Back home again...

I'm home from Michfest. I had a great time and drove home yesterday at the speed of sound (okay, 80 mph) and got in close to midnight. After a week of camping and walking on dirt paths, I barely recognized my feet anymore. I was happy to jump in the shower last night and discover that most of the odd markings on said filthy toesies were actually funny V-shaped tan lines on my foots from wearing flip flops all week. Dorky summer tan: rock on.

I'm still pretty tired, but here are a few brief highlights:

-- I got stung by a bee twice within the space of 15 minutes. I think I got stung by one and it fell on my chair and I accidentally sat on it, at which point I received Sting #2. I'm all itchy and red and swollen (sexy!) and headed to the drugstore after work for Benadryl and something venom-sucking, like calamine lotion. Blotchy, irritated skin swabbed in smelly pink goo. Oh yeah. The single grrls are lining up outside my door as I speak.

-- I met Susan "Stop the Insanity!" Powter. She was wearing platform sandals, eating all-natural peanut butter on a rice cake, and knelt in front of me and talked animatedly while I sat on a hay bale, shocked into silence that I was actually talking to A Former Celebrity. I swear I'm not making this up.

-- I spent most of the week in an altered state (ahem) and had a blissful time.

-- I got to hear Alana Davis and Jill Sobule in person. The former was lacking in Exciting Stage Presence. I could have just put on one of her CDs and gotten the same effect. Actually, I could have stabbed myself in the eyes with a tent stake and been less bored. I'm just saying. Jill Sobule was pretty good though and I was happy to be flat on my back (hush) on a tarp, singing along with her acoustic rendition of "Karen By Night," which is one of my favorite J.S. songs.

-- I got felt up. But not by Jill Sobule. Or Susan Powter.

-- I layed the smooch on several different women. Most of them were cheek kisses or sweet little smacks in greeting, but one of them was a roll-your-eyes-back-in-your-head passionate make-out-a-thon that was quite pleasant. The only problem is that the other set of lips are on their way back to Rhode Island and we were very awkward around each other the rest of the week. Sigh. But considering how far I've advanced in the Flirting With Virtual Strangers category during this, my second year at the festival, I should be ready to Sleep With Someone I Just Met around the seventh or 15th time I attend the festival. My inner slut is randy, but I just can't get her to just sleep with someone and act like it doesn't mean anything. I suppose that's a good thing, but my inner slut would also like to get laid sometime soon.

-- I slept on the ground most of the week because The Air Mattress That Deflated On My Last Camping Trip is truly leaky and went into a dumpster on my way out of the festival yesterday. Next year: leakproof bedding. I'll come up with something spectacular in the next 51 weeks. Like a mummy sleeping bag for two that will stave off the 30-degree chill that almost turned me and my 3,000 closest friends into popsicles about halfway through the week. I will also cart along 85 pounds of brightly colored fleece to keep me from switching sleeping and positions repeatedly rolling my it's-not-funny-anymore bone across tree limbs that were stubbornly in place when I pitched my tent.

There's a great deal more to share, but it's all a jumble in my cool-indoor-plumbing! post-travel brain. More later, to be sure.