I thought I'd give a bit of a run down of the past weekend, since the top 10 list only gave a taste. And if there's something I'm not good at, is stopping while I'm ahead.

It did not get off to a good start. Mr. Wonderful, even before leaving to come to the city, had incredibly bad luck. This resulted in a severe lack of funds. He even threatened to sell his ticket (!), and go home. Thankfully, this was the frustration talking, and he did nothing of the sort. Thank god, because it would not have been a good idea to leave me with his friends for the weekend. I would have either killed them or fucked them*. Either way, not good.

*(Just so you know, I wouldn't have fucked them because I was particularly attracked to any of them. They were just a group of particularly undersexed men who saw me as liberated and lovin' the nookie, and I don't know if I could deny their advances were Mr. Wonderful not there.)

But, things worked themselves out, for the most part. My parents were supposed to leave for the weekend, leaving us the house to ourselves. Unfortunately, they changed their minds, and we had to mind our P's and Q's for 2 more days.

After a late bus (aargh!), I arrived Friday afternoon. After a few hours of solitude, the troops started arriving. I strapped on the ol' walking shoes and went for a liquor run for myself and Georgian Georgie (henceforth named GG).

MW and GG were busying themselving doing boy type things, so I decided to do something that MW does from time to time, without conscience - disappear. I grabbed his new Ipod Mini, loaded with a Bill Maher audiobook ("New Rules"), a frosty alcoholic beverage and sat out as the sun went down beside our koi pond, with newly installed lights. It was bliss. I went in 3 more times for 3 more drinks. By the time MW and GG found me, I was thoroughly hammered. Again, another thing I rarely do, without conscience.

Soon after, more troops started arriving. There was Janik, a Hairy Bastard (that's right, HB), and Stephane, the most undersexed of them all, who I will call Couch Sleeper (CS). I was still in the back yard, drinking the last of my booze. I was social as hell, which is quite unlike me. Yet, being the only girl among boys does something for ones confidence, I think.

After working out the language logistics (at this point, I was too trashed to speak French eloquently, so they spoke French, I spoke English, and all was well. MW seemed to have a problem with this, as they occasionally would lapse into English, but soon everyone relaxed), we talked about our work, our lives, and of course, sex. After the last of our gang showed up, Francois (henceforth known as Pussy Whipped because.. well.. do I really need to explain it?), MW gave me The Look. Oh, how I LOVE THE LOOK. Litterally, the come hither look. With all the boys around, in and out of rooms, and, tragedy of tragedies, the parents upstairs, we had nary a moment to ourselves. Yet, with that look, I would cross a thousand miles of fire and brimstone....

But, maybe I should leave the details for the Sex Blog?

I will say this, though - I felt no shame or guilt of leaving the gang to steal a few kisses alone with MW. They're guys - they know. It's not like I even said anything, it remained unsaid and unconfirmed, yet, there was no neurosis involved.

However, as fantastic as it is to play the 'just one of the guys' role for a weekend, I must say I have very little tolerance for men who act like stereotypical 'women'. I have yet to meet a group of people - men or women - who were as pussified and indecisive as this group of men. One of them could not handle sleeping outdoors, so he slunk back inside to sleep in the comfort of home. Dude: It's August. It's not cold. You suck.

Don't get me started on the never-ending conversations about plans. Who is going to be where? When? With who? Why? Where will be meet if we should get lost? Maybe you should wear shorts? No, pants?

I understand it's necessary in some situations, but, Christ. IN THE MALL?

Okay, anyway. Back to the concert.

The next morning, MW and I were rudely awoken by HB and CS. I was nekkid from the waist up, with MW laying on my booblies. How rude. Really, tents should have doorbells. We got up, dressed, and then waited a few hours to go. We decided to leave as late as possible, knowing that once we got there, we'd have to wait hours for any entertainment to begin.

As luck would have it, everything ran extremely smooth. We caught our shuttle to the concert site, and was there with enough time to explore a bit, and find an excellent viewpoint for the concert. We were quite close, yet far enough away that we could sit on a blanket during the down times without getting trampled to death.

Otherwise, everything else was great. The only downside was when I spent $20, essentially, on a slice of Domino's. They continued to increase their prices throughout the concert. Naughty, naughty.

Les Trois Accords was premier. They were.. how do you say? Comme ci-comme ça. The gang liked them, so the mood was set.

Our Lady Peace was next. I haven't listened to them much after.. whatever that album was that had all their hits on it. Raine Maida has some sort of Saviour complex that totally takes away from his self-delusioned hotness. As a homely fellow already, he really held no appeal to me anymore. It doesn't help that I knew GORD would be on stage soon.

Oh baby. Gord came onstage with a white button-down busines shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, blue jeans, and a red hankercheif to whip the sweat away from his gorgeous, shiny, brilliant bald head of his. Oh, and the rest of the band. I'm sure they looked good, too. They were all in fine form. Gord was his usual twitchy, ranting, lyrical self. No, they did not play New Orleans is sinking, but they did play Nautical Disaster, which took on a whole new meaning. They played very little new material, and lots of hits. I let loose and completely rocked out. It was amazing how uninhabited I was throughout the weekend.

It was over, much to soon, but the Stones were next. MW and I trotted off to get water and pee. By the time we came back, we could barely find our spot. As you would probably expected, there was a influx of people toward the stage, and things started to get a bit crowded.

The Stones took to the stage a bit late. I assume they must have waited for sundown, which was about 8:30pm. They blasted onto the stage amidst special effects and smoke and pyrotechnics. Impressive.

The show was.. Well, a Rolling Stones show. To try to describe would be a waste of my time and yours. If you really wanted to know, you should have spent the $100 on tickets.

There was one thing that did not make the top 10 list that was a bit of a mystery to me.

The lips. At one point in the show, the center of the stage actually detached, and rolled out into the audience, as a sort of mini-stage. As this was going on, I noticed that a giant mouth and even giant-er tongue was being inflated back at the main stage. The Stones continued to play on the mini stage for at least 3 songs, while the giant, dare I say, tacky mouth continued to inflate.

They slowly rolled back, and played one song - one song and danced around the giant mouth. As soon as the song ended, the mouth was deflated, and they continued on.

I giggled to myself internally at the time, but while waiting for our fraps at Starbucks, I just had to mention it to MW:

Me: Remember the giant mouth at the concert? The blue one with the flowers on it?
MW: Yes.
Me: Well, I couldn't help but think it parallels the function of the penis.
MW: (barely supressing an eye roll because he thinks I think everything parallels the penis). Really? How so?
Me: Think of it. It takes forever to inflate, it's only good for five minutes, and then it deflates right away.
MW: Sigh.
Me: (with a devilish grin) ... Yeah, and at the end, you're left wondering "Is that all?"
MW: (grumble, grumble) Your drink is ready.