When I was at a friend's birthday/housewarming party last night, that's all I could think about. Such a fine damned time, sitting around talking with my lovely, intelligent girls, talking about the things you can only really talk about with your girls, not your coworkers, not your acquaintances, and surely not strangers on the bus. They knowme, and I them.

Who will I drive around with after the fun kids have been kicked out of the party so the hosts can get their overnight guests (who watched "Primary Colors" and "Cinderella" whilst the cool kids drank to excess in the parlor) to bed? I might make new friends, but oh, the time it will take to know them, to figure out the dynamics of a new group of people. Sigh.

I am sick over it. Okay, well, maybe it's this awful hangover, due in large part to my failure to drink any water for the better part of yesterday and this morning. Quit stewing!

The weekend has also taught me that I am the Concert Nazi. The concert zen was painfully absent at Friday night's show--nearly everyone in attendance needed to a lesson in concert etiquette. And did I mention what an odd crowd it was? Since it was a benefit, there were the Bloomington-Normal socialites (I recognized several people in development/alumni relations from ISU), who didn't know the music and only cared to chat (with their annoying sibilant s sounds), as well as exceedingly drunk redneck types.

I loved the show. Kelly and Bruce were lovely and entertaining.

Maybe they teeter too close to the edge of mainstream country to make me comfortable proclaiming to like them and buying their disks. There were a few songs that took my breath away, but it wasn't quite right. I needed to see more youngish alt-country hipsters there to feel comfortable. The redneck, Bud Lite-swilling gang who seemed to use "What Would Willie Do"as their mantra just upset me. I want more for them. And me. And all the talk of the Dixie Chicks and Faith Hill/Tim McGraw recording Bruce's songs struck me as confirmation that it's too mainstream.

I don't begrudge them some success--they're talented folk, and I had a good time, but I think it's the sort of good time that's better if I'm in a bar and drinking, like the Jack Ingram or Robert Earl Keen shows. It's not thinking music.

Well, not the songs that the crowd most liked to hear.

But I'm so glad I went. I'd do it again. Maybe.

I won't, however, have the cherry wheat beer or raspberry vodka again. Not soon, at least.

I should go check on the laundry. I should go do the bridal shower invitations. I should pay bills and work on a budget, to give me an idea of how much I need if I'm to move to the city.

I should settle for more water and a nap.

You should settle for this advice, passed to me from a friend who received it from a woman likened to Blanche Devereaux: If you're on a cruise, pick your man early.

And try this. And let me know.