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Being a very brisk day, we were both decked out in leather jeans, looking more rock and roll than high fashion. Needless to say, it was not surprising that we were treated less than well in the designer women's department of Bloomingdale's.

Sifting through rack after scant rack of overpriced atrocities, I managed to find a dress that I liked. After trying it on, however, and receiving a rather disapproving look from Violet, I realized it added about 30 lbs. and 10 years, so back into the fitting room I went to take it off. Disappointed, I tried to exit only to find the fitting-room door jammed, trapping me inside the Calvin Klein dressing room. Violet grabbed a salesgirl; they wrestled with the door and eventually freed me. By this time it was eight p.m., so off we ran to our Jersey City headquarters to doll up for the show.

Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

We arrived at the Roxy just after ten o'clock, missing the Donnas, unfortunately, but just in time to see Joan Jett glistening in sweat and green latex as if she were paying a fetish tribute to St. Patrick himself.

The crowd was wild for her, especially a group of ladies in the back who seemed to be entranced by her commanding rock-goddess countenance. Joan worked the crowd like only Joan can – playing favorites such as "No Fun" and "I Wanna Be Your Dog," driving the crowd into a frenzy and inciting mass hysteria as everyone sang along at her command.

With fisted arms punching the air, Joan broke into "I Love Rock and Roll," the perfect song to display her newest Blackhearts, band members who comprise the kind of male perfection a rock diva should always surround herself with. The venue remained pumped throughout the evening. One of the set's highlights occurred during the encore when Jett and guitarist Doug (Needles) Cangialosi engaged in a musical cockfight, their guitars dueling with intense sensual ferocity.

After the show, we headed over to the Continental to meet our friend Bub Romero of the Serpenteens, who wasn't there. We managed to catch a bit of Skrap's show before we reached Bub on his cell phone and arranged to meet him at the Raven.

Many beers later we closed the bar and got a slice of pizza. Then home I went to sleep it off and gain some much-needed energy to begin my dress hunt all over again the next day. I finally found the gown of my dreams at Jefferey's, a new boutique in the meatpacking district that I went to upon the recommendation of a friend. All I can say is Rita Hayworth would be proud!

Reverend Horton Heat and Jimbo performing at Irving Plaza, 3/1/00 photo by Lucky Lawler © NY Rock

I dolled myself up in a vintage black-lace party dress from the early '50s, with a plunging sequined neckline, and full-fashioned stockings with their Cuban heels exposed in my gold-leather Manolo Blahnik mules.

My date Kent is also a huge fan of the Reverend and although the opening ska band was receiving a receptive response from the crowd, we grew impatient waiting for them to finish their set. Fronted by two female vocalists, the group had drawn a healthy crowd to the club on their own accord. In fact, the floor cleared out as they finished, only to quickly be saturated with a mad rush of people who had chosen to skip the band's set and hang in the downstairs lounge.

I had gone to the lounge myself to use the bathroom when I stumbled upon a few members of local band Psychocharger who, as usual, were swarmed by the ladies. After a quick greeting, I scurried back upstairs to let Kent take his turn at the bathroom. He returned just as the stage went dark.

I was wild with anticipation as I heard the first notes of "Big Sky," a song the Reverend has opened with each time I've seen him. After performing the number, he segued into another rave-up, "Baddest of the Bad" and then rocked through an hour of tunes and an unexpectedly lengthy encore. Heat played some of my favorites including "Five-O-Ford," which had me dancing up a storm. The song sent Kent to the center of the room, where the acoustics were better than they were in the back, where I safely remained with my mules perched against the bar.

With a dose of tongue-in-cheek humility, Heat announced "The Jimbo Song" from his poorly received album Space Heater and then launched into the number. At the song's end, he introduced his back-up band, most notably stand-up bassist Jimbo, who received a hail of howls and cheers from the crowd.

The vibe at Irving Plaza was great, with everyone jumping and rocking through the night. All except the bartender, that is, whom I overheard badmouthing the Reverend while putting the moves on one of the waitresses. No doubt, he will burn in Hell...

At evening's end, we stammered out of the club in high spirits only to imbibe in some higher spirits later that night in Alphabet City.