I got two. And it said that you only had 8 mins from beginning to end to buy tickets. They must have known it would be insane.

I post a new status update (because the world totally needs to know the magnitude of my freak-out, and the cause of my impending massive coronary): OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD. 10:10, couldn't access the ticket site for 5 minutes... no "buy" button there. NOW, it's saying SOLD OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And because that wasn't clear enough, I added: I'm going to die. DIE!

10:24, text to Tom: I'm going to die. Dead. Death.

10:25, text to Tom: Maybe they'll release more fan pre-sales, or we can get them when they go on sale to public.

I then post a frantic message on the band's Facebook wall, describing my 10AM efforts and lack of results, and begging for more fan club tickets to be released.

At 10:30, I send the following email to All Access Today Tickets: I logged in AT 10AM on the dot to buy tickets to the 10/24 Cross Canadian Ragweed show at Joe's in Chicago. At first, when you clicked "buy tickets" it gave the description, but no boxes to select price level and quantity. I never stopped refreshing the screen, backing up and re-entering... finally the price/quantity fields came up, but by 10:08 it was SOLD OUT???????????????? Will they release more fan club presales? Will I still have a shot when/if the general public sales open? I MUST attend this show! MUST!

(No, I was not exactly subtle.) (Desperate times.)

I keep exiting and re-entering the ticket site, hoping something will change. It doesn't. I decide to catch my breath and try to come up with a Plan B. Desperation is making me dizzy. I try to tell myself that it will not be the end of the world if I don't get to go to this concert. I do not believe me.

I go out on the deck, thankfully taking Elroy the EVO with me, because I get a follow-up from CJM.

CJM: They're back up!! QUICK!! GET YOUR TICKETS!!!!!!!!!!

I race back inside, nearly braining myself on the patio door, dogs scattering out of my way (because clearly I am deranged and am not currently carrying any treats), and dive onto the Sofur and reach for the laptop.

Click, click. Shit.

My reply to CJM: NO! Still saying sold out!

CJM: come on, I have 2 tickets on hold for $25.00 let's go!!

Awwww, aren't Ragweed fans amazing? She is willing to secure the tickets for me, since for some inexplicable reason she can get through and I can't. But then I try once more, and (cue glorious shaft of heavenly light and sounds of a million virgin choir boys) get through!

Moments later, I have the email confirmation of my order of two tickets. Check to see if I've wet my pants. Nope. Whew.

Time for another Facebook status update: OH, Praise to the almighty flying spaghetti monster! They released more tickets, and I GOTS THEM! Happywhirlybouncydanceofjoy!

10:51 AM, text to Tom: They released more, and I got our two! I can breathe again but my hands are still shaking. Xoxo.

Along about here I get the reply from the ticket company (very prompt, considering the level of chaos they were dealing with) saying they figured out the problem immediately, fixed it, and I could order tickets. Which I just had. Thankfully.

Because they were sold out again in a few minutes.

We Ragweed fans are a fiercely loyal, devoted, and clinically insane bunch.

11:00 AM, text to Tom: This has been the most exhausting, terrifying hour of my life. Holy shit. Xoxo.

JPF's comment on my most recent Facebook update: I am very happy that you ARE. NOT. GOING. TO. DIE.

My reply to JPF: I almost had a f**king heart attack.

Then more chatting took place, mainly between myself, CJM, and RP, about what a totally, incredibly, mind-blowingly, KICK ASS show this is going to be. As their last performance as a band (barring future reunions or special appearances... which might or might not ever happen), you know these guys are going to go out with a BANG and not a WHIMPER, so I'm expecting the most over-the-top-amazing night.

We're also seeing them the two nights before that, at two different casinos in Iowa. Cody and Jeremy are staying in the business, forming a new band with two other great musicians, and I can't wait to see them when they hit the road. I know they'll be incredible... but there will never be another Ragweed. They've meant a lot to me over the years, and not having that new music to look forward to will be sad. But as long as Cody is moving on and still performing, I'll probably live.

But I wasn't too sure about that for an hour or so this morning!

Bits & Pieces

Sorry for the MIA, FFFans, but life has been a little complicated lately. I figured I'd better pop on here, though, and reassure you that I'm still alive. Let's see if I can come up with a few semi-blogworthy tidbits. Consider it the Headline News version of my life.

Things at work are making me cranky and/or crazy. There have been changes, and there are further potential changes, and I'm still planning to retire, and I'm not sure how all the pieces fit together.

I had a big almost-break with the book when a major editor requested the full manuscript, said she really liked it, asked how I'd do a sequel... then decided to pass on publishing it. I still have some agent submissions out there, and will do some more. I just don't know what to do next. That agent got me all thinking about a Seth and Abby sequel, so now I kind of want to write that, but how much sense does it make to write the sequel for a book that thus far nobody wants to represent or publish? I'll probably go ahead and start on the Gold mystery, but I plan to feel sorry for myself for a few more days first.

We had major hail a couple of weeks ago, and now we need a new roof.


Hey, if we want to sell this place, a brand-new roof will be handy, but the thought of workers swarming over my house's exterior while Brody tries to chew the cranks off the windows so he can leap out and take them down will be bothersome. He also still barks like a maniac when he hears a doorbell on TV, despite the fact that we haven't had a doorbell in two years. It broke, and since a doorbell only makes it easier for people to announce that they are here to disturb us, we never replaced it.

Speaking of dogs (which I frequently am), Brody and Ozark are infatuated with the new renters in the house next door. They have a black lab who, despite the lack of a fence and living right on a fairly busy county road, never leaves the yard. They also have a cat. Oh, and two or three kids. I think. I've seen a small human who appears to be of the male persuasion. I might've seen the adult female human holding a baby. And there is possibly a small female creature, but I'm not sure. I am a terrible spy, because I pretty much don't like looking at people.

Brody and Ozark have taken to lying in the most remote part of the yard, just watching. Mostly. Brody has managed to get a scratch on top of his nose, and then to rip a large, bloody chunk out of his nose... and I'm blaming the cat for enticing him to try to stuff his head through the chain link fence. When I yell and the dogs don't come in, I now have to trek down the Killer Steps of Death from the deck, to the patio, out the pool gate, around the entire outside perimeter of the pool fence, over to the skinny, sheltered part of the yard facing the neighbors, and chase the fuzzy dog-butts back in the house.

On another note, Darwin has been doing some swimming.

Random thought of the day... Condiments. How do you know which ones go on which foods? Who decides? Pretend you like bologna. (Most of you eat it, but won't admit it.) I put tons of ketchup on bologna. Tom thinks this is disgusting, and prefers mayonnaise, which I think is disgusting. Ham: Mustard or mayo, but never, ever ketchup. Burgers: Ketchup and mustard, never mayo. Roast beef: Same as ham. Burgers and roast beef are both cow-based, but require totally different condiments. I'm such an enigma.

Egg salad: Just don't eat it. I mean, ew. When I was in first grade, my mom always made egg salad for my lunch, and now I can't stand it. Tom, however, loves it... and I have to leave the room when he eats it. The mushy-chewy sounds make me gag. It would seem a bit extreme to divorce someone over egg salad.

That's 'bout it. I may be alive, but my humor writing skills are somewhat under the weather.

Necessary, Truthful, and Kind

I'm supposed to be writing a funny blog. Something about pool sex or new neighbors or how a clean kitchen is starting to get on my nerves. But I can't. Not today. I have too much on my mind, and to get it out of my head, I have to write about that instead.

The "you" to whom I refer is a collective "you." It's not an individual person. I think we will all be able to own part of the negativity of that "you," and we should all resolve to do better, be better, and treat other people better.

Nobody's perfect.

I'm not, you're not, and neither are those around you.

We all make mistakes. We all have bad days. We all, in times of anger or frustration, give voice to things that are better left unsaid.

But you can't judge anyone by a single insult, a single slight, or a single error.

You also can't judge anyone by a single act of kindness.

You have to look at the big picture. You have to forgive the occasional injury and consider the whole person, who they are, and how they fit into your life.

And sometimes you have to separate yourself from a person or a situation, because the pain is too frequent, the kindnesses sporadic and insincere, and the damage to your spirit too overwhelming.

Consider the person whose heart is bigger than all the rest put together, who tries harder than anyone, and who - no matter how difficult the day - always works to see it in the brightest light and lift up everyone else. When they can no longer endure... what does that tell you?

When someone feels so small in your presence, so inadequate and unwanted, that her loyalty, passion, and determination are no longer enough to protect her, when she has to abandon all that she's worked for... what does that tell you?

None of this happens because of a single event. It feels almost like an emotionally abusive relationship... and, in fact, it probably is. "I love you, you're the best." "You're stupid and annoying." "I'm sorry, I think you're awesome." "You're not as good as everybody else." "I'm your friend! You rock!"

Sometimes saying something kind isn't enough anymore, when there are too many scars from too many painful darts.

It's selfish, allowing yourself to say cruel things. It makes you feel better, but it makes everyone else feel worse. Word always gets around.

If that person is generous enough, they will forgive you... but they can't ever forget. And then, one day, it's too much. They would rather face financial uncertainty, the loss of years of work and effort, the (unwarranted) feeling that they somehow failed, than spend one more minute with you.

What does that tell you?

It makes me reflect on sincerity and hypocrisy, lifting each other up versus the bitter erosion of the spirit. It makes me doubt the truth of your supposed friendship. How can I witness the casual cruelty inflicted on someone else, someone wholly undeserving of it, and believe the self you present to me is genuine?

I can't.

"If it is not necessary, truthful, and kind... don't say it." Is that such a difficult philosophy to embrace? It's simple, really. No, you won't be able to achieve this every minute, every interaction, every day. Nobody can. But it's about the big picture. Are you more generous and forgiving than hurtful and petty?

When someone will sacrifice so much in order to escape you... what does that tell you?

Things have changed, and I hope you can live with the repercussions.

Every action - or, in my case, inaction - has consequences.

And I have to live with that.

Rockin' Roadtrip

My brain is probably still way too polluted to do this post justice, but we won't know till we try, will we?

We departed last Wednesday at way-too-freaking-early-o'clock for the twelve-hour drive to Bloomington, Indiana. We got checked into our awesome room at the Walnut Street Inn, just a few doors down from the Bluebird Nightclub, venue for the next night's concert. It was Cody, not the whole band, for an acoustic show with his bassist and another musician... which was fine with me. I've wanted to see one of his acoustic shows for a long time.

The next morning/afternoon got a little hectic. I was standing at the bathroom sink when, reflected in the mirror, I saw the tour bus drive down the street. Peachy. I was behind schedule already.

I had shopping to do.

So down the street we went, so that I could obtain souvenirs and - eventually - lunch. I also got some emergency phone calls from home (nothing serious, but I did have a few small panic attacks), before we settled in at a sidewalk table near the club to have lunch and observe the bus-related activity.

And there wasn't all that much of it. Last year, Cody spent the whole afternoon strolling around town, mostly talking on his phone, but not this time. So, fine. Time to change clothes and stake out our spot at the door.

While there, I met Ragweed Rick, who had his laptop with most of Cody's songs from the previous night's show. Then Lori & Mike showed up. She and I started chatting before last year's show, but she wasn't able to attend then. It was fun to have another couple to hang around with this year, though. We did learn that she and I together can lead to trouble. She's an instigator, and I'm the one who always says stuff like, "Yeah! Awesome idea! Go ahead, and I'll be right there with you!" Bad influences? Maybe. But more fun than I should probably be having at my age.

(Double Trouble)

The show, of course, was incredible. After it ended, we chatted out front with some guys from the opening band, but then I decided I might feel better if I went to my room and retched for a while. Today's lesson: If you're going to ingest copious amounts of alcohol, you should probably have more to eat during the day than a small platter of deep fried dill pickle chips. Just sayin'.

On our way to the room, though, we women-folk (Lori-Squared, Lori X 2...) did get hit on by a couple of 20-something guys. I patted cutey-boy on the cheek and told him I had a kid his age, and maybe he should go play with someone closer to his own age.

Eventually, we were all hanging out in our room, and we sent Tom & Mike out on an errand. And - of course - they ran into Cody. By the time they came and got us (Tom had neglected to take his cell phone), he was gone again. We sat outside the bus for about an hour (making it now close to 2:30 AM) before giving up.

My other lesson: When I've been acting much less than my actual age, I do "hit the wall" 'long about 2:00 AM. I run all out of wakey-wakey. I mean, when your usual bedtime is 9:00 PM... Exhibit A:

(Sidewalk comfy...)

Lori & Mike roared off on their Harley, and I... went to sleep.

(Oh, yeah, also out on the latenight sidewalk, Tom accepted free pizza from a stranger. He didn't die, so I guess it was okay.)

From the show that night:





The next morning, it was off to Springfield, Illinois. We got checked in at the Sleep Inn, had lunch, headed to the Sangamon County Fairgrounds, and met up with Lori & Mike again. More alcohol, more brain pollution, more fun.

The show, this time with the full band, was spectacular. We were right on the rail at the stage. (And, right against the stage at the show at the Bluebird the night before) At one point, Tom had to protect me from a big fight that broke out right behind us. I thought he was going to get pulled into it, but he just got beered on. But he kept me from being knocked down or hit, which I appreciate because I am old and brittle. Plus, it's kind of nice to have a big, strong husband who is willing to risk a bunch of rowdy, punch-throwing drunk guys to save you from injury.

From Night 2:





Our new friends weren't able to find a room, so they ended up staying with us. A slumber party, complete with pizza! And... well, it was a party. At least the severe storms held off until after the show. Last year I was shin-deep in mud after having to "seek shelter" in the car twice while we waited to see if we were going to get sucked up in a tornado.

Next morning, blah blah blah, 8 1/2 hours on the road to get home, and here I am back in Minnesota.

Tom still has concert fever. I always have it, but his outbreaks are sporadic. We've already planned to go to two shows on consecutive nights in Iowa this October. The next night is the band's last scheduled show before they take an unspecified amount of time off (possibly all of next year)... in Chicago. Tom got thinking about this, and next thing I knew he had booked us a room in the Windy City for that night... so we'll be doing three shows, three straight nights.

Considering how exhausted I am after this roadtrip, I hope I survive October!

And, yeah... I was right. This is a pretty lame post. But talking about all the awesome fun is making me sad because it's over till October. :-(

Dragged Kicking And Screaming Into The Present

This conversation has taken place periodically in our house over the past year or so:

Tom: Do you think maybe we should get new phones?
Me: Meh.

My aversion to phones in general, and cell phones in particular, is well-documented. After a couple of decades in jobs which consisted primarily of answering the phone, I developed a sphincter-clenching reflex triggered by the sound of ringing.

We last got new cell phones a little over two years ago. I relented enough to get a flip-phone, which I thought was as cool as I had any right to be. It had no camera. Why would I want a camera? I think it could (theoretically) go online and receive pictures, but I never figured out how. With the display screen about the size of the average man's wristwatch, there was really no point. I did manage to download my Ragweed ringtones from our provider, and I ordered a custom Cody skin for it from skinit.com.

(Our old LG phone model, the telecommunications equivalent of "tin-can-and-string.")

In the past year or so, though, I've started texting more. Not a lot, but enough. Mostly to annoy Tom, or provide hints regarding what I am expecting him to do later in the day. And I got into Facebook.

A few days ago, Tom announced that it was time to renew our service contract, and we had a substantial credit toward new phones. I was totally disinterested. Meh. Phone. Don't like phones. I don't talk to people, and since that's a phone's primary function, why would I care?

Then he asked me to go to the Sprint website, and at least look at the available phones.

Huge mistake.

I started to care. They were all so... shiny.

Suddenly, I wanted a new phone. Moments before, I hadn't wanted a phone the same way I hadn't wanted a Kindle. And we know how that turned out. I didn't want a phone - or a Kindle - the least little bit. Until I did. And then I wanted it rightthefucknow.

We consulted the usual sources (my online friends, and The Boy). After minutes and minutes of consideration and research - I've mentioned my poor impulse control and tendency to steamroller Tom when I want something, no? - we reached a decision.

We're getting an HTC EVO:

(This phone is so advanced, it is probably capable of launching the space shuttle. And I think it might be magic.)

Contrary to my previous apathy, I'm now beyond excited. And impatient. That Amazon "Buy Now With 1-Click" button, which brings entire books to George-the-Kindle in under a minute, has me spoiled. Why isn't my phone here yet? We ordered it over one entire day ago! It's magic, so you'd think it could have teleported itself directly to my house, and I'd already be finding out exactly how technologically inept I am. (Though I suspect.)

And that's the problem. By my calculations, this phone is approximately eleventy-seven bajillion times smarter than I am. But since I'm so stupid, my math may be off by a magnitude of ten. At least.

There's really not much middle ground. You can either have "smoke signals," or "does everything up to and including traveling through time." Since I decided I'd like to be able to text using something other than a basic phone keypad, update Facebook, check email, and maybe take a picture once in a while, there was no other option. I had to get a phone that I will completely under-utilize... and probably fear.

This thing has a screen big enough to use for a drive-in. It has 4G speed (where available... will be here soon), which is apparently some kind of fast that I can't even fathom. It has two cameras. It has... a kickstand. I can make my own Ragweed ringtones. And it does about sixty trillion other things that I don't even know enough about to quantify the depths of my cluelessness. I bet the manual is four inches thick.

The thing that pushed me over the edge in the "phone lust" department is our upcoming Ragweed Roadtrip. Next Wednesday, June 16, we will drive twelve hours to Bloomington, Indiana, to see an acoustic show by the Codylicious one at the Bluebird on the 17th. And the next night, we will see the full band at the Sangamon County Fair in New Berlin, Illinios. How am I supposed to share the awesomeness of such a trip without the ability to constantly send drunken texts and Facebook updates??? We had so much fun last year, but my ability to entertain and annoy friends was greatly inhibited by my antiquated technology. This year... look out.

I figure a twelve hour drive might give me almost enough time to sort out some of the more critical functions of my new phone. But I did suggest to The Boy that he might want to take the day off work, so he can be available to help me un-screw anything I screw up.

I hear that the HTC EVO also functions as a phone. But don't call me. I don't like to talk.

Catch Me If You Can

Hey, FFFans... sorry for the hiatus. It was unavoidable, as I'm ass-deep in submissions for my novel, Make or Break. Yes, I finally got serious about doing the submissions. Yes, I did. Really. Shut up. It's way harder than you think.

Anyway, if you want to know what's happening, please click on over to today's Writecrastination post. That'll clear up a thing or two. Probably. At the very least, it will make you feel sorry for me.

Had To Get A New Crayon

Remember last Thursday when I was all "unhappy" and hysterical? (If you haven't read that post yet, you should. Not only because it's damned funny, but because you won't have any idea what I'm talking about today if you don't.) Well, after all the ranting and raving and moaning and rending of garments, things started looking up.

I started the day pretty sure that both of the FAVORITE BAND concert dates next month were biting the dust, due to their newly-announced "break from the road." Then I got word from a contact at the Thursday night venue that the band was canceling, but THE HOTTEST MAN ON THE PLANET was likely going to appear for a solo acoustic show. This... is not a bad thing. I've wanted to see one of his acoustic shows forever, but haven't had the opportunity. By the time it all shook out, after several options were mentioned, it has been determined that he will appear with a musician-friend for an acoustic show. (In case you wondered, this is a Very Good Thing. I like.)

However, word was still that all summer dates for the band were canceled. This meant my Friday night show was no more. Then the band released a list of the shows that would remain on the schedule, and... Friday night is on the list. So... the Roadtrip lives on! In fact, since the first night will be the acoustic show, it's actually a little bit better.

So Todd made me a new crayon:

(If you're confused by the crayon reference, read Thursday's post. It was exceptionally hilarious. Also note that the scribbling on this crayon is much less angry in nature than the other one. Todd is good with subtleties like that.)

As I perused the list of dates that the guys will still perform, I couldn't help but notice one thing. Their version of "taking a break from the road" is way (way) more than many bands' idea of touring.

Then I noticed the two dates in Iowa in October. I hadn't been all that frantic about booking those before, but now I am. It has been proven to me that my concert-going opportunities could be deep-sixed in an instant, so I asked Tom about it. They're on consecutive nights, a Friday and a Saturday... and they are both at casinos. I'm sure the casino factor had nothing with Tom's lack of hesitation in telling me to go ahead and book the tickets and the hotel rooms.

Yeah, right.

So, as it stands, I have rooms and tickets for both shows in June. I have rooms for both nights in October, but tickets to only the Saturday show. The Friday show hasn't gone on sale yet, but I have extracted a virtual blood oath from the ticket-wench that I will be notified immediately when they become available. (No, I do not trust her. Yes, I am checking the website daily. Because talk is cheap and tickets are priceless.)

Not too bad for someone who was - just last week - expecting to attend two events, then had a meltdown because she found out they were probably canceled, then found out those two are still on (one way or another), and then decided to book two more shows... all with a band that is supposed to be "taking a break."

Life is good for a true-blue fan.