My Cowgirl Night


I haven’t had a moment to process the events of the last couple days so I am grateful this morning for this blog, iced coffee, mascara smears I just am not washing off until I feel like it. I look in the mirror and they make me smile, reminding me finally not of tears, but of all the ingredients that make up the best soul food. That would be sunshine, new friends, dancing boots, nachos and beer, laughter, an encore that far exceeds anticipation, a cute date, and without a doubt, the art of really good music.

I love concerts more than anything in the world. People who do not know me well comment on how loud, outgoing, or crazy I seem. And yes, I must agree I talk too much, too fast, and have always thought turning strangers into long lost friends by midnight a great thrill.

I can be painfully not shy.

And yet, the people who are actually in my life are never surprised at my desperate cry for alone time, my love for quiet spaces and good books, my distaste for loud bars where the beer is flowing and the people are shouting. Wedding engagements and baby showers have received many a groan and I am notorious for not returning phone calls.
It is however the joy of my life to look around and feel the combining energy of all the people in love with the same music, feel speakers vibrating through my feet, experience the anticipation for those two notes that announce my favorite song louder and more clearly than my car stereo could ever hope for. The crowd knows when something historical happens, a song never played before by that band, a cover with a guitar solo unheard but to that moment, and this is the point when the crowd changes.

The excitement explodes in the moment and strangers become no more, and I love to see grown men hugging each other, everyone jumping in unison with all inhibitions left behind them. These are the moments I live for. No separation or judgment, leaving room for only unity, lots of chatter, the sharing of cigarettes, and the meeting of bigger than life, off the wall colorful characters.

There was a guy like that last night. He had on a headband, big sunglasses, and overly tight “Gay for Guster” t-shirt. He was on the lawn next to us with his fiance, who had a large Red Bull in one hand, a flask of warm tequila in the other.

They were excited over their plans to get married on 9/11 because it saved $4000, and our connection was over one song we all agreed to be best, and when it started to play, I knew he was keeping his word, shouting out “cowgirl” into the fresh spring air, a nickname he decided on after commenting on my floral boots.

Madonna says it best. Music brings the people together.

Ben Harper did not disappoint, and it was overall, a great night. No doubt I woke up today with carpool for Kat, Lola to feed, and all the details of my new photography adventure to begin. I am bursting at the seams lately to write, my blogs impatient and unwilling to be ignored. I must express them to understand them, and the latest include my school acceptance, my friendship with Clyde, my latest adventures with sidekicks Kat and Lola, and the meeting of Blind Date Guy.

And yet, I bet “Gay for Guster” has a day job too, and I wonder if he has on his work clothes, if he woke up and found his sunglasses and headband in strange places, like I did with my boots.

I wasn’t looking for them but couldn’t help but stumble upon them since they were left directly in alignment with the fridge, the perfect spot ending a great night.

I love shoes like that. The ones with the great stories of where you went and who you met.
I put them back in my closet with satisfaction.

They will always remind me of being Cowgirl for a night, hearing the notes of “Under Pressure” begin, the flirtation with Blind Date boy who didn’t want me to go home. I hope for the days I get lost in translation, to see certain shoes and secretly remember I am so much more than a working mom, hoping to make it through the day, anxious if all the bills will get paid.
“I am Cowgirl”, I will say. She never forgets, gets lost, or stumbles along the way. She feels alive, howls under the moon, feels the love of everyone around her, and dances in the rain all the way home.

For you Gay for Guster, they played it well, sir. They played it well.

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