To buy the boots, or . . .


My trip to Asheville in December to attend the Warren Haynes’ Christmas Jam was something I looked forward to for months — I thought about it all summer, and I purchased my ticket() the day they went on sale.  I asked a number of friends if they were interested in coming along, but the economy of September 2008 was just scary enough that all of my concert-going buddies begged off, having expended their concert funds already on a steady diet of jam bands and music festivals, and in the case of one musician friend, regular troubadoing sessions in bars and at festivals across the Commonwealth, playing in a working band.  He was, until he entered rehab in August after a twenty-five year marijuana and hallucinogen binge that claimed one marriage, nearly another relationship or 3 along the way, including raising a young boy in that environment.  I deleted a nonsequiter here, as there’s a lot here to tell and I don’t want to get side-tracked.

So up until my impending trip to Asheville, I’ve never had the opportunity to be on my own, with a wardrobeI plan ahead for, and in a place where no one knows who I am for a weekend of music, makeup, a wig, a little weed, some fine dining, great surroundings and other peace-loving people.  Yes, it’s like that, a very free place.  So you can imagine the testosterone was running wild that whole week, knowing I had Friday off for my trip to Asheville from Winston-Salem.

The weekend really began when on my day off for the trip I got the call from the friend of a since-abandoned acquaintance met through Craigslist.  Yes, people really meet other people on Craigslist who don’t (or haven’t) kill them.  His connection hadn’t come through yet, but they were getting together to jam, so I went over to the studio, listened to some singing tracks, and smoked a little, and then scored enough crystal-laden bud via gift to make it an interesting weekend, and headed for Asheville from there.  In my luggage I discreetly packed a few pairs of my panties, maybe a blouse and skirt, some shoes I picked up at Goodwill – black suede 2-1/2″ heels, as well as some ordinary male drab, my not at all sexy, but quite necessary cpap machine so I could sleep, and my stylish Dooney & Bourke kit bag.  My wife at the time was aware of my dressing, we’d had the talk, and she didn’t bat an eye.

I hate to do this, but it’s way past my bedtime, I will continue this tomorrow . . . swear to god.

 

Kisses!!!! KM

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