From Midwest to Southwest…and back again

After the guys played a Music Festival late Saturday night, Biceps and I hopped into a tour bus and drove away…never to be heard from again. Unless you happen to read this blog or have contacted me by email, phone, text, facebook or twitter.
But other than that, almost no contact with the outside world.

This sweet little ride that has many miles under her belt. I have named her ‘Stripey Bus’. It’s pretty catchy, I know. I should probably look into trademarking the name.

Stir crazy after way too many hours on the bus, we vacated our ride to squat on a motel lawn, drinking wine from our red plastic cups.
We are the epitome of class.

But, as with most tours, it’s over before you know it. My only reminders of being away are photographs of the trip and a mountainous pile of mail waiting for me at home.
And a basketful of laundry.
And a wigged out cat.

At this point in the flight, I know it’s just a matter of minutes until I get to see my wigged out cat and feed him treats until his furry belly can take no more.

Things start to look familiar.

Even if they have burned to the ground.

Soon enough, I am here. I am home.
And I am probably making some sort of pizza. It’s become a rather anticipated and tasty tradition, marking the end of tour.