Sweet Fantasy, Baby

I have a place in my little brain that is just for me. It's filled with so much ridiculousness happiness.

At night, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and dream...

I dream that I'm off in Europe somewhere, it's cold and cloudy, and I'm wearing an extra large matching sweat suit cashmere loungewear, sipping Earl Grey tea next to a fire, cuddling up next to the love of my life, as he whispers this into my ear...

Bliss.

Then I make my way to the workout room, where my personal trainer leads me in a rigorous yoga practice, and I remain beautiful and desirable at all times. And it's not hard at all!

I proceed to the master suite where I read an educational, slightly pretentious novel atop my Tempur-Pedic-Cloud-Supreme-Gold-Woven- Diamond-Dusted mattress, whilst high-fiving a million angels.

Winning.

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Then, with the cursed sun ball of morning, I wake up. And reality sets in.

I start the day with a bowl of pure energy. Off-brand Frosted Mini-Wheats...

Then I feed the @$%#@ cat...

I write a really bad song...

[youtube=http://youtu.be/XNXIZuIBJKs]

Butt-kiss all the music venues I can possibly find...

Try and come up with my own Zumba moves at the apartment for my cheaper-than-a-gym workout...

[youtube=http://youtu.be/yJ_AU6tYYbg]

Babysit some kids...

And end the day with writing an epic blog post that is sure to inspire millions, if not billions of people.

Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all night folks, try the veal.

My Bluebird Blog (try saying THAT out loud)

Like any good starving artist, I have been trying to play as many shows as I can. This includes the ever-interesting "Open Mic Nights." As one can imagine, open mic nights are GREAT people-watching. It's kinda like the DMV of the music industry, if you get my drift.... I kidnapped my husband last night, and we drove down to the historic Bluebird Café in Nashville. I've decided that's why God made marriage. So people don't have to go to awkward Open Mic Nights alone. Among other things.

I knew it was going to be a bit crazy, as the Bluebird is quite the tourist attraction, and it's probably tinier than any other bar or restaurant ever, in the history of ever. But alas, this is what people do if they wanna be a singer/songwriter, so I better get in line.

We walked up to the  unassuming line with a smile on our faces. We were ready to OWN this thang.

But as a few hours passed, standing in line in the cold, our attitudes got a little cold, too. We tried to entertain ourselves, and as the line grew, it worked for a little while.

But we quickly got cranky. Like, super cranky. I'm not posting pictures of that.

We finally got inside. Yessssss. We signed in, got a hot chocolate and prepared for a long night. They then called out by random drawing, who was playing when. By the time they got to #30, they said, "The following people MAY be able to play 1 song tonight, but it's not guaranteed: JESSIE SMITH...."

"AW H*LL NAW," I yelled. "YOU GONNA LET ME PLAY, SON!"

Just kidding. I didn't say that. I just made this face.

I was fading FAST. Then, the announcer guy said, "If you want, you can take a number and come back next week and have the opportunity to play in the first hour, because this is a big pain my @$$." (That was a loose translation.)

So we took our number and happily got outta dodge.

Maybe next time we will ACTUALLY get to perform.