Beatles in Berkeley

So, in an effort to develop a social life which does not involve (a) driving an hour and a half north and (b) has nothing to do with small children or medicine, I signed up for a meetup group which advertised itself as sort of a lowkey folk singing jam session, meeting once a month (ish) in the East Bay. This is the kind of random internet thing which I used to dread because I was afraid that everyone would be way cooler than me and no-one would talk to me and I wouldn't know what to say to anyone, and now I have learned to dread because there are VERY WEIRD people in the world, and they are EVERYWHERE and they ALL HAVE INTERNET CONNECTIONS. I think I just need to develop younger, hipper interests - I'm a little worried that when I'm sixty and looking for a Renaissance polyphony/stained glass interest group, everyone else in the world who shares my interests will be either dead or completely mad.
Anyway. I drove out to the guy's house who was hosting (mini McMansion in well-heeled cul-de-sac in well-heeled suburb) and the crowd was definitely neither young nor hip, but! interesting factoid: the host guy, 50ish, socially a little off-kilter, but interesting because it turns out that he is an absolutely terrific guitar player (see below) and he holds the world record for weight lifting. As in, he can lift the heaviest weight of anyone in the world. His world record is currently for 396 lbs (I think he said), and he is training to break 400 lbs now. He got started weight lifting when he was stationed in Iceland in the Navy when he was younger, and there was nothing to do but drink and go to the gym, and he wasn't much for drinking, so he spent all his time in the gym. His house is, by the way, in the appropriately named town of Hercules, and he has two cats, one of whom tried to bite me.
After I'd come in and said hello and avoided getting bitten by the cat, I plonked myself down on the only free spot on the sofa, next to an obese toad of a woman whose first question for me was whether I was planning to drink any of the pinot grigio that I had brought, because she was deathly allergic to the smell of red wine, and she'd already had to move once because someone else was drinking red wine near her and really didn't feel she should be expected to move every time someone selfishly drank red wine within fifty feet of her (VERY WEIRD PERSON ALERT!!!) so I purposely got myself a drink and made a big show of considerately moving out of range of toad lady, thinking arghghghgghgh oyoyoyoy how's this going to go... 
However, host guy was an absolute machine on the guitar - he had printed up a big packet of song lyrics for everyone, and other people had brought things they wanted to do, and soon after I arrived we got started: the dude knew every single pop/folk song down cold, not just chords strummy strummy bits, but all the picky picky notes as well, and even though for the most part the singing was crapulent, the fact that the we had someone on guitar who was very, very solid and that we had lyric sheets to help us along, meant that the songs stayed recognizable, and by the end of the evening and a couple of glasses of wine, I decided I was having a brilliant time. There were a couple of other people there who seemed both nice and reasonable musically speaking, and I sat next to them and we had a good time harmonizing. lalalalallala. Now I'm hoarse. Tomorrow I'm signed up for a different amateur music thingy, being one quarter of the alto section at a pickup Bach Cantata...
I also heard Gillian Welch and her guy, David somebody, on Prairie Home Companion this afternoon on my drive home, singing a parody of "Orphan Girl" that had me both in stitches and also in deep envy of singer songwriter duos, and I have decided that in lieu of a standard boyfriend, what I most would like is a guitar slave. I would say, "hey! do you know X song?" and my guitar slave would bust out a perfect rendition of it in a key suited to my voice and be sort of a self-effacing but helpful presence if I got lost or forgot lyrics or whatever, and provide harmony for me. The thing is, I really don't have time for all the movies and candlelit dinners out and things you are supposed to do with regular boyfriends, and also I am not sure where I would meet one (there were two guys at the thing tonight within ten years of my age, but one appeared already very firmly attached and other had a weird laugh and loudly declared 'Across the Universe' and 'Let It Be' to be the best Beatles songs ever, which they most definitely are NOT, so no likely candidates there), but a guitar slave really would be very nice. Also a handyman. And a cleaner.