The terrible combination of being ridiculously sick and away from internet access has kept me away from my blog. Sorry! (Believe me, I’m sure I enjoyed it far less than you did.)

Day 6
Tuesday morning came, and I woke feeling worse than I did Monday. This was not boding well for me. We hung out at our friend’s house with her and all three kids (everyone but dad had stayed home) until it was absolutely time to leave for Reno. Future Husband took the first half of the drive, and as we were about the leave Lassen Forest, I took over.

We made good time, considering how often us sickies stopped for coffee, and therefore, bathrooms. We pulled into the club in Reno and unloaded pretty soon after. The good friend we usually stay with in Reno is between housing situations (which I’ve found can be a problem with the type of people who take home an entire band from a bar), so we couldn’t stay with him. He was trying to find a friend that would let us crash, but we decided to just load up on coffee and start the 16 hour drive to Colorado.

The guys played pretty well, and we sold some merch. Which is good, considering there were only six people besides the people that worked there and me. In fact, a pair of guys who barely spoke English drove up from Carson City to see them. The show ended prematurely, however, when D broke the head on his snare drum.

We hung out with our friend for only a little while, and hit the road at midnight-ish. We stopped at a creepy little truck stop about 30 miles east of Reno for sandwiches, chips and soda. D started the night drive, while the rest of us climbed in the back to try and sleep.

Day 7, or The No Good, Terrible, Very Bad Day
Neither Future Husband nor I slept much on the drive, as both of our colds were keeping us up. Mine turned into a terrible sounding cough and a tremendously sore throat, and his was sinus pressure so bad, driving through the mountains and changing altitude was pushing it around and giving him a awful headache.

When we rolled into a gas station outside Salt Lake City (D was a coffee drinking and driving machine), we both had maybe three disjointed hours of sleep. I climbed out to use the bathroom and discovered that I had done something I’d managed to avoid not doing in the last eleven years. I ruined my favorite pair of jeans. Did I mention that in addition to being sick, it was my special Lady Time? Add to that the sleeplessness and the throat so sore and swollen that I could barely talk or swallow my own saliva, and you have a very grumpy Lori. So I climbed into the very back bench, put on my favorite comfy pants, got under a sleeping bag, and read about Ted Bundy. Strange, I know, but that’s what made me happy right then. After a little while, I was able to grab a few more hours of sleep. I woke up in Cheyenne, where Future Husband bought me a Frosty at the truck stop Wendy’s and I took over the 60 mile drive into Fort Collins.

We got to this friend’s house about 5 o’clock, and proceeded to sit like sick little lumps on her couch until we fell asleep about midnight. With the exception of a Walmart run to buy a gallon of orange juice.

Day 8
We had all day to kill before we had to drive to the venue, which was about five minutes from the house. The guys decided they wanted Pho (which if you don’t know, is a delicious Vietnamese beef and noodle soup and you should totally seek some out) and I figured a big bowl of hot broth could only benefit me. We loaded up the five of us in the van, and took off on our soupy adventure. Everyone had a runny nose by the time we left, either because the hot broth loosened everything, or because there was so much added Sriracha. Or both.

After our Pho adventure, we went back to the house and watched a lot of Logo before we went to the show. Like, a lot. That channel is fabulous.

By the time we got to the show, the little bit of good the pho had done me was wearing off. I felt miserable the entire time, and my ears had been aching since the afternoon. My throat was swelling up again, and the only available table to do merch at was right by the door, so I was shivering for a good portion of the night. Future Husband lent me his hoodie for a while, and I draped it over my legs.

The guys sounded great, and it was a good show, even though it was peppered with tiny mistakes. They were all sick, so it was to be expected, but they had fun, so the crowd had fun. Everyone won. We sold a lot of merch, and made a lot off the door, so we have a nice little gas fund now. The guys were feeling well enough to enjoy their three free pitchers of beer. I was not, but did partake in the free pizza. After eating, I felt better. A terrible predicament for someone with a sore throat; eat, and you’ll feel better, but eating is a torturous experience you have to force yourself to do.

After the show and the free pizza and beer, I loaded up the tipsies and the drunkies and drove them all back to the friend’s house. I was hoping since everyone was sick, and since she had dealt with a terrible stomach bug only a few days previously, everyone would want to crash. I was wrong.

More friends trickled in after we got back, and they all complained (very loudly and drunkenly) that there was no beer or liquor in the house. Until one of the roommates came out and reminded everyone that he had work at 8:30. Luckily for me, the party moved to the back room and the hot tub outside, so I stayed in the living room, right by the quiet roommate’s door. At 4 o’clock, I decided I couldn’t put it off anymore, and made up the sleeping bags on the floor, just as Future Husband came in from the hot tub. He dried off and changed into his comfy pants, and climbed into bag next to me with his book. I fell asleep after only two coughing fits. It was quite an improvement.

Day 9
I woke up feeling much better. I still had a snot encrusted face, but my throat felt so improved that it brightened my mood. After a trip to the bathroom to chip away the flaky sick on my face, I helped myself to a big glass of orange juice, and started shooting zombies on my computer. It was, after all, part of my prescription from Future Husband only a few days before.

We all took our time getting ready, lazily watching TV, taking long, hot showers, and running off to nearby establishments for food. G took D on a ‘mandate’ (and only complained once that he didn’t put out). FH and I ran over to grab a new headlight for the Ogre so he wouldn’t be a Cyclops anymore. (This is the second time we’ve done this.

We hit the road about 5 o’clock, so as to avoid as much rush hour as possible. It didn’t work that well in Fort Collins, but we missed almost all of Denver’s, so it was worth it. When we got to Colorado Springs, G and D headed into the club, while Future Husband and I walked next door to Dutch Brothers. MUCH preferred to Starbucks, but we probably can’t lounge around in a Dutch Bros. all day getting free refills and wi-fi. Oh, well.

The show was a pretty good one, though not as packed as it usually is. One of the friend bands (Friend Band- n. - a band made up of or including a friend or friends, that the guys usually play the show with.) was playing at the opening of a new art gallery in town, so a lot of the crowd that is usually at our show, was over there. The boys still got more free pitchers that are supposed to be allotted, we sold some merch, and were paid well off the bar. So it was still pretty good for a Friday night.

The show’s promoter offered to let us crash on his floor, saving us a drive up to Denver to stay with my other GBF. And to top the night off, we pulled through the only burrito joint not within 100 miles of the border that’s decent. Oh, carne asada, how I’ve missed you.

When we got to the Promoter’s apartment we made up our sleeping bags and watched ‘Bad Taste’, a completely ridiculous movie. Future Husband loves it because it’s so bad it’s good, and G was disturbed by how funny we found the campy, schlocky gore.

In spite of feeling better for most of the day (and my sore throat ever fading) I had a pretty nasty coughing fit during the movie, and right before I fell asleep. Thankfully, it doesn’t feel like it’s migrated south to my chest (which would fulfill my annual upper respiratory infection requirement), but has stayed pretty much in my throat. Silver lining, right?