I got to spend the weekend without kids and hanging out with the hubs. Let me say-it was wonderful. The summer hasn’t been super stressful, but I was (ok still am) tired of all the whining and crying and fighting, so this was perfect timing. We went to Kentucky, a music festival in Louisville, and I realize this was probably an odd choice for thirty somethings, but once the decision was made we began to get excited.
Armed with nothing we walked from the hotel to the waterfront. I had gone to the bathroom before leaving the hotel and the walk was only about 5 blocks, but oh I really needed to go again. I am an anxious pee-er, this on top of having kids, means that moment we entered the festival I had to go straight to the porta potties. Don’t you love it? Once this urgent situation was taken care of I could finally absorb my surroundings. I immediately noticed one thing. My outfit of shorts and a tank top was totally frumpy. If the hairy chin and upper lip I noticed for the first time ever weren’t dead giveaway I was helping to shift the mean age, well my clothes were. The shorts were so short ass was hanging out, in contradiction to this, the waists were so high I began to wonder if 18-yr-olds no longer had belly buttons. The shirts were all cropped so that all the skin showing was the small bit from under your boob to about an inch above your naval. I don’t wear long ‘mom shorts’ I feel mine are fairly short, but here I was so dated. I left my boob glitter at home and when I saw a sign from some punk kid that asked girls to show him their glitter boobs for a dollar it took my husband telling me to just walk away so that I didn’t go up to him and explain sexism, misogyny, and feminism. I still regret I didn’t, I don’t care how drunk that idiot was, he needed to know girls with glitter boobs don’t owe him a thing. Speaking of boobs, the boob sweat game was fierce, the music was so loud my husband said we should have taken those ear plugs from his mother, and our arm band stating we were over 21 seemed to make us even older.
Music though is ageless so armed with our frumpy clothes and beer we went to listen to Wacka Flocka Flame. Squeezed in tight, the aroma of pot everywhere, watching a man in a tight sparkly speedo weave in and out of the horde, we awaited our first act. We were soon met with mosh pitting skinny white dudes. Luckily they were skinny and my husband works out because kept me quite safe. They may have been tiny white guys, but 30s or not I am a petite person who could have been knocked to the floor many times over if not for my husband’s arms creating a barrier. The music was good, the sun scorching, and after a couple hours I realized I made a vital mistake-I wore gold colored flip-flops that had no support at all. They were also the only shoes I brought. My back hurt so so bad. It was killing me, I needed some type of orthotic support. Screw my cute pedicure I needed arch support!!
We didn’t just hang out at the waterfront, we spent our mornings meeting up with old friends. It makes my heart warm, I miss Kentucky even more, and I am thrilled that friendships can endure years of separation. I also learned that conversations about alcohol have switched from what stupid crap you did while wasted to what is the best way to cut down on your glycemic index while drinking, and how the switch to wine so that beer gut isn’t hanging out makes the most sense. Also, if you want to indulge you really need to watch the desserts because desserts and beer is just too much. If you wanted to veer from the topic of alcohol other topics of conversation include: marriage, divorce, children, illness, and home ownership.
The whole weekend I was hyper aware of my age. I am sure no one else noticed or cared in the least, but I couldn’t help but notice that while in my mind I am the same college girl who went to school in Louisville, I had in fact gotten older and not even really noticed. At all the concerts the people surrounding me, for the most part, were closer in age to my 10-yr-old. I longed for shade and bottles of water, and really did I mention my back hurt so bad. I enjoyed the music, to be free from children, to dance with my husband, and enjoy the feeling of being back where we fell in love was priceless. Then to experience Weezer was worth it all. 15 years ago many I knew went to a Weezer concert, I didn’t get to go, and ever since I have been eager to make up for it. So on the final night, as the final act, Weezer graced the stage and, for once the people surrounding me were my age. We sang along to all the songs and in that moment felt ageless. That my friends is the power of music. It was so worth it. Even if my back still hasn’t fully recovered.