Weedstock

It never fails to crack me up. NEVER.

Last night, Colin, who I’ve met several times, didn’t know who I was right away. Finally, he said, “OH! YOU’RE THE NUMBER ONE FAN!”

I’m either the girl that drives four hours, ‘New Hampshire”, or Tam, when I’m with them. ‘Number one fan’ has been thrown around before, but I’ve never been known by that. It’s something the band members have said to me, but it’s never been my identity… Considering the last number one fan wound up in the band, I’m curious as to what my future holds. *grin*

I was deemed unusually huggable and then jinxed Syracuse. (w00t! I’m so glad Michigan won! For a bunch of reasons…) My drunk friend from the last show there left me alone, which was nice. Nothing makes me happier than freaky drunk guys not recognizing me.

Apparently, the laws in Woodstock (NY) are a wee bit relaxed when it comes to illegal substances. There was a guy openly selling shrooms, and the weed. Oh, dear Dog, the weed! Being smoked on the patio like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Which I suppose it is out there in the land of peace, love, and dirty hippies. (Seriously, the one guy really needed a bath. Or some deodorant. Maybe both. Oh, and a toothbrush.)

I headed back to the hotel reeking of smoke. Both tobacco and decidedly not tobacco. When I woke up this morning, the first thing I smelled was pot. It was so strong around me that I’m surprised I didn’t get high. Then, again, I might have been high when I went to bed this morning. The dreams I had certainly couldn’t have been the product of a sober brain.  I’m blaming the dreams on the pot fumes… NOT the JohnLock fan fic I read before bed, or the fact that I fell asleep watching Sherlock. Nope. Not at all.

(Suddenly, I’ve been leaning towards Parent!Lock… sweet, established relationship, with none of the smut or fluff. It seems like that’s the closest I can get to my brOPT!Lock sometimes, so I’ve been putting up with it for now.)

Did I just Sherlock a blog entry about Black Mountain Symphony?

Fuck.