care for a d8, k8?

I had a terrific date this weekend... with myself.

I had been out all day (trying on turquoise bridesmaids dresses and purchasing myself consolation black clothing to alleviate the scalding of my retinas) and when I got home, I was really bummed to discover that nobody had responded to my invitation to play on Saturday night.

I actually sat down at my desk and whimpered, feeling an enormous wave of loneliness wash over me. I fought the urge to put on my pajamas and sit on the couch, not to get up again for several hours (it was only 5:30 pm, after all).

I said outloud, "I wish someone would take me out to play."

And then I said to myself, "Well, what do you want to do?"

I answered (not outloud this time, since I'm not, in fact, crazy), "I want to wear my new dress and go somewhere fancy. I want to drink a glass of wine in a nice bar and hear a concert like a grown up."

So I slid myself into my fancy (black) dress, threw on some boots and my Charred Marshmallow Sleeping Bag Coat (which I love) and headed to the subway. Destination: Carnegie Hall.

I had several thousand conversations in my head about where I was going and why, and allowed myself the right to change my mind at any point. The ticket was only $20 and I figured that was worth putting on the dress and getting out of the house, let alone catching the Fort Worth Symphony Orchestra. I still wasn't sold on the idea, however, until I walked into the lobby of the building. I was magnetized. I felt myself in my dress, my boots and my earrings, and I wanted to stay. Carnegie Hall really is amazing -- even just the lobby.

I climbed the sixty three flights of stairs to the $20 ticket section and ended up sitting next to a very handsome guy and his female companion (sister? girlfriend?) in the middle of the row. We chatted at intermission and it turned out that the woman was, in fact, his mother. So after the concert, I gave him my card. Hell, I had the dress on. Might as well.

I should have stopped while I was ahead, but instead I went downtown, thinking I would catch another friend's show at the Living Room. But when I got there, he wasn't playing yet, and I didn't know anybody in the bar, and there wasn't a seat to be had. Sure, I was brave, but not THAT brave.

So I headed home, feeling somewhat defeated for not having had the guts to just sit at a bar and talk to strangers. Sometimes it's the easiest thing in the world, and sometimes I feel like such a phony I don't even want to talk to myself. Hard to be charming when you're judging every word that comes out of your mouth.

Anyway, the night was, all in all, a success, and I realized that what I love about going to a concert or a museum is that I know enough about art and music to enjoy them, but I don't know enough about them to be let down. If I had gone to see a play, I would have judged it all the way through, critiquing and analyzing it instead of just enjoying it for what it was. With a concert, especially at Carnegie Hall, I can just be a kid again and experience the joy of watching a guy play a marimba with four mallets (and only two hands)! I can thrill to a cellist digging his bow into the string and getting this violently sexy sound of it. And I can be totally psyched to see two guys in tuxedos playing the bongos.

Talk about a terrific date!