01.16.04 | 11:49 a.m.

David Bowie, Will You Please Leave Iman and Marry Me?

Wednesday I made my way to the Rosemont Theater to see my precious (aka David Bowie, alias Ė Ziggy Stardust) where I was forced to pay $15 to park, not in the Rosemont Theater parking lot, but in a freight-truck bed dumping ground about a quarter mile from the theater doors. The shitheads orchestrating the parking managed to box in a good deal of the cars in the "lot". This meant, leaving the concert was not an option for some automobiles. My Chrysler Breeze only barely made it out of the labyrinth, due to my driverís (read: boyfriend) fancy manuerving techniques.

Come to think of it, this may have all been premeditated, as Bowie had a starring role in George Lucasí/Jim Hensonís 1986 film "Labyrinth".

Not the point. Fifteen dollars! Thatís absurd.

But you donít care about the parking fees, at least not like I do/did.

The show = amazing.

For a 57 year-old, Bowie still looks like jail bait Ö at least he did from my seat, located about a mile from the stage (cause thatís what $50 will buy you in this $15-to-park-your-car-day-in-age).

Highlights would include:

* My driver asking me why Bowie was covering Nirvanaís "The Man Who Sold The World." I had to remind my driver that Bowie was in his mid-20s in the early 70s, whereas Kurt Cobain was just getting the hang of walking around that time. "Oh, driver," I said. "A lot of artists cover Bowie. He has a lot to cover. Heís old (not that he looks it)."

* A 20 year-old female darned in matching white vinyl hooker boots, mini-skirt, and bustier and white fishnets Ė under her trench coat and librarian glasses Ė screaming that she has been waiting for this concert since she was born.

* When I, gasp, fell asleep mid-show. Perhaps all the Novocain wearing off from my morning of dental work had something to do with it?

To which I must add: root canals are not pleasurable experiences. I had one yesterday and I did not enjoy one moment of it.

I have two more dental appointments to go before I am "done."

I will be "done" the day before I turn 28.

Until then, I am surviving on mashed potatoes, icing, pudding, mush, and anything else pureed.