The heart wants what the heart wants

This was uttered by someone to explain something seemingly incomprehensible to the logical mind.

Last Thursday I saw Rilo Kiley at the Glass House in Pomona. The smallness of the venue was great and so was the high-energy sold out crowd. But what made this stand out most compared to the other three times I'd seen the band was the sound. Jenny Lewis's voice was better than I've ever heard it. The most beautiful indie girl next door in the world is one of those people who's sexy because she's wicked talented and seems so secure in who she is. And when her voice was ringing loudly, clearly and sadly well, it was hypnotizing.

The highlights would be Capturing Moods (an older song not played often), A Better Son/Daughter (ultra passionate), With Arms Outstretched (a small show in middle of nowhere Pomona brought out true fans so the singalong was great) and The Good That Won't Come Out (an even rarer oldie).

But for me the show got weird at the end. They closed with Portions for Foxes, one of the band's two rip-roaring rock songs (along with Spectacular Views which they ended up blending into). Portions led off the encore, which it had been at previous shows on this leg of the tour.

Luckily as the encore lead off some people had left so there was a little more room for fans to dance around. Some had even squeezed into newly created fan gaps, including two fans behind me.

As soon as Blake ripped into his guitar intro I felt limbs against my back. I figured of course that the personal space invader(s) would move back after realizing they struck me. But after about 20-30 more seconds of my back getting acquainted with these people's arms I take a small step forward. No biggie, I had the room. And they were clearly enjoying the show and/or each other. As I glance back they're sucking some pretty hard face while gyrating.

My step forward works though—they have room to dance and I have room to enjoy this very high-energy version of one of my favorite songs. I feel another brush of a hand or limb. And then another. These are brushes, so I ignore them. They grow more frequent and much more forceful when suddenly it's not a brush but a grab ...

of my ass.

And I mean grab. A full on grasping with digits applying pressure.

I hop (literally) forward a step filled with a mix of weirded out/confusion/and yeah a little "it felt good."

As I turn back I see that the girl has her back to me. Now the confusion overwhelms all other feelings. Obviously, she didn't grab me, because who reaches behind them when they're making out with someone? And so that leaves him. But who would get so confused while making out with someone that they'd reach the wrong way to grab a butt? I mean if someone is facing you and you're going for a butt squeeze you would turn your hands so that your palms face you, right?

To grab me, his hands had to be facing out!

My friend Amy had the best explanation ... the heart wants what the heart wants.