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Friday night was extraordinary at the George Thorogood/Buddy Guy concert. Except for the car trip there with the Bro and SIL, who were being loud and obnoxious and inflammatory and pick at every minute detail of imperfection until I reach the point of breaking out into spontaneous bouts of quadruple vehicular murder/suicide.

SHUT IT! For the love of Jesus Christ and all the angels, Bro, just drop the toxic tongue wagging. Plu-ease.

I've decided that Thorogood is gross. dOOd decided his musical abilities were pedestrian. It was really over for the both of us when he started talking about masturbating after shows. Check, please. Did I really pay $50 a seat to hear a 60-year-old guy (who appears to wear an athletic supporter filled with gym socks) regale us with tales about going back to the bus and playing with himself? Methinks not even a little bit.

Buddy, however, is AMAZING. He came down off the stage and wandered through the crowd with nothing but his strat and a small entourage. He came up the aisle three seats from us and just ripped. dOOd plays and writes, so it was totally cool for him to see a master up close. Buddy looks really good for a 900-year-old guy, by the way. Not even wrinkly or crusty or anything. As his finale, he did his standard John Lee Hooker/Albert King/Clapton/BB King/Hendrix ensemble. I have never shook my ass so much in my life. A-freeking-mazing.

In other news . . . dOOd. I think the term for what's happening is 'falling in love'. Completely comfortable, and yet immeasurably scary. What are you thinking? Why are your perceptions and conclusions so damn astute? I lower my shields and tell you all you want to know. Then you just absorb it all. It's only later that little comments come out that cut straight through to the core of the matter. You leave me vulnerable. I cannot bear that you think of me as less than superwoman in perfection. I don't like that you must realize all the stupid things I've done, and that I'm likely to be stupid again.

Why did you want to know about the details of that night? Did you need to know that it hurt? That Mr. T stole my faith in decency and my financial security when he ripped off my clothes and smothered my face? That the kiddo was there and heard it all? What could you have possibly gained with that knowledge? Do you feel closer to me now? Do you blame me? Do you feel anger, disgust, pity, apathy? Do you wonder what you're doing with a woman who cannot seem to make healthy choices? What? Tell me what you're thinking. It's not OK to ask these questions and then leave me in suspense.

9:52 am - 07.27.08
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