SassyBlonde

A Disclaimer and a Mea Culpa (1/11/08): Sorry it's taken so long guys, but I've finally told everyone I need to tell in person about the events the last few days of the tour, so here, finally, is the last set of entries for your enjoyment. They all lead up to a pretty horrendous finale on Day 22, so if you're interested in reading all about it and haven't got your hot little hands on the password, please email me per the instructions here..

Let me get this out of the way right now: Sleep Number Beds are the biggest crock of shit I've ever experienced. They're basically great big overpriced air mattresses, more complicated and less helpful than the one I bought at Target, but even less comfortable. I woke up this morning in a rictus of pain as my back decided that the best position was seized up to the gills. It got so bad that I was getting shooting pains through my right hip. I fully admit that the problem probably started when I slipped on the ice and probably was exacerbated when I stayed up until three A.M. playing Celebrity with The Crew, but for the love, people.

Speaking of playing Celebrity until three in the morning, we did exactly that after tonight's concert. I'm starting to think I'm drinking a little much on this tour, which has become a tour of expensive single malts for me. Our Manager and The Maestro always seem to have a couple of really good bottles on hand, and besides the Maker's I've been sampling a little of the finer fare when I have a chance. Good stuff that, but it will knock you on your ass if you're careful. That's why I was very, very cautious at tonight's Pianist Party, which as we've established before is usually inhabited by some of the less savory types in our group, including the aforementioned Maestro. He was intent on having me try some of the 12-year Macallan he brought up, and as soon as it was poured, started backing me into a corner, talking about twelve inches from my face. Now, he's a close talker in the first place, but this was getting scary by the time Yar and CaraMia showed up. See, I made the mistake of showing up there by myself, thinking that the two of them must have already gone up since no one answered my knock on their doors. Whoopsie, because I ended up being the only one from the Crew at the party at first. Never a good place to be-- we try to travel in packs to these things if we can. He's really starting to creep me out, Mr. Maestro, because he's very into my personal space. I'm trying to be polite, because we still have some concerts left to go, but it's beginning to make me pretty uncomfortable, the way he's acting around me. He had me backed up against the armoire and the wall at one point, telling dirty jokes and talking way, way too close to my face. I like to have fun and kid around, but I really don't want anyone to think there's anything going on there-- that's just nasty, and I have enough to worry about on this tour.

The Pinch Hitter, by the way, is pretty awful, frankly. The crazy thing about this music is that it's not hard to play, but it's very hard to play well, so we've all been getting a nice dose of that old Sesame Street song. Another case of the jinxes, because just as we were kind of humming along in the woodwind section, there went that handbasket with Sassy Jo and now we're a three-legged table again. Oy. I would say I need a drink, but I think that's probably best left for another time.