It's Cold Gin time again...

Ok ok, it's not really time for gin, cold or otherwise, because I'm having a crisis of sorts.

Ok. Perhaps not a crisis, per se.

Every once and a while, on the way to work, I look down at myself and just think "FUCK!"

Don't get me wrong, I love my job, it suits me pretty well. The thing is, it's a job, and it's not rock n roll.

These moments of panic about how not cool I am usually come the week after a really awesome show, in this case, the M3 festival.

When I came back to work and mentioned where I had been to someone, I realized how little my coworkers know about the rock n roll Jugs. You know like in that movie "the Rocker" where the dude is at work, and all his coworkers talk about his old band without even knowing? And he's stuck being tech support when all he wants to do is rock? I feel like that sometimes.

It is probably a good thing that I was never in a band, and that my coworkers know so little about that part of my life; but it freaks me out that there are at least two of me: one is responsible and loves her job and tries to be presentable; the other just wants to wake up amid empty bottles of gin at the back of a tour bus and wonder where her panties went.

I take that back, I probably would know where they went, but just be unable to find them.

Isn't that a fucking sweet Iron Maiden picture? I googled tour bus, and there it was. I love it!!

I had a discussion with a coworker yesterday (see? my work is moderately cool) about how far we'd drive for a show. Less than 5 years ago, I'd drive overnight to Florida at the drop of a hat, just to see a band I love play. No worries, I just got in the car and went.

Last night, I was too concerned about getting up for work this morning and affording the gas to put in my car to drive a little over an hour to a honky tonk show.

What happened to me?

I'm still rock n roll. I would still drive all night to hear a guitar play....if I could afford it.

I'm more concerned about my career and owning a house when I'm old, and I have responsibilities now and bills to pay.

Growing up sucks. Little 5 year old Jugs, or even 10 year old Jugs, back when she was scrawling band names in Sharpie on her Guess jeans and hanging up KISS Army posters on her ceiling, needs to come to the future and bitch slap me.

She'd tell me that I need to grow up and be like Lita Ford...

Too bad I can't play the guitar!

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