If I hit post before midnight, it counts as posting everyday, right?

We went to an open mic night at Buffalo Gap Saloon thingy, because Nick’s brother-in-law, and gifted and aspiring musician posted that he was playing.  There’s been an upscuddle in the family lately, so we went to prove that we’re all still family here.  It was great fun!  We shared a Guinness or two, listened to some good, some loud, and some throat-raspy musicians just trying to get their music out in the world.  One group had kind of a Maroon 5 kind of vibe.  Brother-in-law’s best friend convinced Nick he just had to try Patron, because some tequila is made for sipping and is delicious,etc.  Can I just say UM NO GROSS STOP IT.  Tequila tastes like feet, people.  If you like it, feel free to defend it (even though I will not be changing my mind), I have no problem with you liking it.  I do not like it, and I do not like my husband drinking it because I can then taste it when I kiss him, and tasting that distinctive feet-y flavor when kissing my husband isn’t my idea of a good time.  Also, stop feeding my husband feet-flavored drinks.  No.  Stoppit.

Anyway, Nick had just the one Patron on the rocks, and even though I’m sure it’s a lovely, gourmet, high-quality hooch,  it still does and will always taste like feet, just a little.  His brother-in-law got up to sing his two songs, one of which he had written previously and the other he had written probably in the last week.  The emotion on the second was so raw and intense that I had to doodle like crazy on my arm

See? Lots of stress

to keep from getting too agitated about a situation I can’t fix and people I can’t save.  Shortly thereafter, I drew a treble clef on his buddy’s arm, the one that fed Nick the Patron and that accompanied brother-in-law (or tried to) as he played his songs.  I think it was a good night.  At least, I’ll keep saying that.

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