House of Blues I

I love live music. With a few exceptions, I don’t even care about the genre or group. Of course I have my favorites, but there is just an energy, and dare I say purity, about live musical performances that sing to my soul. Ever since we’ve lived here I’ve wanted to go to House of Blues, but haven’t had the opportunity. Last weekend Brian and I had tickets to go see Yonder Mountain String Band, a bluegrass band. Surprisingly, Brian loves bluegrass, so we invited some friends to go with us.

We had a great time. The band was good, and our friends are so much fun to be with, but one of the best parts of the evening was watching the interesting characters that were enjoying the music. Now there are generally some pretty colorful people to watch when you go to a venue that has music, free flowing alcohol, and covert puffs of smoke, but I have to say, House of Blues had more than its fair share that night.

House of Blues has a balcony with seating, but on the particular night that we were there, only the floor was open, so it was standing room only. During the band’s second set we decided to climb out of the pit and stand up off to the side near one of the bars. It seemed like a pretty good place to get out of the madding crowd. After a few minutes I looked over to my side and noticed a woman who was dancing to her own beat. I use the term “dancing” loosely. What she was doing was really more of a cross between dancing, exercising, and animal mimicry. Intrigued by what seemed a complete lack of inhibitions, I kept stealing looks at her. Before long I realized that her long, flowing hair was rivaled by the mane growing beneath her arms. I was truly impressed by not only her energy and stamina, but also by her ability to flail about with a glass of beer and not seem to slosh a drop on the floor.

After several songs, I made the mistake of turning my back, no longer paying attention to the chicken dance going on at my side. Without warning, I felt bare arms embrace me and a body, which most definitely was not my husband’s, pressed against me. I looked over my shoulder and found the free-dancer nuzzling up to me. I can only blame my reaction on shock, and the good manners that my parents ingrained in me. Not knowing what else to do, I said, “Wow, you have a lot of energy.” In a dreamy, slurring voice she said, “No, you’re the one with the energy. Believe me, I could feel your energy across the room. It’s beautiful.” I'm gratified to know that she found my head bobbing energetic.

I can’t recall the sequence of the conversation, if that’s what you can call it, but at some point we exchanged names. I wish I would have thought to claim to be Jennifer Aniston because surprisingly, her name is Drew Barrymore. She kept assuring me that she is very picky about people and who she becomes friends with, but she loves me and I’m her new best friend. Lucky me. It’s apparently fate that we both live in Vegas and were at the same concert at the same time. I didn’t want to be rude, although in retrospect I don’t think she would have noticed, so when she repeatedly said, “I love you” I just said, “I believe you.” Although, at one point I did tell her that she probably wouldn’t feel the same in the morning. I kept looking for help from Brian, but he was too busy laughing and taking pictures. Unfortunately his didn’t turn out, so I had to make one of my own.

Finally, Drew released her vice-like grip and began to gyrate again. Without hesitating, I grabbed Brian and hissed, “We’re leaving NOW.” Gratefully, neither he nor our friends argued with me.