At the Elephant & Castle, because they generously donated a party to one of my charities. We got 90
On Friday my cute little family of four went to see Yo-Yo Ma and his Silk Road Ensemble. We sat in a box because my husband bought the tickets. Box seats! And just so you know, the Symphony Center boxes leave the Lyric Opera House boxes sitting in the road, what with their better sightlines, closer proximity to the stage, and cute little closets. Also the goodies at intermission are much tastier. And the bathroom was like, right there. And the line was so short!
Jesus, I may have just talked myself into switching from opera to symphony. Yes, I really am that shallow.
And now, let me just explain why I don't blog more than I do. And why I'm still in my pajamas.
It's because my children TIRE ME RIGHT THE FUCK OUT. blackbird can testify how exhausting they can be, because she called me up yesterday while I was finishing packing for the weekend, and because yesterday was Friday the Thirteenth, which is obviously her lucky day, she caught my daughter in the middle of making a series of LOUD, NERVE-SHATTERING KEENING NOISES.
My daughter was making noises like a human siren because instead of being able to go to a private screening of High School Musical complete with candy and popcorn and the company of her fellow estrogen-laden peers, she was being forced to put on her Easter dress and go out to dinner and then to a concert at Symphony Center.
And just so you know, I am not perfect. No, really, I'm not, and having to make soothing apologetic remarks about it being her brother's birthday present, and that unfortunately, my husband had not written the date of the concert on the kitchen calendar, and it was too late to change our plans now, because the tickets were very expensive, while hearing that she hated me and was going to either run away from home or kill herself ... well, it kind of takes some of the luster out of what should have been a festive occasion.
And so, while dinner, which was at a child-friendly yet venerable Chicago restaurant with an excellent wine list was, in fact, very good, and while the music was both interesting and beautifully-played, and while Yo-Yo Ma is ADORABLE and energetic and amazing, and while he'd be my new boyfriend (except wonder of wonders, he's actually older than I am, and the rule is that my musician boyfriends have to be younger than I am) and therefore, the evening ended up being quite pleasant, if you factor out the hours between 3:30 and 6:30 ... I'm still recovering.
So that was yesterday's drama. Surviving it (as well as writing a Mamarazzi entry mocking Danny Bonaduce and incidentally affording my readers a glimpse of his pubic hair) was all I managed to accomplish.
And I'm still recovering.