%%date%% - %%time%%

%%entry%%

"Man, we're so cool!" I told Jory last night as we slinked around the El Rey, nursing our pricey Long Island iced teas and waiting for Sleater Kinney to come on.

Sleater-Kinney!

It took us a few hours and a very expensive half-tank of gas, but we made it to Hollywood and had the Jeep valet-parked with plenty of time to catch the opening bands. (I'm just excited ol' Bula made it to Hollywood and back without incident. Last trip she blew a hose.)

Opening act: an energetic fem-rock group with an amazingly spastic frontwoman. Should've bought the demo CD.

S'kinney wasn't on til eleven, and in that time Jory and I had our fair share of run-ins with socially inept fans. Two girls sprawled on the steps, thereby taking up the space where four people could stand and get a better view of the band. My phone rang. It was Jory (spaced two sprawled-out girls away from me).

"What's up?" he cupped the phone in his hand.

"You know what's funny?" I said. "Usually when I see two people next to each other, both on the phone, I think, hang up and talk! You're both right there!, and in this case it's true."

We complained about the ladies at our feet.

We saw a fellow CCS-er.

"I used to argue with that guy in Dante!" I cried. We didn't say hello as he seemed to be pretending not to see us.

There was an overwhelming lesbian crowd, and while in line for the bathroom I had a revelation: yet another reason it would be cool to be a lesbian couple. There was a cute woman ahead of me, quasi-Gothic but lovely. Her lover, a really fit gal sporting a buzz-cut and a "Boy Scouts of America" shirt, cut in line with a drink. They were sweet and cuddly, and when the quasi-Goth went into a stall, her partner turned around and explained that she hadn't cut, she just wanted to deliver the drink.

Ok, so I once had a boyfriend who stood with me in a long toilet line and held my coat and purse. That was a lovely moment. But he couldn't come all the way into the bathroom with me, and he certainly couldn't run in with a gin and tonic to sweeten the wait.

The band was brilliant. They played a couple favorites - One Beat and Sympathy, but strangely left Joey Ramone off the set list. I'm not complaining. Oh, and I bought quite possibly the coolest t-shirt in history from that concert. (I mean, how many people can say they have a t-shirt with a scene from Olympia, WA printed on the front? Can you?)

And I love travelling with Jory. I have loads of friends who, I imagine, would pass out on such a long drive. But Jory stayed awake and kept the conversation lively and interesting.

He told me my outfit passed muster. I wasn't sure what to wear to the concert, since Sleater-Kinney attract punks and vintage-afficianadoes alike. But flesh-toned fishnets, a lot of black, a pseudo-punkish black T paired with an asymetric black skirt...

"I didn't even think you owned flat shoes!" Jory said approvingly. Earlier he'd stated that if he ever saw me out of heels, it would be like the death of a legend or something.