Not Very Bad Company At All....

....if you could see past the tshirts that said lovely sentiments about "Save Southern Rock" and "Sexas Tucks." I swear, there were hundreds of be-tank-topped, braless, saggy bosoms laying on blubber bellies. Gross, just gross. And those were the men! Don't even get me started about the women. Oy. There must have been a huge ugly stick that hit many of those people! Seriously.

Yesterday, I headed north on 75 for the 95 mile drive to big, beautiful Durant, Oklahoma. And by big and beautiful, I mean small and dusty. But the stars were shining on the Choctaw Casino and Coliseum when legendary rock and roll bluesman, Paul Rodgers of Bad Company fame took the stage.

My friend S was to go with me, in fact the whole trip was her idea initially, but she had an unfortunate foot incident and bailed. But you know me, not much can deter CruiserMel from her concerts, even travel ghoulies! So, off I went.

I skidded into town with hardly a minute to spare before the show began and I didn't have a ticket! As I suspected, casino shows hold back the really good seats for their high rollers and release them to meager low rollers (or in my case, paying customers) as the show nears. BINGO! 6th row. I so rawk.

He came out on the stage in tight jeans and a muscle shirt. No he's not 30 or 40, he's quite definitely over 60. And it hardly shows a bit. This guy was smooth and sexy as hell with a voice like buttah. And he didn't have man-boobs. Take that, Durant.

Much to the chagrin of Sassy Blondie and Lindystars, try as I might, I couldn't get "Rock n Roll Hor" or "Dirty Bitch" embroidered on my panties in time to throw at Paul's feet, so I elected to blind him with my flashing boobs, (and by boobs, I mean camera), until I got wise and turned the flash off which produced way better photos. Sorry 'bout burning your retinas, dude, but I was excited and went all stoopid with my Canon.

At one point, he asked everyone to "come on down" towards the stage and my feet grew wings as I jumped over several seats and I was in wall to wall male and female boobs. I wriggled my way to the front and soon found myself with my own boobs crushed against the stage. (Would you expect any less of me?) Everyone was trying to touch Paul and though I like to be different, I joined the bandwagon and held my hand up. Soon I felt his hand high-five mine. It was just like his voice, buttah.

Before I knew it, he was at the end of his nearly 2 hour show (3 encores, btw), and I was headed out the door to make the drive back to Dallas. Did I mention this was an Indian reservation? Run by Indians? Indians who like to play tricks on innocent palefaces? There was one, count 'em ONE exit out of the parking lot. There was a Tonto at every turn of the parking lot, directing myself and 1000 others around in what amounted to something like the hedge maze in "The Shining". (And I thought getting out of the John Mayer concert last week was awful!) Our cars looked like they were playing ring around the rosey with all the going around in circles. I was so disoriented and felt like they were either going to force me to permanently become a resident of "the Nation" or were leading me down a path which might lead me to Nebraska, so I leaned out the window to one of the Tontos and said "I need to get to 75 South." To which, he flashed his four remaining teeth at me and tossed his head back in laughter as he waved me once again back into the maze. Dick.

Anyhow, I finally found my way to the highway and headed home. Another night, another concert. And it was so worth it, Rock n Roll Hor panties or not. But I'll be working on that matter for the next concert. Heh.