"My Heart is a Flower"

Amos Lee is one of the two people in this world (the other being Tina Fey) who can do absolutely no wrong. He is programmed with the breathtaking ability to say exactly the right things, look exactly the right way, and create exactly the right music. I would have been jealous last night, staring at a person touched by every miracle in the universe, if I hadn't been so busy staring into his eyes, my mouth agape, trying to burrow my way into his soul. I went with my friend Hilary, and I don't think we stopped beaming the entire concert, including the opener--an adorable middle-aged South African man named Vusi Mahlasela to whom my dad, who works at the theater, referred as "my friend Bodi." Hilary and I were literally squirming with delight from the first note all the way through the last song: Amos Lee's impeccable--and unexpected--cover of "Fat-Bottomed Girls."

Here we are several minutes before Amos came on, running through our pre-concert checklist: 1) Are we standing? 2) Are we singing along? 3) At what point will it be acceptable for us to propose marriage?

It needs to be explained that I have the worst track record in the galaxy when it comes to correctly guessing what the opening song will be. You can pretty much assume that whatever song I decide will absolutely be the opener will absolutely not be the opener. After Hilary and I used air-tight logic to rule out anything from his new album (which hasn't been released yet and so we were positive he wouldn't start with something no one knew) and all the super slow songs like "Black River" and "Soul Suckers," we decided on four songs we felt confident about. We even did math to figure out the odds of us being right. Aside from being some of the youngest people there, I have no doubt we were the only ones mathematically calculating the chance that Amos would open with "Shout Out Loud." With what, you may ask, did he open? A song from his new album. I'm telling you, I have a gift.

But the night wasn't all perfection. Remember way back, oh, two weeks ago, when I demonstrated that after four months of riding public transportation every morning I was still incapable of knowing when not to get on a bus that was clearly not mine? Well I didn't quite do that again, but I think it's safe to say that I should not ride the bus without adult supervision. Here's the deal:

Hilary and I had planned to meet at her house in the U-District for dinner before the show. I chose to take the bus in because my dad was working that night and I could get a ride home with him after the concert. This is an obscenely long story, but the uber abridged version is that apparently I don't know the difference between the directions NE and NW. This is how the events of that night unfolded after I realized I was 30 minutes from her house when I was supposed to be there in three:

1. I finally--again, long story--arrived at Hilary's house.
2. Unbeknownst to me, we had a bus to catch at 6:29 to get downtown. 
3. We scarfed down food in less than seven minutes and raced out the door.
4. We missed the bus by about a minute.
5. By the time we arrived downtown, Hilary had developed a splitting headache.
6. As we practically ran through the city to get to the theater (it was now 7:10), we stopped at a Bartell's so Hilary could get some Advil. 
7. Showtime was 7:30. We were in our seats at precisely 7:28. 
8. After the show ended and we were waiting for my dad to finish, his coworker told me how unfair he thought it was that my dad should have to work on his anniversary. My hand flew to my mouth. Craaaaaap.
9. I texted my brother, demanding to know why he hadn't reminded me. His response: "Ahahaha. Whoops."

So. The concert was incredible, I lay in bed last night smiling as I quietly sang "Flower" to my cat (who was visibly irked that I was keeping her from her precious sleep), and I can officially say that I've made eye contact with the man I'm going to marry. The moral of my story: I am the worst rider of King County Metro you could possibly find.

P.S. I forgot to mention the part about me and Hilary trying to speak solely in Amos Lee song titles while on the bus. Most noteworthy attempt: Hilary pointing out the window into the darkness and saying, "It started to rain."