I'm With the Band

D's guitar teacher is pretty great. He's really good at getting the kids out to play and sing in public, and I mean all of his students, not just my beautiful, extremely talented child but she's the only one I care about and I'm only mentioning the others because they have parents who are probably also proud of them. Whatevs. Anyhoo, I have now seen her perform in public three times since she first started her classes a year ago. And you know what? She rocks. Totally. Let me tell you a little story about Tuesday night.

I found out just a few hours before that Joe invited D and K (her friend that she takes lessons and duets with) to play at Good Life Tuesday evening. I had a paper to write, but of course I blew it off to go listen to my kid sing. Duh. It wasn't even a choice. I gathered Mr. A. and The Wife and her mister (who needs a name, obviously. Suggestions accepted in the comments) and hoped that it wouldn't rain before she was done.

Since I'd taken my camera along to get some good performance pictures, I ran up to the front when she started and snapped away the entire time, which also served the dual purpose of keeping me from crying. Because she amazes me when she's up there. She looks confident and perfectly at home, even though she tells me afterward how much she was shaking. And she gets better every time. This night her voice was louder and clearer and so.... her. And yet not her. This is a side of her that we are getting to know. And I really, really, like it.

So does everyone else apparently. While I was standing there clicking away, a man approached me and asked where the tip jar was. Tip jar? Are you kidding me? But I totally acted casual about it. There's a beer glass, right there. How convenient! He popped a $5 bill in there (which D later complained smelled like beer) and asked if I was with the band. I beamed and said, "Yes! That is my daughter on the left!" He remarked how good she was and I had to agree. Except I wouldn't have said good or great, I would have said fantastic or incredible.

The girls sang their five songs and were getting up to turn it back over to Joe when several audience members cried out, "Encore!" "One more!" "Another song!" The girls obliged them like complete professionals and I wooooood the loudest. And beamed. And cheered some more. Yes, ladies and gents, I now have a rock star in my house. I'm not proud of that fact at all. Obviously.

If you would like to experience the magnificent talent of my offspring, she will be performing July 29th at Broken Top Bottle Shop between 7 and 9 p.m. Tips and encore requests are optional.

Things I Did This Weekend. For Anyone Who Remotely Gives a Shit.

I went to a friend's house and drank Bloody Marys while watching trash TV and using her dryer because my POS is broken. It got borked. I got a little borked because I'm a baby drinker now after having vertigo and barely drinking for a month. The corn nuts made up for it. So did the bacon pizza.

I watched my Bugabooga sing at the Roots Festival. I was so nervous for her because this was her first real public performance (because a school choir in front of a bunch of other parents doesn't really count) but then she said she didn't care because only "old people" showed up, her friends weren't there and she had a cold so she didn't feel like it. She did mess up one part of the first song, but it wasn't a big deal and she kept playing. I thought she sounded so beautiful and, if I wasn't so focused on trying to record her on my little camera without shaking all over the place, I would have been a heap of tears and kleenex on the floor. She just fit up there. Like she'd just been doing it forever. She had instant groupies.

Drove to Portland and back in a day to take the Singing Diva clothes shopping. She agreed to try on more of what I showed her than completely rejecting my suggestions so I feel we have made progress. Also, her style is more Bohemian/Classic Hepburn than anything resembling Jersey Shore Skank, so I feel I've done my job in that department. We ate crab fondue, which was the most sensually satisfying experience I've had in months except I had to contain myself with Sesame Street words like "oh, this is yummy" instead of taking the bowl into a back room and rolling around in it. It was a close call with the mashed potatoes too.

The drive back was anything but orgasmic. It was dark and raining and I was stuck behind a trailer. Seriously, Oregon drivers are the biggest dumbasses. There are turnouts every quarter mile for a reason, fuck puppet!! He was just lucky I still had some of my chocolate shake left to tame my road rage.

I bought a pair of Dr. Seuss Converse for me and Halloween pajamas for my dogs. And I wasn't embarrassed to do either. Just a typical walk on the wild side.