Give me the Gelato and I promise I’ll be good.

While on assignment, (I have always wanted to say that), I discovered a tasty little treat in downtown Tulsa.
Mod’s Coffee and Crepes has everything your little sweet tooth desires. Let me just repeat the name: Coffee and Crepes. But then add to that list: Gelato, Salads and Soups. Anything that you could ever want is right there for the taking.
I am not getting paid by Mod’s, nor do I get any gelato kick-backs for this. I just wanted to share with all of you something that I found pretty dang cool. Pun totally intended.

The staff at Mod’s is unprecedentedly nice. I mean it-they are just darn good people. The niceness of employees at any establishment is becoming more and more important to me as I get old and cantankerous.

Mod’s is situated in the historic Philtower Building on Boston Street in downtown Tulsa.
The building is a gorgeous masterpiece from the oil boom era.

As I sipped my delicious latte, I gazed upon the marbled walls and the gold-encrusted ceiling of the Philtower. I pictured the hatted ladies and the suit-clad men that had hurried through these halls long ago; smoking cigarettes and reading newspapers.

The faint scent of a cooking crepe brought me back to reality, reminding me of the fact that I was wearing cowboy boots-not a fancy dress with pearls.

And obviously, the gelato is outrageously good. I only had a teensy bite and my stomach craved more…much more. Biceps and I just might have to make this a date night spot. If you are in the downtown Tulsa area, stop by Mod’s Coffee and Crepes.
You won’t be sorry.

A Lovely Bed and Breakfast in New Mexico

Typically, Biceps and I aren’t the Bed and Breakfast types. Here are some reasons why:
-We enjoy being freakish recluses while on tour.
-We love a 24 hour fitness room.
-And crazy enough, we like a private bathroom.

But every once in awhile, we feel the need to interact with normal human beings.
The kind of humans that wake up before noon and enjoy practicing proper hygiene.

This Bed and Breakfast, Lundeen Inn of the Arts, is situated in the historic district of Las Cruces, New Mexico and it is gorgeous. It was the answer to our mid-tour slump and the solution to our desire for a reciprocated conversation that had nothing to do with music.

After being showed to our room (complete with a private bath, mind you), the ‘hostess’ encouraged us to explore the surrounding property at will.
The meandering paths led us to cute outbuildings-surrounded by stucco walls and framed by desert landscapes.

We sat under the ancient trees in the courtyard which shadowed us from the midday desert sun and talked of the things we missed back home.
After being philosophical for way too long, we decided to retreat back to our room and enjoy the view of the Inn from our balcony.

But not before taking this shot of Biceps. This man is dangerously handsome.
Any who…the Lundeen Inn was a wonderful respite from the touring life. It almost made us feel like we were normal human beings once again.
Almost, but not quite. That just doesn’t happen overnight.

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.

My Robe, My Chicago

A hotel room that offers a robe invites my weary soul in, covering me in a luxurious white fabric that is too impractical for me to actually own. It’s that little bit of home that is missing when I’m on tour. And since Biceps cannot sleep in a room that isn’t the temperature of the North Pole, a robe is a much welcomed amenity.

The Hotel Sax is situated right on a little river that runs through downtown Chicago. It is near everything your little heart desires. (The hotel did not pay me to say any of this. In fact, they would probably prefer not to be associated with such “kind” as myself….)

Slithering into the hotel lobby in our grungy tour clothing, doubled with my ripped suitcase eaten by the bus bay door; we felt out of place.
A bit under dressed. And a little dorky.

We hopped into the first available elevator, averting our eyes from the other normal humans-the ones without backpacks stuffed full of bagged salads and boxed wines.

Just on the other side of our door was the oasis we needed. I drank in the small, but tastefully decorated hipster room. I did not drink the ten dollar bottle of water ‘offered’ to us from the mini bar.

The mirrored nightstand added that whimsical charm you don’t often find at a hotel. Plus a little bit of humor when one is shooting such things in a frenzy.

I love a hotel bathroom with a little va-va-voom. Typically, we encounter a tan explosion with a little more tan for contrast. This bathroom not only had the ‘voom’-it came complete with the ‘va-va’-wonderful soaps, lotions and thick towels.

And after a long hot shower, I opened the closet door hoping against hope for what I really longed for.
And Hotel Sax did not disappoint.