Love on the Inside

This is the tale of my Sugarland experience. Since my loving father won me tickets from BX93, I now have a great tale to tell...

Let me begin by saying I needed this. I really, truly needed something to pull me out of this deep, deep hole. A gossamer thread glittering in what was left of the sunlight, just visible enough to remind me there is more...

We loaded on the bus here in London, and traipsed down the 401, amid 48 others, talking, laughing, singing. They passed out these nifty passes, marking us on our Sugarland adventure. Jenny sat beside me and was literally vibrating with excitement. I won't bore you with the mundane details of the bus ride down, highlights include a stop at Wendy's, four rowdy travelers drinking at the back of the bus (spurning Jenny and I to sit somewhere outside the splatter zone where our ears weren't bleeding) and then there was this (the thing that made me twitter): covert farting.

The event was held at the Courthouse, on Adelaide in Toronto. I must admit, the venue was breathtaking. I fervently wished for my Pentax, but had to be satisfied with a point and shoot, sans flash (as we were instructed). Still... it was so pretty.

The band sounded STELLAR, unfortunately Jennifer Nettles was ill, and her talking voice was very scratchy. I felt kinda sorry for her, in the "when your sick you'd rather stay home and die" instead of out pleasing her fans, but hey. She's paid for it. LOL.

I cannot actually choose a moment that was the best one, it was more like a feeling. As I stood there, surrounded by 199 other people, I began to feel it. A perceptible change in the haze, a sharpening in my chest. As I looked around the lavish decor, heard the music that pumps from Jenny's car when we're out wreaking summer havoc, tasted the cold beer in my hand... a slight constriction happened in my chest. Tears sprang to my eyes as I watched Jenny, enraptured in the experience and loving it like she was dying, and it happened. Life creeped back into my veins, my hips began to sway on their own and I forgot all that has twisted my guts.


As Jenny wrangled into the crowd, dodging tall folks, scurrying around short ones, I laughed. A real honest to peanuts laugh from my belly... until tears formed in the corners of my eyes. They stayed there until she returned - triumphant - autograph in hand. I felt quite content on the bus ride home, listening to the rowdies sing country tunes while I sang along in my seat. I didn't care if I was off tune or didn't know all the words... I just wanted to lift up my voice and let a little of that happiness out. You gotta do that now and again...

Sugarland? You kicked ass. BX93, you too. Dad? I dunno how to begin to repay you for a few hours of sanity... I'll find a way, someday. But Jenny, you my dear are the girl-love of my life. I couldn't have had any better time than standing behind you as you bobbed up and down and got all teary-eyed over this band. I love you girl, I really do.

Viva la Moonbeam!

I recently went away on a mini-vacation with my boy, Aftermath. After packing up the car, we headed out on a 12 hour drive to Moonbeam Ontario, or as I call it - the true test of intimacy. We arrived much later... somewhere around 2 am.
Scheduled to attend a family reunion in Timmins on Saturday, Aftermath and I set about cramming as much fun as we could in a three day weekend. With his recent job demands keeping him away from home, it was a much needed reprieve from so much separation. In the spirit of renewed love, we headed up to Timmins solo on Friday in search of matching tattoos. Ten minutes, a hundred dollars and one snake threat later, we are sporting his and hers sniper marks, continuing our offbeat and quirky relationship between the crosshairs.
The family reunion was fabulous. Too much beer, too much french and one shot with "Uncle Rrroogggee" later, I was suddenly hit with a realization. Ok, maybe not suddenly, a little drunkity means a lot slower. For Aftermath too... and I quote "Hmm, is Cappuccino french for mudslide?" Me (slurring): No honey. It's Italian for coffee...dumbass!". LMAO. It's still funny.
Aftermath, I love you. I declare my love to you from the top of this blog mountain for all the world to hear. Thank-you for sharing your life, your heart and your beautiful family with me. Most of all, thank-you for sharing your every day. I'm looking forward to a lifetime of 12 hour drives by your side.

Three Shirts DO NOT Equal One Bra

Alright, back to the task at hand. I began sharing the horrors of the hotel situation down here in O-dot, but had to run screaming from the bugs.
Bugs.
So to recap, the shit-ass room we originally had we vacated. Quick.
Picture this: two tired as girls with suitcases on wheels roaming the streets for another hotel. At 11 pm. In Ottawa. Thankfully the lovely Holiday Inn was willing to take in these two strangers, and actually it seems that they are NO strangers to the horrors of the Embassy Hotel. Seriously people? DO. NOT. STAY. THERE.
We'd like to give props to the Con-Con man, otherwise known as Conor the night desk clerk. He set us up good and proper. After falling in love with the new room and gorging our tired asses on a vending machine dinner, we slept beautifully. Note: French Onion Sun Chips? ARE a meal.
Besides the aforementioned insect attack and the two new blisters between my toes - who knew THAT could happen?? - we've had a blast.

This city? Is CHILL.

Only one problem. Ottawa seems to definetly enforce a "no bra - total service" motto. The amount of free swinging girls around here is frightening. It would be ok (I guess, although it makes me feel violent) having a size 00 body and being 6 ft tall with tiny little appley boobs but the ones I see are attacking each other, and possibly anyone standing within three feet. I know gravity is a bitch, but cmon. Three shirts DO NOT equal one bra. Not now, not ever.

On a finer note... or less fleshy... I ate a beaver tail yesterday. SO BAD for you. SO loverly. Fried dough, chocolate spread...heaven. Who can't love a city whose famous for such a caloric treat?

Viva l' Ottawa!!

Ottawa Bluesfest and Three Days Grace

To return to the previous intended post, I want you all to know that Three Days Grace ROCKED my socks last night. Hitting the stage at 8 pm sharp, the boys did not disappoint. Clad in a white collared shirt and black tie and sporting a shorter haircut, Adam successfully worked his crowd of adoring fans.
Thanks to Bluesfest and their giant Jumbotron, everyone in the park could get a very good view of what was happening on stage, no fans tall or small were disappointed.

Being my tenth concert with these dudes, I myself was impressed with another high quality show. Adam's voice was on point, Neil's drumming to die for and both Barry and Brad never missed a note. Adam did a white hot acoustic rendition of Alice in Chain's Rooster - his voice stepping up to provide those deep sweet grungy tones. I heart that boy. He makes my tummy flip.

They ended the set with Home from the first album, in which Neil had a solo on the drums. Adam wove in Filter's Hey Man Nice Shot into the middle, changing up the feel of the song and truly touching the hearts of those rockers in the audience. Hey man - nice choice!

So the event kicked ass, I definetly exclaimed "yes" and "auhhh" and "sweet" over and over in Jenny's ear, bless her heart for putting up with that!

As for all that happened after? It's another post.

Three Days Grace

Ok, I meant this to be about the kickass concert I just came back from, but that's going to have to wait.

Upon return to the hotel of doom, Jen found bugs in the bathroom.

Bugs.

In. OUR. Bathroom. BIG MOTHERFUCKIN BUGS.
I've got some screaming to do.

To be continued.

GET. ME. OUTTA HERE.

Ok, so here I am, in Ottawa for the much anticipated Bluesfest Girls Trip. I've been here...oh lets round up and say: two hours. Verdict? HATE. Here is how I've spent them:

1) Driving around in useless one way circles that go the opposite way I want. 15 minutes.
2) Arriving at the.. um... GHETTO hotel I'm paying $100.00 per night to stay in... AND finding out "oops" the room isn't clean, come back (and I quote) in "about an hour or two". How long exactly is that? He had no answer. 20 minutes.
3) Cruising a cute little pub called the Mayflower for a beer and a quick lunch while waiting for said time to elapse. 10 minutes.
4) Literally SPITTING the food I bit into BACK onto the plate? 2.2 seconds.
(Granted, the pub manager DID apologize for the fries that tasted like retread fish. Turns out no one changed the oil in the deep fryer for, lets go with... a year. Who knew. Free Beer.)
5) Returning to the hotel, finding room clean (high five Jenny!) but then having to provide a second credit card for security (AND I QUOTE: Should we just LET you trash the room?), paying 2.69 per day for internet access and $9.00 a day for parking... 20 mindblowing minutes.
6) Finally getting to the room to find it looks EXACTLY like what I'd have vomited up had I eaten the aforementioned food? TOTAL MINDFUCK. Actual time lost, jaw still slack.

GET. ME. THE FUCK OUTTA HERE. Pronto.