...


*thud*

Oh, the Girls. 'Twas a very nice Monday evening.

I walked the four-and-a-half miles to the theatre to avoid parking issues and expense. It wasn't a bad trek, though I got a little bored and hip-fatigued on the way home. The second I touched carpet with my socks off, I realized how sensitive my tootsies were and practically vaulted into bed. Hehe.

This was really a great show. Bitch was fabulous, as always; I like her so much that I skipped right past that "opener" phase and really felt like I saw two full-on sets, which I loved. Bitch's new stuff sounded great, and I got to hear "Pussy Manifesto" live for (I think) the first time since she split with Animal.The crowd really warmed up to her, which I was glad to see -- I get the feeling that the west coast doesn't really have any idea who she is, so I'm excited that she's out here with a band that draws solid crowds. She is playing solo again next Tuesday, and I might hit that show up.

Amy was spraying something on her throat all night, and her little voice was getting all raspy by the last two songs. It's like telling someone they're cute when they cry, I suppose, but I couldn't help getting all squeed out over her froggy-froat.

*grabs Amy's cheeks and makes Fat Aunt Face*

Ugh. It really was a great show, replete with surprise guests and a great crowd and the Girls in fine form. "Ozilline," "Tether," "Go," "Heartache for Everyone," "Shame on You," "Three County Highway." Ah, they just rocked. And were quiet. And were stunning. I was flying.

I wish I'd gone to the Ventura show; the guy I sold my extra LA tickets to actually invited me to come free, but then had his friend (who hadn't wanted to go all week) change his mind and "feel like he should go because he promised to." DUMB. I could have bought a ticket, but my cash-money wasn't exactly cutting holes in my pockets and running to Ticketmaster. So. I live vicariously through Spike, for whom I looked at the Wiltern, but could not freaking spy with my little green eye. I was admittedly a little distracted with snagging a pick after the show, so hope was kinda lost at that point (which is probably when I should have been looking).

Anyway. I don't have many words but am rambling nonetheless... a combo destined for borification, so I'll cut it short. It was good. I was happy. There are pictures. Yay.

Amy Ray is forty-two years old today.

That woman was twice my age when I was sixteen.

But I wasn't legal then.

being at work until eight-thirty last night entitles me to a bit of eljaying, i think. i'm tired of thinking about the random-ass things flitting about in my head, so i purge.

( i get gas )

( from food )

( and make music. )

( lots of music, )

( to the point i can't control myself. )

( i try, but i haven't figured it out yet. )

( it worries me sometimes, i guess. )

( i mean, i don't want my friends to hate me. )

( maybe i just need new friends. )

( *sigh* )