Of Toads and Todds and skirted Tankinis

Three days since my last post and there is still little semblance of order in the Chicky Household. I've been trying to put my house back to the way I left it before I took off for my single gal evening on Friday and its just not happening. Even though I do have air conditioning it's still hotter outside than a frog's ass on a hotplate and that heat tends to permeate the walls of my home making it insufferable in the afternoons. Not conducive to cleaning, if you ask me. Or maybe I just felt like lounging around watching repeats of "The World Series of Pop Culture" (which, btw, I would totally kick some booty in) while scratching at the heat rash on my shins and eating mint chocolate chip ice cream. Either way, progress is slow and I can't put off posting any longer. Summer's are tough on the blog updates, man. I don't know how some of you do it.

I mentioned the other day that I had my first night away from my child since she was born 15 months ago. It was a long time coming. A very long time. But there never seemed to be a good excuse to get the hell out of Dodge. Before you say it, I know I shouldn't need an excuse. But apparently tucked inside that wee baby blanket that swaddled my newborn on the way home from the hospital was a huge amount of Mommy Guilt. Its not my fault, it was the Mommy Guilt. I am powerless in its clutches.

It took a call from my sister and just the right combination of words to get me to put down the cross and leave the county without my child.

"Hi Sis. Guess what? Toad the Wet Sprocket and Big Head Todd and the Monsters are playing at the Melody Tent in July. Wanna get tickets?"

Uh, does the Pope wear a funny hat? Are the Red Sox going to screw up any chance they may have at winning another World Series? Is a Blooming Onion possibly the worst thing you could put in your mouth but yet oh so damn tasty??

In other words, Hell Yeah.

Pass up a chance to see two of my favorite bands from the 90's? No friggin' way. You may be thinking to yourself "Who in the Sam Hell is Toad and Todd?" or "Uh, okay Mrs. Chicky. Whatever floats your musical boat." while backing away slowly making circles around one ear with your index finger. No, I'm not (too) looney. I love the lesser known bands, especially those two. They defined a period of time in my life in the 90's and I am all about reliving my youth, however pitiful that might be.

So on Friday afternoon once Mr. C got home from work I packed up my car and hit the road. My toes were painted a lovely shade of Burgundy/red and my iPod with its car radio adapter was loaded up with some new albums. I had an hour and a half of nothing but me and music... and traffic. Gah. Normally, this is where I would be bitching about every moron driver on the road but I just don't have the heart. I had such a nice time that I'm feeling charitable.

(Except to you, Mr. Land Rover with New York tags. You, sir, should have your license revoked and your car turned into a piece of lawn art. May we never cross paths again because the next time I will not be held responsible for my actions after following you for 3 miles while you drive 70 mph in the fast lane, matching the speed of the people in the center lane, making it impossible for me to pass your sorry ass. Did you not see me gesturing wildly to you? I guess not since you had your head so far up your sphincter you were tickling your intestines with your tongue instead of driving the damn car. You finally made me flash my lights at you. I hate doing that. You, sir, are lucky I'm a lady and I kept my middle finger to myself.)

After I finally got over the Sagamore Bridge (don't look down, don't look down) and went a few miles down rt.6 I arrived at my darling sister's restaurant. Yes, my sister and her husband are restauranteurs. Usually they feed me for free (have I mentioned lately how much I love them?) but that night was a special occasion so, after shopping for that damn tankini with the skirt, my sister and I drowned our sorrows in a fabulous meal at another place in town. Lovely meal, lovely wine, lovely company, and not a Cheerio or high chair or cellulite dimple in sight. The tankini was all but forgotten. Well, almost. When the waitress had to roll me out of there because I stuffed my face with seared scallops with mushroom raviolis and crab cakes with mango salsa... Ah, hell. Damn the thighs! I own a skirted tankini! Viva la tankini!

Where was I? Shit, if I can't keep my own place in the story how the hell can I expect you to stay with me? Thank you if you're still here. Have a cookie.

Oh yeah, the concert (slapping palm to forehead) the reason why I took the night off. It was great, even for middle-of-the-road, this (thumb and forefinger half inch apart) close to soft adult contemporary alterna-pop. Indie-pop? Rock-pop? Hell if I know. For those of you who have never been to the Cape Cod Melody Tent - and that would be all of you I'm guessing - it actually is a tent. The venue is so small that there's not a bad seat in the house, and to top it off the stage rotates 360 degrees. Its kind of gimmicky but it makes for a very intimate music experience. Our seats were so close to the stage that I could have reached out and grabbed a Toad and give him a squeeze. During BHTM's performance there were times when I really would have enjoyed reaching out and touching some Todd. There's something about a lead singer who plays guitar that makes me feel all tingly. And he's a bit of a philosopher. The guy doesn't even need to be particularly good looking, but if you strap a guitar on him slung low over his, ahem, hips and stick him behind a microphone. Ooohweee. Is it getting hotter in here, or is it just me?

After the concert we still had energy so we stopped by a local blues bar and danced like idiots to a fantastic Zydeco band. I was trying to cram as much into that one evening as possible. I actually stayed out past midnight! Look out, there's a crazy Mama in town. Okay, not so crazy because by 12:30 my feet were killing me and my back was crying in agony so off to bed I went.

This is where I get all sappy. That was the first evening that I wasn't responsible for another human being. The first night in 15 months that I didn't have a baby next to me, either physically or over a monitor. I physically craved my daughter presence, it was this primal need. My husband probably thinks I got a great night's sleep because I had a bed all to myself and no worries of a baby waking in the middle of the night, but he would be wrong in that assumption. I slept like hell. I knew I was going to enjoy my last few hours to myself, but I was dying to get back to my kid. But, of course, things are never as easy as they should be and things didn't entirely go according to plan the next day. They never do, do they?

And that's where I'm going to end this post. Its gotten too long and if you're still with me you deserve two or three more cookies and a pat on the back for your stamina. And a glass of milk. Screw that, a glass of wine. Mmm... cookies and wine. But what happens next, you ask? What else did you nutty Chicky's do when let loose on the Cape? Was the skirted tankini a hit? You'll have to stop by tomorrow to find out. Or the next day 'cause I'm a slacker. A shameless slacker. With a skirted tankini.