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9-10-01 - 6:41 p.m. Because everyone and their dog has asked me about it, I'll tell you all how the Madonna concert was. Amazing. Simply amazing. Before the concert, I called Rob to make sure he still was gonna come. He bailed. I had to find somebody else to come. I called Andrew. He came. I went through three outfits total, wanting to wear something concert-y, but something I could dance in, but not something cowboy-themed, correctly assuming that everyone else would be donning the hat and chaps and boots. I wore a form-fitting black zip-up top over a short black skirt and fishnet stockings, with a pair of black boots. I crimped a few small strands of my hair and loaded on the mascara and eyeliner to complete the 80s Madonna badass look. I probably looked like a hooker. Parking, of course, was more trouble than it was worth. I drove half our party (me, Justin, Bryan, and Andrew�Kellie and Jared showed up separately and met us there) on the way up, and wasn't too keen on leaving my beloved Mustang in the care of any Los Angeles residents. The Center isn't in a good part of town (not that you'll ever convince me there is a "good part of town" in LA) and I'd have been damned if I was gonna leave me keys and ten dollars with Qui-Gon Jinn. (Trust me, he looked every bit the part. I was a little hesitant to cross him, fearing he'd whip out his lightsaber and chop me up.) Outside the Staples Center were no more than five middle-aged, white male Christian protestors with whistles, one with a megaphone. They held emormous signs that boasted messages such as, "JESUS WILL JUDGE YOU" and the Ten Commandments. As we of the Madonner Party (me, Andrew, Kellie, Jared, Justin, Bryan) made our way across the drive, we saw them, and I got really excited. "Oooooh, conservative Christian assholes! Yes!" I said, formulating a way to piss them off enough to condemn my "soul" to "Hell." Ignoring the fact that I was embarrassing Kellie half to death, I went right up to the protestor with the megaphone, who had shouted, "SLUT SHOW, STRAIGHT AHEAD!" I ran my tongue across my teeth, slid my left leg up his body, and slowly began unzipping my shirt to reveal some cleavage. "Why don't you call me anymore, Jim?" I said so others could hear. He looked at me strangely. I stepped away and shouted, "An abortion? You want me to abort our child? This is because of your wife, isn't it? Fuck you!" and then stormed away with my group. Luckily, he was dumbfounded, and didn't have the intelligence to create a suitable comeback. Justin and Andrew said I was crazy, Bryan said I had "balls," and Kel said she couldn't believe she knew me. The actual concert began with "Substitute For Love," a new Madonna favorite of mine. I forget the setlist, but she seemed, at least to me, to start out with all her fast songs, then sort of mellowed it out and ended with an encore of "Music." Y'know, only Madonna could wear a Japanese kimono and sing in French. She performed a brief poledance while singing "Beautiful Stranger," danced some salsa, featured an amazing Samurai-esque swordsman dance, showed a bit of Anime porn, and played the guitar many times throughout the show. Wow. I danced with Bryan and Andrew for the entire length of the show, bought a keychain as a souvenier from the places inside (Justin bought two posters, a keychain, a belt buckle, a program, and a photo�something like $150 worth of merchandise!) and am still in shock that I just saw Madonna in concert. How many people in this world can say that?! I'd see her again, definitely. Truly one of the greatest entertainers who ever lived. On the way home, we stopped in San Juan Capistrano to eat at Del Taco. I got a cheese quesadilla so as to stay true to my New Vegetarian Lifestyle. I didn't really feel like driving all the way out to Fallbrook again to drop off Andrew, and since Justin was parked at my and Bryan's apartment, I told Andrew he could spend the night. On the couch. Right, like that happened. So we had sex, and he stayed over for a long time today, didn't bum a ride home off Bryan when I went to see Janet, didn't seem to mind that I spent nearly the entire day online. Declined every polite request I made to drive him home. When he finally left, getting a ride from a friend who had come to PB for some shopping, Bryan sat me down and gave me what he called "The Talk." "The Talk" basically was about my self-esteem. Which, of course, meant that I was on the spot and uncomfortable throughout it. I told him I'd already seen my therapist that day and didn't need a second visit. He said that the reason nobody likes me is because it's so obvious that I don't like myself, and when I opened my mouth to protest, he told me to shut up and start liking myself. Hard as I tried, I couldn't keep myself from laughing. Nor could I keep myself from laughing today when, aggravated at Janet for not listening to me whine without interruption, I made an involuntary Rocky Horror Picture Show reference by exclaiming, "Dammit, Janet!" But back to Bryan: He asked if I had feelings for Andrew. I said of course not. He asked if I had feelings for Rob. I paused and nodded but couldn't keep eye contact as I squeaked out a pitifully meek "Mm-hmm." For whatever reason, it was hard for me to answer the question. Bryan said the problem was simple. I asked him how it could be simple for him, when I don't even know what it is. He said I needed to call Rob, and I asked why I should have to be the semi-mature one here, yet again. He said, "Because he's a guy." I pointed out that, he, too, was a guy. Bryan grinned and said, "Us gay guys are different. We don't count." I cursed him for being gay again, and thanked him for being my Friend. I can capitalize the "F" now, I think. I'm honestly not too ashamed of myself for sleeping with Andrew. It was just a rebound sort of thing. I've been his rebound before, so it all sort of evens out, in a very twisted, sick sort of way. Aw, crapnuts. I have to work tomorrow. I'm gonna have to wake up, put on that stupid piece-of-crap shirt that's a million times bigger than I am, tie back my hair, and smile the entire day, despite my ever-present urges to stuff many-a-co-worker's perky little head into the cappuccino maker. But at least I got to see Madonna!
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