I feel like we need to talk.
First of all - I'm officially changing your name to Drunk Fest. Really, that's what you are. You're Christmas for the imbibers, and you give us all an excuse to drink in the streets.
I'm not complaining. Just stating facts.
This year I dubbed myself Sober Sally, and tagged along for the ride.
Saw some bands. Saw some people. Saw some grapes. (That's a lie. I saw no grapes.)
These are the faces of Drunk Fest fans. Can you sense their excitement?
I will hand it to you, Festival o' Alcohol.... you do give me an excuse to creep in the background of other people's pictures.
And we all know that's a past-time of mine.
That and ballroom dancing.
See? Creep, creep.
I must've pissed off the Grape & Wine gods, though.
Surely I've done something to make you very, very angry with me.
Is it because I took pics that my Cait will kill me for posting?
Is it because I attempted to breakdance in front of people after doing the Carlton dance?
Or wait... oh no...
I know what I did.
I couldn't leave well enough alone.
I could've let Tim & his band do the Skid Row songs by themselves.
But no. Of course not. That's crazy talk.
Apparently stealing a dude's hat makes me think I suddenly have magical powers that allow me to hit Sebastian Bach's high notes.
I cannot. Ever.
So to all the innocent bystanders and audience-folk.... I apologize. Truly.
And perhaps it was my musical non-stylings that caused the Grape & Wine Festival to send an evil migraine to my sober brain and make me turn into a pumpkin by midnight.
That's what ya get for being good.
So next year? This means war.
Love 'n beer,