Not At ACL Fest
Hello, I'm Mags, and I'm not at the Austin City Limits Music Festival.
I'm not seeing Dylan, or Crowded House, or Bjork, the Killers, Reverend Horton Heat, the Arctic Monkeys, Robert Earl Keen, The Decemberists, Spoon, Yo La Tengo, Steve Earle, Raul Malo, or Arcade Fire.
And, though I sound it, I'm not particularly bitter. It was hot, expensive, and - the presence of The Jelly Dots notwithstanding - not particularly kid friendly. (See "hot." And "expensive.")
But - as in the previous "If I Were at South By Southwest" post - I do reserve the right to daydream about the bands that I WOULD have seen. And to make a mental "fantasy schedule" of the whole three-day festival.
Sad and lame? Yes. But at least I know I'm sad and lame. Which makes it OK, and much hipper than being sad and lame AND uninformed about how sad and lame I am.
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At some point within the last month, YG has become a completely-formed three-year-old, shrieking temper tantrums at all. I thought I had skipped this phase with this one, but apparently not.
The upside of all this is that OG has realized that she has suddenly graduated to the status of the "less stressful" child. And she is pretty damned gleeful about it, let me tell you. When I'm hauling YG off for a time-out because she's having a wall-eyed screaming fit about the amount of milk in her bowl of Cream of Wheat, it is all the OG can do to not dance about the living room in joy.
Though I admonish her for taking pleasure in her sister's pain, it's pretty damned funny, I have to admit.
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So, I'm making 10th anniversary plans, for me and The Man, already. They're very exciting and secret. And perhaps premature, since it's not until next June. A lot can happen in 9 months. (But not THAT. I hope. Anything going on down there yet? Helloooo?)
In that amount of time, he could totally ditch me for some hot, beer-and-track-and-field-loving, politically far-left-wing, mass-transit-espousing, Tina-Fey-looking chick with perkier breasts and less ass fat.
But, hey, dude? If you do, then you won't get to do this kick-ass anniversary thing with me. So think about THAT, why don't you, you cheating bastard!
2 comments:
Oh honey, please — if I want to run off (no pun intended) with a track & field-loving chick, I'll have to first overcome the major hurdle (okay that pun was intended) of actually finding one. Believe me, before I met you, I tried. At this point, I'd gladly settle for just having Blanka Vlasic perform a private high-jumping exhibition for me. My "cheating" fantasies don't really go beyond that.
So glad I'm not the only one who's got the Three Year Old blues. My child has positively become the tantrum and crying/whining-for-no-reason QUEEN over the past couple of months. And the arguing?! She argues with me about every. Little. Thing.
It's wearing me out. Now the "good" one in the house is Earl. He never argues with me, and though he's been known to pout, he's never thrown a tantrum.
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