Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts

Saturday, August 9, 2025

An Old Lady Guide to Music Festivals: 3 Best Practices

I know that many of you are reading the title, shaking your head, and thinking, "Why in the world would I go to a music festival?" 

And, I get that. I am a true music fan. Always have been, and obviously at this point, safe to assume I always will be. But, I understand why people would question spending a lot of money to stand in a field somewhere amongst thousands, and in some cases over 100K, sweaty people in the dead of the hot summer, just to listen to music? It's a good question.

Yes, you will encounter an abundance of drunk, often middle-aged idiots, partially clothed teens, drug-adled losers, and an assortment of other odd eggs. The people watching alone is truly next-level. Are these people you would choose to spend time with? Certainly not, in most cases. 


Another reality: It will also most likely be hot as balls...or worse, boobs!  And, for sure, you'll walk a lot more than you would probably like...especially in that heat. I typically log around 20K steps per day during a typical music fest. 

Of course, this is all dependent on the type of musical festival you are going to. There is Lollapalooza, one of the biggest music festivals in the world, held here in Chicago. This is the Olympics of music fests and not for rookies, unless you are well-prepared. 

There are six stages, but the distance between the two main stages is daunting, nearly a mile, or just under a 20-minute walk. That is, if you didn't have to navigate through a gauntlet of 100,000 other people to get there, which happened to me this year at Lolla. I got caught like salmon swimming upstream against a flood of sweaty, panicked young women leaving the Role Model set and trying to make the Gracie Abrams set at the opposite stage. It was terrifying. 

While not all music festivals are this big, you still need to do your homework. Know the bands you want to see, and where and when they are playing, so you can wisely and strategically chart your course. Backtracking is your enemy. 

That said, you must be prepared, so I'm here to help. You're welcome.

Tip One: Dress appropriately

Dress accordingly. If you are anywhere in my age range, the most important thing is to wear comfortable shoes. And, not sandals unless you like picking straw, sticks, and gravel from between your toes constantly, as festivals often take place in the middle of fields of any kind. 

That seems like a no-brainer, and yet you would not believe the number of people, typically women, who show up in cowboy boots. Nothing like your feet marinating in your own sweat all day, then add a few blisters. Or the high heel wearers. These idiots are easy to identify by the end of the night by their "Night of the Living Dead" zombie walk, along with the leather pants wearers.

Breathable fabrics are also a plus. Again, you will see a lot of tragic fashion choices at music festivals that will make you question whether anyone actually looks in a mirror before leaving their house. For many years, the girls were eager to show off their boobs, often bedazzled with glitter, just in case you missed them on first glance. Bras were nearly nonexistent for a while.

This year, the "fest" fashion trend was wearing shorts that show off the lower butt cheeks. I wasn't aware that was a thing, but not surprising, as I don't interact with large groups of female tweens, teens, and Z'ers. You have seen people wearing pants so low that their underwear shows? Well, this is the opposite. I guess like the "side boob," this fashion fail is a "this too shall pass" proposition. Just saying: not all asses are public-ready. 


It's also important to bring the essentials in your clear backpack that measures no more than 12 inches square. What to bring? Sunscreen, an empty, clear, reusable water bottle, earplugs, a hat, sunglasses, lip balm, tissues (for when portos run out), cash/ID, and a Turkish towel that can function as a wrap, a place to sit or as rain gear (that one was a welcome surprise). 

I usually also smuggle in some contraband...like granola bars, 😉 which I can do because of my advanced age. Another privledge. Food is stupid expensive and often terrible, so limiting the amount you have to buy, when possible, is best.

Tip Two: Don't drink...a lot.

I love my wine and margaritas, so this isn't a drinking-is-bad sermon. That said, for me every expensive, overpriced drink might trigger another trip to the bathroom, and bathroom trips can be tricky; not finding the bathroom but sucessfully finding your way back to your spot. 

Below is an aerial drone view of Lolla. Now imagine having to pee in the middle of that set, make your way through crowd to find bathrooms and then somehow find your way back to the same spot. Or not, I have lost people.  Bottom line: The less bathroom trips, the better. 


If you're a drinker, you're having multiple drinks, so many bathroom trips, and repeat, triggering multiple adventures that take you away from hearing music. I usually will have one strategically timed drink. 

In addition, with all the heat and walking, staying properly hydrated isn't easy, so you'll need constant and copious amounts of water just to survive. You sweat most of the water out, but drinking alcohol dehydrates you. 

I love going to festivals with my best music buddy, Stephanie, who is not a drinker. I never have to leave seeing a band because she needs a refill, and she's as cheap as I am so doesn't want to spend the money or waste the time buying food or shopping. She is also there for the music.

I am aware that many people see concerts as an opportunity to party and socialize, but that often makes it less enjoyable to everyone around you.. And, while I don't want to be a bitch, I am there to listen to music, not listen to drunk people who, instead of listening to the music, are just loudly talking through it. Yes, I'm grouchy because I'm old (see title). It's another privledge. 


Note: While having to pee at music festivals can be anxiety-inducing, the good news is modern porta-potties have come a long way I have a kitten-sized bladder, so this is important. This year at Lolla, there were all flushable, so no more holding my breath as long as possible. Amazing.

Tip Three: Have a good exit strategy

Yes, I know this sounds like this Progressive Insurance "Dr. Rick" commercial, but it's vital. Leaving Lolla at the end of the night, along with over 100K other people, is a thing of nightmares. Riding public transportation with a bunch of smelly, often drunk, teenagers is not pleasant, but neither is a $100+ ride share. All the options are piss-poor. 

So before every concert or music fest, I carefully weigh my exit options. Anyone who has been to a concert with me knows: I always come with a pre-baked strategy of when and how I am getting home. I first do my research on setlist.fm.com to determine what the band's typical set list looks like, and most importantly, how many songs are in the encore. 


My plan is typically to leave mid-encore; you can hear most of the rest as you walk out anyway. This is key, because getting that 5-minute headstart on the rest of the Tom, Dick, and Harries will get you home so much faster. At the end of any music event, spending extra time navigating through crowds or sitting in traffic is just a real bowl of bummer, so follow my lead to avoid it. 

I do think that, at any age, a music festival can be a great time and a wonderful way to open your ears and minds to not just new bands but entirely new genres of music. Bluegrass? Wasn't aware I even liked it until I heard Billy Strings and Michael Cleveland, a blind bluegrass fiddler with several Grammies, at a festival in Louisville, Kentucky. 

If you are a music lover, like I am, the ability to see many bands in one place in one day is very compelling. Start with smaller festivals and pick accommodations that enable you to walk to the venue, when possible. Do your homework beforehand to investigate bands you don't know who will be there. Some of my favorite bands I discovered at festivals. 

I hope everyone is having a great summer.

Rock on.

Barb


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Sunday, November 28, 2021

Remembering the Big Ass Christmas Party

Hello and happy holidays to everyone! Can't believe we are about to turn the page on 2021. I definitely think as you get older, the years seem to pass so much faster. Probably because once you are officially over the hill, gravity takes over and the ride gets faster. Makes sense. 

My closer friends know that I'm not a huge Christmas person; the word "Grinch" has been thrown around from time to time. I strongly disagree with that label however. The week before Christmas, I'm hella jolly as the week leading up to Christmas should be festive, but blaring Christmas tunes in October at Target or Walmart is a big NO for me. No one wants to have a pre-holiday anxiety attack in an aisle at Walmart!!!

I will also admit that I have not put up a Christmas tree since I moved out of our house in Ohio, almost 7 years ago. Just seems like a lot of hassle when we usually travel over the holiday and never have both kids home for the holiday. I don't have as much space so my decorations are also a tad sparse. I've been using the same Super Mega Giant roll of wrapping paper I bought at Costco in 2005. I can't tie a bow to save my life so my gifts are never properly bedazzled. 

Now having said that, I was once known for my rather wild annual holiday party, better known as the "Big Ass" Christmas Party. Why big ass? When I first starting throwing it, we lived in a barely 1,000-sq-ft house, our first, so having even a modestly sized party was fun but problematic. For one, everyone would want to hang out in my extremely small, galley-style kitchen, rendering me completely useless, unable to open the oven, open the refrigerator, or wash dishes. Made me absolutely nuts! 

Even Barbie had fun. 

So when we eventually moved to a larger house, with a huge kitchen that opened to the family room, I could invite as many people as I wanted and I did, eventually morphing into the "Big-Ass" Christmas Party with 100+ guests, although typically not at the same time. My party became the "last stop" party of the night since it always competed with other holiday and office parties (remember those?). Translation: a lot of late guests in very festive moods, i.e. pre-marinated. 

Perhaps that was one of the contributing factors, but it definitely had a rap for being a rather crazy night. I mean just having a swear word on the invite was enough to pique the curiosity of all of our respective kids, who, of course, were banned from the event. One of my invites on the inside listed reasons you should attend and one was "You feel wicked just saying it!" and another was "Cut loose in Avon's only subterranean disco." Oh yes, there was dancing.


The Christmas Ale Poisoning

One year we decided it might be fun to serve a keg of Great Lakes Christmas Ale. We were aware it was a bit more boozy than typical keg beer, but we certainly could not have foreseen what happened next. Typically these parties go quite late into the night so at 10 pm, the party is literally just getting warmed up. That year, however, I started noticing people leaving way earlier than normal. 

Across the room I saw my close friend and neighbor Stasia's husband with his coat on. I stepped in to protest. She shot me a rather annoyed glance and told me to go talk to him. I did and I won't lie, it wasn't pretty. I actually could make out little of what he was saying but certainly immediately realized the damage had been done and the sooner he was gone, the better. 

No one was spared, except the non-beer drinkers. My ex-husband spent the last few hours holding one hard over one eye due to Christmas Ale partial blindness/double vision. Things got broken, and perhaps not surprisingly he was not a whole lot of help at the end of the night. 


One by one, we lost people in what later became known as the Christmas Ale Poisoning. Faulty keg? Operator error? No need to point fingers, but the devastation was massive and amazingly swift. One of my ex's NASA colleagues threw up in the back seat of his boss' car who had driven them to the party. We had a few guests get sick in the yard. The next day, I got several phone calls from the wives of some of alleged victims. They seemed to feel it might be in the best interest of everyone to not bring back the Christmas Ale keg. It was officially banned the following year, at least in keg form.



The invites were amazing every year because my friend pool was filled with talented artists: Jonathan Browning, Juan Quirarte, and Ryan McCleod all contributed over the years. I started to work at a publishing company right out of college so my friends were largely either writers or artists. It eventually became a friendly competition between several of them.  Can't even include them all but Juan really hit it out of the park with the one below, perfectly timed. A classic. 


I took a few years off after the divorce, but then brought it back with a vengeance! It felt great to know I could pull it off on my own, not just the party but life in general. Wonderful to feel the support of a boat-load of amazing friends in Cleveland who couldn't wait to bring this holiday tradition back. And, it goes without saying that this party would not have happened without the support of my friends who every year brought enough food and booze to keep the party going. 

Notice the "No one allowed in the kitchen" disclaimer. 

The last year I held it at my house, we included the kids, most of which were college-aged at that point, and that took the soiree and related debauchery to a whole new level. But what a blast! They were thrilled to finally be part of the party they had grown up being excluded from but were quite curious about. 

The disco was replaced with beer pong but the spirit remained the same. Only hiccup was Marley, one of my dogs, ate a pot brownie at some point, and tripped balls for 24 hours, but other than that, it was great. It was so fun having both generations together to celebrate the season. Certainly lots of other antics but you would never hear them from me. Like Vegas, what happens at the Big Ass Party,  stays at the Big Ass party. 


We are hoping to bring the Big Ass Christmas Party back in 2022, have secured a host (thanks, Matt Nakon) and hope to gather with our now adult children to celebrate the beauty of enduring friendships and the spirit of the holidays. 

It will take me years to build up a friend network in Chicago to even try and repeat the concept. My condo would not support such an initiative anyway, but I'm sure I'll eventually start my own holiday tradition here. I got all the shit already. Fa-la-la-la-la. La-la-la-la! See, I'm jolly!

Thanks to all of you for reading my blog this year. It continues to be a helpful, happy place for me so I look forward to writing more in the new year. I hope it has brought you some amusement during yet-another odd year. 

I hope you all enjoy the holidays and 2022 bring you all the happiness and good health you all deserve.

Until next year,

Barb

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Monday, May 24, 2021

Don't Call Me a Couger

Oh yes, that's right. It's that blog; the one I have been promising some of you for a very long time. The one about my rather infamous May-September relationship with...we'll call him Will. I won't use his real name, although I will say absolutely nothing but good things about him. 

I met Will the summer after my divorce. Right after my marriage ended I dated a guy named Dan, who was perfect. That is perfectly ill-suited for me, which was ideal because I was not in the head space to open myself up to any level of a real relationship. He was super hot, fun and dumb as a stone. Like I said, perfect. Sex was great and as long as we steered away from discussing topics that might provoke his stupidity, we were good. Lasted about a year.

One day I was talking about my concerns around the supreme court (my bad!!) and  said something like "Ginsburg can't live forever," to which he replied, "no, he can't." Oh no. Well, that pretty much killed the vibe for me and no level of hotness could repair the damage. 

Six-pack Will

At the tail end of that relationship, I was invited to my next door neighbor and friend's son's birthday party. There I officially "met" Will, her nephew. In reality, I had known of Will for years, probably since he was in college. He was a neighborhood favorite, at least among the women. He would come over to mow or watch her kids, sometimes sans shirt, God bless him. 

He had a full 6-pack, truly the most perfect body on a boy..I mean man I had ever seen. When he was there, I would go full Desperate Housewives and leer at him from my window. I wasn't selfish though; I would inform other neighbor girls and they would promptly throw kids in strollers and bikes to come down the cul de sac for a peek at "six-pack" Will. 



Anyway, back the story. I officially meet Will at this party and we start talking about music, which we are both really into, and learned we both liked the same genre and loved the same bands. He was a guitarist and had been in a band for years, since high school. He had just moved back from L.A. and was working for an accounting firm in town. 

We started to go to concerts and hanging out together with my friends, a motley crew of largely of artists and writers. One night we joined some of my friends for a midnight showing of the Big Lebowski. 

During the intermission I went to the bathroom with my girlfriend Kelly. Once inside, she said to me, "Please tell me you are knocking boots with that man." Considering her side gig was erotic fiction writing, I thought it an odd phrase, but said absolutely not; he was way too young for me. 

I will never forget her reply: "The gods have placed this beautiful gift in your hands and you aren't even going to open it to see what's inside? That's just not right. You are crazy. He's clearly smitten with you."

At some point during the evening, she got in his ear as well on the topic and when he drove me home that night, he did indeed kiss me so apparently I was the only one who wasn't picking up the signal. We dated for several years, and honestly  it was just what the doctor ordered. He was kind, intelligent, caring, considerate, passionate, fun, and did I mention super hot? 

Now dating someone nearly 20 years my junior does come with baggage, although it wasn't typically ours. My parents chose to largely ignore the relationship, while his parents were shockingly warm and welcoming to me. My parents had nothing against Will; there wasn't much to not like to be honest. However, they also didn't see how this relationship had any potential for a future. And, to be honest neither did I, but I also did not care in the least.

I was sitting in a lawn chair drinking Sav Blanc.

After we had been dating a couple of years, my parents came into town for a visit and I invited Will over for dinner. I thought everything went well; he told them about the house he had just bought and his job, moving from LA, etc. That night my parents were upstairs getting ready for bed and I heard my mom howling with laughter, literally gasping for breathe. 

Apparently my mom was telling my dad that Will really did seem like a nice guy; it was just a shame that he was too young. My dad gave her a confused look, stopped brushing his teeth, and said, "You mean too old for her." 

Yes, apparently the entire evening he thought that Will was my 17-year old daughter Laura's boyfriend. 

Later that year, Laura insisted that he come to her high school graduation. They had gotten quite close and she absolutely wanted him there. Afterwards, her dad texted her and said that he thought her boyfriend was really cute. She did not have a boyfriend at the time. Ok, I must say I did enjoy that (insert evil laugh here). 

Will helped me pack and move her into her dorm her freshman year, and not once but twice, people asked which dorm room was his. Don't get me started on him attending Laura's sorority's Fathers Day Weekend. 

He truly could not believe I'd never seen a single episode of Saved By the Bell. He didn't know The Cars. Yes, we had a wide gap of social references, but he was a great boyfriend. The age thing affected those around us more than it affected us. I could go on all day with hilarious stories about that. But he truly had an old soul, and was, at heart, a pretty nerdy-but-hot auditor who often was the sensible one, talking me out of various stupid things. 

We traveled, saw a ton of concerts, music festivals, art shows, etc. My only complaint ever was that he ate like a 13-year old female anorexic. He was an avid runner and daily ate extremely cleanly. I'm surprised his digestive system survived years of eating out with me. He would have a green smoothie and maybe a few yams, lean protein for dinner. Not exactly how I ate, but I forgave him on account of the aforementioned 6-pack. Oh, and by the way I now have green smoothies for lunch daily and am doing yoga, two things he really tried to get me into. 


We continued to date for a while after I moved, but eventually we both started dating other people. I told him from the very beginning that this would be fun but would not last. My plan was to move away once the kids graduated from high school. I knew I would eventually have to release him back into the wild where he could mate with someone his own age, which I'm happy to say he has. But the few years that we spent together were amazing and not something I will ever regret. I mean, for one, I get to write this blog. 

The Rude Awakening Cometh

When I moved to Chicago and started dating men around my own age, it was a bit of struggle. My sister had warned it was going to be a rude awakening, and she was not wrong. I basically spent the next two years dating a string of attractive but douchy dudes. 

I'm not saying all men over 50 with flat stomachs are dicks, but the majority I encountered were.  One of them was Drew, the narcissist golfer from last summer. Remember him? Catch up on "Golf, the Cruel Mistress of Summer" here. Or there was crazy Dave. He had washboard abs AND narcissistic personality disorder. Bonus! Catch up on crazy Dave here. There were plenty of others, I assure you. Online dating at this age is no cake walk, as you will know from this blog, "Online Dating in Your 50s." 

New beau Jon does not have a six-pack. He has what I would call an athletic dad bod, and while he is super sporty and athletic, he also loves beer and great food, and as a result has a small beer belly that he carries around like a fucking trophy. To say it doesn't affect his self confidence would be the understatement of the century. And, he can make it roll so it doubles as a party trick. Bottom line: He's adorable and he knows it, and I love him, every inch, and he knows that too. 

It's been a long and winding road for my love life but I must say I'm happy to have experienced everything, the highs and lows. Each relationship, good and bad, and every bad date I suffered through, taught me something about myself. And, I'm quite happy it's all led me to where I am today. 

This is getting long so I'll close here. I hope everyone is feeling good, having this damn virus almost in the rear view. Let's make this a summer to remember!

Ciao for now,

Barb


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