Grey, this is for you. I give you Foo Fighters:

The Foo Fighters concert last night was amazing. Yes, I got a bit of a contact high with all the pot smoking that was going on (note to self: next time, don't get floor seats -- you're too old for that), but the band sounded great and they put on a great show.

I'm trying to upload a video of my favorite song, "Pretender." I should have that up by tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy some pics. They came out a bit dark (another note to self: get a better digital camera), but you can still make out the hottie that is Dave Grohl.

See pics here.

Foo Fighters concert tonight. Floor tickets.

Who's taking bets on how long it will take me to get knocked out?

So my friend, she of "my boyfriend called a hooker" fame, decided to take the dude back. Hey, you know, I don't agree with that, but whatever works for her. I hope they can make it work.

I know I haven't posted much lately. Been super-crazy with work. I probably won't get much of a chance to write during the next few weeks, but don't worry, I'll still be around. If anything extraordinarily, unbelievably embarrassing happens, I will make time to write about it. I wouldn't let you down. :-)

Someone I know called me the other day and told me her boyfriend (who lives with her and her 3-year-old daughter from a previous marriage) had cheated on her. "That stinks," I told her. We all know what that's like, and it isn't fun.

"No, you don't understand," she said. "He hired a call girl to come to the house ... while I was sleeping." Oh.

It was around 5 a.m. when she woke up and heard him rifling through the drawer where they keep extra money. When she asked him what he was doing, he said he was just looking for something, money in his hand. Then a car pulled up to the house and a pretty little young thing (and by that I mean a skankin' whore) came to the door. When confronted, the dude admitted it. (Me, I would have gone for the "I'm buying cocaine" option, because really, in that situation, it's totally the lesser of two evils.)

"What would you have done if I'd woken up," she asked, "slept with her on the couch?!?" Good question. Not-so-good answer: "I don't know."

And then people wonder why I'm still single ...

I just came back from the shooting range. It was frakkin' awesome.

I used a .22 and a Glock semiautomatic. The first shot was waaaay high, barely making it on the paper, but every single other shot hit the target. Every. Single. One. Who knew I was such a master marksman?

I felt silly asking for the instructor to take my picture, but I did get to keep the targets. Here's a full-body shot:



And a closeup:



Look at that. It's beeootiful. Man, I killed it. (Ok, maybe poor choice of words...)

The first few shots with each gun were a little traumatic. The smell of the gunpowder was rancid. The noise, though, wasn't that bad. I did jump at the first few ones (which isn't great when you're holding a gun), but you do get used to it.

The recoil was a little tougher to get used to, but I think I adapted quite well, as evidenced by the fact that I hit every single shot in the target. (I'm sorry, but I have to keep repeating that because it was so unexpected ... and awesome. And yes, I just called myself awesome.)

Now, you know I'm not a gun person. I'd never even been in the same room as one. But I have to admit, I got quite a rush. I may even do it again. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course, I'll do it again. Did I mention I was awesome?

So next week, I'm going to a shooting range. I have a two-hour training session with a local detective, who's going to teach me how to shoot a gun (both a pistol and a revolver) properly.

Why am I doing this? No specific reason, other than it sounds like fun. I've never shot a gun before -- never even saw one in person. What I know about guns I learned from "CSI" and "Law & Order." If I ever actually came across one in real life, I wouldn't know the first thing about using it. (That's probably a good thing, considering ...)

But I've always wanted to learn, just for my own safety. I'm not going to go out and buy a gun -- I have no desire to own one and I'd never have one in my house -- but you just never know when something like that will come in handy. Believe me, I've seen enough "Bones" episodes to know that if a serial killer has you tied up and he accidentally leaves his gun next to you, it would sorta benefit you to know how to use it.

Anyway, I don't think they'll let me take pictures (and I do not want to piss off a guy with a gun), but I'll ask in my sweetest "pretty please" voice. Actually, I don't think it will be a problem. After all, at some point, he's gotta give the gun to me. Bua-ha-ha.