We recently attended Summerfest, which is the experience for you if you ever wondered what it might have felt like to be separated into panicked, gender-segregated lines potentially leading to cattle cars en route to Treblinka.
Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but that was what I thought every time I found myself at the front of a chaotic line just to enter the damn park, when that line would suddenly “close,” and I’d be directed to join a nearby line "for women only." The women-only lines were 32 miles long and full of sweaty, tattooed strangers. I should emphasize that I was alone, because my husband and friends had left me behind, flagrantly barging past the groping / purse searching Summerfest staff shouting, “Males only! Males only!” in our faces, while I obediently followed directions.
I’ll never do that again.
Once in the park, I tried to relax, but a whirling press of drunks sloshing beer on your shoes and pretending to steal your fried eggplant while you desperately search for a bathroom that doesn’t smell like a dead prostitute doesn’t exactly create an aura of calm.
Beer helps. While in line for one, I spotted the most magnificent, Ode-to-the-Eighties hairdo I’ve seen in years. It was a perfect specimen—nearly every end split, teased and curled into a perfect helmet of wind-blown, feathered frizz. I took a picture of it, which I’d hoped to share with you here, but my dear husband dropped my phone and I lost all of the photos on my SD card.
Not that I’m still peeved about this …
Anyway, the woman’s haircut. It was a thing to behold. Just a glimpse of that hair could set a Poison album loose in your head, float the ghost-scents of Aqua-Net and Exclamation perfume on the breeze.
“Who wears their hair like that anymore?” I asked J, amazed.
“People who like to bowl,” he answered.
It was the kind of response that reminded me why I still loved him, despite his dropping my camera and accidentally erasing dozens of adorable photos of my nieces and nephew.
In other news, the first 100 pages of my new novel have been submitted to my editor. My agent loved it, but this doesn’t mean it’s “in the bag,” because my editor can still decide it’s worse than a trip to Summerfest and take a big fat pass. I’m hoping this one’s the charm, though. It’s got a tranny in it, for God’s sake.
And if you’re looking for a fun, breezy page-turner to read on your Kindle at the beach, check out my friend Malena Lott’s e-novella Life's a Beach. I didn’t read it at the beach, but it made the time waiting for my oil change and tire rotation that much more enjoyable. Malena’s a master of fun plot twists, and it's a steal at just $2.99.