pWdumaNjA-6CEEBhRoD5euxNETs When All This Actual Life Played Out: Bigger in Texas

09 September 2015

Bigger in Texas

San Antonio, Texas
19 May 2015

So we left off with lots of singing. At 3 a.m.

D. had to go to work when the sun rose Tuesday morning. I had to figure out if I was going to Houston.

Yes, no, yes, no.

Plane! (no)

Concert! (yes)

But...plane. (argh)

I looked at flights. The idea of getting on a plane seemed like a gargantuan undertaking.

(Concert hangover. Singing hangover. General exhaustion. General inertia. nononono)

San Antonio to Houston. Houston to New Orleans. I needed to be in New Orleans by Friday. San Antonio to New Orleans?

I stared at my iPad with disgust and finally started pushing buttons. (yes?)

So...I'd committed to Houston with a non-refundable flight. And I still didn't have a ticket to a concert that was beginning to sound sold out.

Which meant I was going to be getting off the plane and heading straight to the venue to see if any tickets were going to be released. Always a fun proposition. But one that had worked well for me in the past, most memorably when I entered my house years ago, sweaty and disgusting from mowing the lawn and pulled up a third row ticket to Nokia for face value on Ticketmaster. Some things, apparently, are just meant to be. So I'd keep my fingers crossed.

When D. returned home from work, we took the rental car back (please note: only D. could successfully convince me to drive a truck I with which I was unfamiliar in a city I'd never seen before. Did I mention that D. and convincing was how I ended up in the pit at Irvine? Yes, yes, I did.), and then D. decided I needed a Big Red margarita.

It's true, everything is bigger in Texas. Even blue drinks that are also red.

Bonus margarita photo!

(That scant inch from the rim was about the sum total of what I drank. The margarita was in about a quart huge.)

Over the course of the evening and into the next morning, I was checking the Houston venue's website via my phone. Ticket? No ticket. Ticket? No ticket.

And finally, while I was sitting in the departure lounge at the San Antonio airport: ticket! Which sent me into a panic. Tech savvy as I may be, I do NOT buy things using my phone.

But Wednesday, May 20 was a day of firsts: setting out for a concert alone for the first time since December 2010, and hitting the "purchase" button on my phone as I boarded a plane.

(It was also the first time I actually worked during a concert, though I begged off the conference call I was supposed to be on, citing noise issues. Still, I sat there responding to emails and setting up agendas before the show started and during intermission. Because I am weird like that.)

I ran into a number of people that I know that night, but a concert is never the same without D. Yes, I still have a blast, but it's just not quite the same. At least in my head, D. and I have been Team Chica for the last decade, and it's always more fun when she is standing there elbowing me, or vice versa, during the show. Plus there is the getting lost and the 1 am breakfast and the reliving of the previous 3 hours. And invariably, whatever happens becomes fodder for storytelling for years. Witness the two of us sitting up over homemade pancakes until all hours after Irvine in July, regaling the daughter with stories of Kansas City and Chicago, Red Rocks and Las Vegas, New Hampshire and Atlanta, Toronto and Austin, crying with laughter as we lived it all again.

And just as invariably, stories come from the times I travel solo. There I was during the first half of the Houston show, happily giving myself whiplash during "The Anarchist," when suddenly someone grabbed me from behind. I nearly came out of my skin.

It turned out to be the inebriated male significant other of the even more inebriated woman in the row behind me. They were trying to hug me (!!!) because, as the woman screamed at me, "you're a Rush sister!"


At least they didn't spill beer or throw up on me!

Tech stuff: Taken with my iPhone6. I have had beer spilled on me many times, which is why one of my traveling rules is that I always have a completely clean change of clothing packed along with a large garbage bag for the clothes I wore to the show to keep them separate until they can be washed. Blessedly, I have never been vomited on nor peed on, though I know that has happened to others.

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