KEEPIN' IT CREEPY AT AUSTIN REGGAE FEST

The naysayers will say, it's not as good as it used to be. The tickets are too much and the bands aren't that good. Well, fuck you, I'm partying. After a long day of slinging cheese at M2 I was hot and tired. My flaca was not at work that day due to her snoozefest of a birthing class. My associate had taken her place. Guiseppe was in full form as we sipped frozen delights, and made our way to the festival with a nice irie meditation. The scene was young, and crowded. I expected as much, but still it was a little unpredictable. The air was warm and dirty. The dust had been shuffled enough to become airborne and tickle my olfactory senses as well as my sight. I closed my mouth. I needed liquid refreshment. The Front Row Chicano had to decided to accompany us on the last minute, and it was a welcome edition. Three is definitely creepier than two. Upon deciding on the king of beers, we made our way towards the stage into the crowd of kids, bohemians, ruffians, babies, stoners, and hookers? WTF

We pull up front left. You know, that's just where I go. There's not a blade of grass to speak of. We have reached the epicenter of dirt cloud we were so happily greeted with upon our arrival. Guiseppe then fires up the first jammer since the last.

"Jah nex band is from Kansas City, give et up!"

We laughed a little, but hey who are we? Just funny to me. One of the band members even put his hands over his face when the announcer called them out. Luckily, Guiseppe's little treat had caused the dust in the setting sun have a sort of ethereal quality. The world was golden, the band was good. They had the solid vibrations and irie meditations you need in reggae. I danced to their entire set. Jah, rastafari.

Here's where it starts to get creepy. Well, I say that although I had begun creepy. I was wearing dirty work clothes and the unicurl was definitely aloft. In that nature we began to scan. Makes moves. Hustle. Just get a little better look. Shit they're 12. Moving on.

Look. It's those two we saw on the way in. Let's go. Yes, standing in a port-o-let line trying to catch the eye of that someone you're looking for is a little creepy. So be it. Look over here dear. There you go. Hello. It's me again. My, my those eyes are spellbinding. I see you lookin'. Don't turn around. Well do, look at that tattoo.

It's a a good one. It's an image of a beautiful woman from the shoulders up embraced with death. They are holding each other close, just about to kiss. It's almost as intoxicating as the felonic form before me. Now that we had locked eyes, surely she was interested.

Yeah, there were three jockey's in between me and the triple crown, but I was not worried in the least. She had whispered something in the others ear while darting a longing glance right to that beating muscle pounding in my chest. The ladies go in to said port-o-let together and the jockey's in front of me are silly with glee. I think their silly was a little premature for two of them were in the bathroom when the girls came out of theirs. They say "bye" to the third jockey still standing in line, and make their way right past him. His mouth agape, his face dumbfounded. Not wanting to suffer the same fate, I decide to hold it.

I spot the vixens making their way through the crowd. I gave chase. Every step I am getting closer to that auburn hair and those sparkling baby blues. "excuse me" Left. "pardon me" Right. Straight ahead, I see my opportunity.

I pick up my pace to a fast walk. I reach out my left arm and grab hold of the loveliest arm in the crowd. She twirls around and those eyes and mine are locked in pure unfettered infatuation. Sparks, moonbeams, and little cartoon blue jays dance all around us. The camera pans out, spins, and turns in a circular motion keeping us close to the center. Just as I am about to speak, she gets snatched up. Literally. Some guy had seen her walking by, and I guess he knew her. For when he scooped her up, she gave a big hug and said some sort of pleasantry.

Fail.

I walk out of the crowd to find Guiseppe & The Front Row Chicano in mild hysterics. Fuck it, I say. I gotta pee…