Anticipation, Frustration, Obama-Nation

Anticipation: Two weddings, in eight days. e haven't been to a wedding in years (and that one was doomed at the altar, no doubt), and now we've got two. I am looking forward to bringing my camera to both, and also to contributing actual food to the wedding reception for one.

I have received my Food Assignment and I am on it like Paula Deen on a stick of butter. Oooh, yeah.

Frustration: I am NOT getting what I want, on pretty much all fronts, these days. The car is still in the shop, even though they were sure it would be ready yesterday. I keep sending out queries for work and get back, well, the sound of crickets. So far, this week, the dog has peed on my purse, three leather coats, and a carpet. AND YET I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM, or even want to. Hubby's band is defunct, and I have no idea what comes next on that one, so no dancing to slap bass for me anytime soon. I keep telling the Sons to handle their business and my reward is a general sinking feeling that I am becoming an ineffectual nag.

The Beach suggests I get an air horn and striped shirt, for handling all those episodes of Brotherly Love. I think she is a genius. Just gimme that whistle on a string.

About half of our CD collection has been bogarted by a Son, I guess. I keep opening cases and finding nothing. HOW DARE HE MISPLACE GEORGE THOROGOOD? That's just wrong. I may have to toss his room.

On the bright side, the poison ivy seems to be clearing up, Son #1 has been asking my advice on a very sweet project of his own devising, school is almost out and my nail polish is pristine, for once. (Honestly, a successful manicure does lift my mood. I am more girly than I thought, I guess.)

And the Obama-nation?
Well, I just am speechless. We are out of money? Shutting down businesses run by owners who did not contribute to Obama's election? Choosing a Supreme Court justice because she is a Latina? (Hey, maybe she's okay, but her job is to follow the Constitution. Don't need a uterus or a Compelling Personal Story for that.) I haven't been blogging on all this stuff because, well, I don't want to turn into a ranting nutbag, and Dhimmi Carter has that effect on me on a pretty consistent basis.

So, you know, I'll shut up now.

Pounding Sand at Cryer's Back Road Inn, this Saturday

Plan ahead, all y'all, because Hubby's band, Pounding Sand, is playing at Cryer's Back Road Inn on January 24th.

I LOVE when Hubby plays at Cryer's. It's a great bar for dancing and Doug will be there. Which may lead to a small group of us Doing the Doug away from the Country Store Blues Jam. Can't miss that.

Classic and modern rock, some funky, danceable stuff, and the bass player most likely to get Penelope to move Stateside: it will be awesome. You should come.

Really, you should.

A taste of Pounding Sand

Hubby's band played the office Christmas party. Someone nudged the video camera, so you can't see the guitarist or the drummer or the fabulous banner I made, but you CAN see Hubby on bass, and what more do you need in concert footage? Next gig is at Cryer's Back Road Inn, on January 24th. You know you want to be there.

Pounding Sand at Cadillac Jack's

Hubby's latest band, Pounding Sand, played their first paying gig tonight.
The drummer's wife was there, and a few friends of the band, and a few other people, but basically it was a quiet night.

Except.

The singer's girlfriend's sister got beat up in the parking lot. Six police cars responded to the scene.

I got there after 5 of the cruisers had left, and realized that I have a plan in place for these situations: If you arrive at a bar with a cop car in the parking lot, park next to the cop car.

See? I am bolder than those people who might see a cop car and keep driving.

A guy we know arrived rather lit. He continued drinking. He danced with the singer's girlfriend, drank the drummer's wife's White Russian, told us all he wanted to get married but "didn't know how to make it happen", and then stumbled into someone carrying a tray full of drinks, so that the straw wedged itself behind his eyeglasses.

He left after that.

The group of us who came to see the band sat together while the band packed up and critiqued the evening. That's not something I usually do with anyone other than Hubby, but it was interesting none the less. It's good to hear other people's perspectives. For the most part, they agreed with me on what went well, and what went badly.

Now, Hubby is home, going over the tapes, and I am looking over the leftover Halloween candy. The bowl is suffering from continued overcrowding. I'll have to do something about that.

On a semi-related note, at one point the guitarist, embarrassed by a mistake he made, said, "I'm not getting laid, tonight!" and Hubby leaned into his microphone and said, "But I will."

I think I have become altogether too predictable. Not that I'm going to change on that score!