Cher and Cher alike
5:36 p.m. - 2005-02-01
I'm plugging my way along through this week with only the enticement of seeing Cher on Saturday night to help me through.
Yes, Cher. (Shut up.) I love, love, love me some Cher, regardless of what anyone else has to say about her. I could care less about her massive amounts of plastic surgery, her gay daughter, or the fact that a lot of people seem to think that she's full of shit. I'm looking forward to singing "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves," "HalfBreed," (both favorites) and all the other songs that she decides to belt out during the performance. I can't wait to see the special effects, the extravagant wigs and outrageous wardrobe. If you've read me at all, you're very aware that I will be completely in my "element" with the vast amounts of gay men who will be surrounding me. I'm a self-admitted fag hag, and I'm not the least bit ashamed of it. So, YAY! Cher.
Still, I haven't had a chance to decide what I'm going to wear to the concert, and it's beginning to worry me. I have a couple of things that I think would be appropriate (read: flashy, sparkling cleavage bearing tops, high heeled boots, and loads of makeup and glitter. Shockingly enough, I'm going with my father, and I think he's going to get a kick out of it. Hell, the Village People are the "Very Special Opening Act." When I found that out, I couldn't keep myself from giggling uncontrolably. I'd be willing to bet that he enjoys the hell out of our little father/daughter date, even though he might get a bit uncomfortable with the droves of gay guys who will undoubtedly be in attendance, but he's gotten pretty damn laid-back in his old age, so I don't expect any problems.
So, yay. Cher. I'd been hearing about the concert for a couple of months, but knew that Alan probably wouldn't want to go, so I'd pretty much given up on the idea. Then, one day last week, I was visiting my parents and noticed that a film she was in was playing in the background. I casually mentioned that I wished I could have gone--I've always wanted to see her--and to my complete surprise, he simply said, "Hell, I'd like to go too. Get us tickets."
After I recovered from the initial shock, I raced down the hall and jumped in front of the computer. A couple of clicks and a glance at the seating charts, plus a $200 charge on HIS credit cards later and we were set.
Not much to report on the school front...I could bitch and bitch forever, but that's not accomplishing anything.
So I'll leave on a positive note. I'm still alive, getting along well with Alan, and we're in the process of getting all our tax stuff together. Let's hope that a big refund is in store. (Wishful thinking, I'm sure, but it never hurts to dream.)