Midnight: husband's punk band goes onstage for wild, drunken crowd of two thousand people, an outdoor festival in Spain.

12:01 a.m.: realize that wearing short skirt and tank top in cold, windy weather was a bad idea.

12:02: try to communicate to others backstage that I need something to wrap my freezing, half-naked body in but realize that nobody can hear me, nobody cares, and nobody speaks English. Instead, receive a few two-fingered metal signs accompanied by the word Yah!

12:03: wish I was back home in New York watching TV. Remember how good the pizza is at Grimaldi's and start to salivate. Wonder if leaving New York is ever a good idea.

12:15: mind and body go numb with cold.

12:20: receive dirty look from husband, who expected me to deliver a towel and water earlier in the set. Deliver towels and bottle of water, then quickly run off-stage.

12:22: tie several towels around neck and waist. Wish someone would offer me a sweatshirt.

12:23: seethe with animosity at the dearth of gentleman punks in Spain.

12:25: see some friends from another band backstage and smile. Point to the bottle of Jagermeister one of them carries and take it. Tilt head back and force self to swallow burning liquid. Equation for warmth = bouncing around, moving every body part to the rhythm of the music + blocking Mediterranean wind gusts with large speaker cabinets + drinking enough to feel warm but not sick.

12:26: feel sick.

12:27: think of starting a riot. Riots always get the blood pumping and make me feel alive.

12:28: grow to respect and admire the riot starting professionals in Mexico, L.A., and South America.

12:30: jump around a little and pray to God that the Jagermeister doesn't make a second appearance.

12:34: vomit slightly in mouth, but swallow.

12:41: sit sullenly next to soundboard and glare at everyone.

12:45: cross and uncross frozen legs in attempt to curl into my long, skinny self like some sort of turtle or snail. Fantasize for a moment about having a hard shell or exoskeleton. Decide to write a song or story called Exoskeleton someday.

1:05: husband's band finally leaves stage.

1:07: band goes back onstage for a two song encore.

1:16: husband leaves stage smiling and waving to adoring fans. He is met with many slaps on his metal-spiked, black leather jacket. Force a smile and say, "You guys are really done, right?" Nobody hears my question or nobody cares, but I assume the show is over as we are all herded by security guards to a large tent.

1:31: smoke hashish joint with band and crew members in dusty backstage tent area.

1:33: peer-pressure husband, but he declines.

1:36: see someone eating Doritos and follow them.

1:37: brim with utopian happiness when I find a large bowl of Cool Ranch Doritos and some Vitamin waters.

1:45: dust bits of orange chips off skimpy black outfit. Notice a chip lodged in bra, remove it, and eat it. Wipe off mouth, run tongue over teeth, and re-apply dark lipstick.

1:46: look for more hashish, more Doritos, more adventure.

1:47: reprimanded by husband for wandering off. Told that we are leaving -- NOW!

2:13: arrive back at quaint Spanish hotel room and lay down. Large window is left wide open to allow in the breeze from the Sea and many prehistoric-looking insects into our room.

3:30: hear alarm but can't open eyes. Realize I forgot to remove false eyelashes and eyelash adhesive from previous evening.

3:31: struggle with eyelashes.

3:32: go back to sleep.

4:00: phone rings and I am told, "We are leaving now!"

4:01: pull some jeans on and throw a sweatshirt over last night's tank top. Brush teeth, wipe off smeared mascara, apply powder and lipstick and say, "I'm ready!"

4:02: look at self in mirror and decide that a hat and sunglasses are a good idea.

4:03: go through photos from previous evening on camera. I like the one with the guys from Agnostic Front. Show husband picture and ask him if my nose is like Vinnie Stigma's nose and if that's why one of them asked me, "Are yous Italian?"

4:04: Decide that looking Italian is a compliment and ignore taunting from husband.

4:05: listen to husband speak his loud version of every foreign language on the phone. "We need thees. Thees is what we need -- we need thees van to get here and take these people to the thees airport. Thees needs to happen now!"

4:11: fall asleep upright in uncomfortable chair.

4:19: I am told for the final time, that morning, that "we are leaving -- NOW!" Grab purse and backpack and run down the narrow, dimly lit hall.

4:21: jump into the back of an oversize van and hope the driver is at least half as crazy as he looks. Buckle seatbelt and ready self for the bumpy ride ahead.

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