Hey World – I’m baaaaack! A week of allergy drugs and gentle stretching have done wonders for returning me to my usually-upright and awake self. Good thing, because I spent three days with Kristina, celebrating her birthday and impeding graduation.

Not everything’s 100% health-wise, though, and I blame Kristina. In the past, when Kristina would visit, musicians would die. She was at my house when Joe Strummer, Johnny Ramone, George Harrison, and the lead singer from Molly Hatchet died. She’s finally stopped killing, though. Instead, she’s implanted a critter that lives under my scalp and fights to escape in her presence.  Last time I saw Kristina, back in Philly last December, the giant horn I’ve had on my head suddenly started spouting stuff. Since then, it’s been dormant, only to come to life as soon as she landed on Tuesday. This time, it was pissed. I spent all three days with what I think might be brain matter escaping. I’m afraid it’s the 10% of my brain that I use.

Kristina left yesterday and guess what. Brains are inside. Coincidence?

Speaking of things that usually make my brains leak out of my head, I promised to take Kristina to see Morrissey on Wednesday. I know I wrote this a month or two ago, but I can’t find it so I’ll repeat: making fun of Morrissey makes my life worth living and I knew it would be a challenge for me to keep my mouth shut during the show. I even mentioned in that post I can’t find that I’d be lucky if I didn’t get my ass kicked or thrown out when my bigmouth would strike again.

I started making fun of Morrissey before I even knew what the hell I was making fun of. I may not remember when I posted about buying Morrissey tickets two months ago, but I remember reading an article in a British music mag in 1986 that commented on Morrissey’s celibacy.  I was 14, chubby, zitty, and awkward so it’s not like anyone was wooing me with “You’re the One for Me, Fatty”. Making puns out of song titles probably didn’t help my popularity, either.

At the show on Wednesday, I had a bit of an epiphany. I remember the kids at my school who wore Smiths, Cure, and Bauhaus t-shirts. I knew the bands because I was a “120 Minutes” junkie. I didn’t like the bands because something about them made me uncomfortable. Back then I thought it was just all the melodrama in their music, which could still be a part of it. I’m realizing more and more that if I’d been more honest with myself and the world during my teens, I would have been one of those kids in a Smiths t-shirt. Back then, they scared me. I’m not one for regret, but Wednesday night, I had some regrets about spending my adoloecense trying to make everything think I was confident, assertive, aloof, and ready to take on the world. That wasn’t me. More often than not, I was wanting to go home, cry, and die.

Some days, I still do.

It just made me wonder what would have been different in my life if I’d been myself back then, instead of working my ass off to hide the fact that I was so depressed, panicked, anxious, angry, sad, confused, and filled with self-loathing. Some people learn more slowly than others. Some girls are bigger than others.

I pun for the same reasons I make fun of Morrissey: 1) it’s fun, and 2) it’s a way to mask all that shit I mentioned in the last paragraph.

Epiphanies aside, the show was fantastic. Much better than I ever expected. Morrissey has aged into a beautifully cranky middle-aged queen with one of the most fascinating stage presences I’ve witnessed. He put on a hell of a show, too, right down to lassoing with the mic cord to ripping his shirt off. Charming. His voice? Stunning and beautiful, which really threw me for a loop. I’d never realized from recordings just what a stellar vocalist he is.

And oh, there was irony! Shortly into the show, a couple asked if they could sit at our table, since we had two extra seats. Sure! And then they proceeded to yap like Yorkies through the first half of the show. I shot many passive-aggressive looks in their direction to no avail. Neither of them would shut up. I considered getting really passive-aggressive and knocking my beer into her purse, but I don’t waste good beer. The guy wasn’t so bad, but the woman had one of those high-pitched, shrieky giggles that makes puppies cry. And they were talking to her each other over the music, which means Kristina and I were hearing them over the music.

Halfway through the show, the couple went for a smoke. Before leaving, the woman put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Excuse me, but would you mind watching our seats while we step out?” Ever so polite. No need for me to follow my jackass instincts and snap, “You stupid, yapping moron! Save your seat in your arse!”

“I don’t mind on one condition. When you come back, SHUT THE HELL UP!”

She looked shocked and asked if she was talking too much or too loudly. I can’t remember which, because I was already swimming in the adrenaline high of being handed the most glorious opportunity to confront a concert-talker (one of my biggest pet peeves I mean really, it makes me insane).

Whatever she asked, the answer was a thick and hearty yes. She apologized, and the crashing bores didn’t return to their seats.

Girl most likely to get kicked out of a Morrissey show for being a jackass tells off jackasses at a Morrissey show. O, irony!

So, I’m going to say it: I love Morrissey. And The Smiths. I think I always did, but was afraid doing so would put too much of my emotional fragility on display. I think I can put the fragility out there and couple it with my skills and telling people to shut up.

Anyway. On a completely different subject, Kristina’s mom to a beautiful, albeit squirrely, rescued greyhound named Grace.  As luck would have it, last week I learned that my friend Raquel recently became kennel master for REGAP, a local greyhound rescue group. Of course, I had to get Kristina and Raquel together. We spent a chunk of Thursday out in the country, visiting the seven beautiful greyhounds residing under Raquel’s care. We made friends.

I’m surprised Kristina didn’t go home with 85 pounds of doggie carry-on.

Even with my possible brain leakage and my Morrissey-induced emotional delicacy, it was a wonderful week.