Crap on a cracker! It’s been 2 fucking months (or maybe longer) since I’ve written anything, let alone posted anything worth dick.
I’m not saying that this is the post where I’ll change any of that, it’s merely some commentary. Lubricant to get the wheels out of the ‘lock’ position. Nothing substantive has transpired in my time away – unless crippling trust & insecurity issues and nearly getting into a fight while at a concert in Las Vegas count?
Hmm, where to start?
I’ve never been a fan of airing my true character defects – yours I’m cool with – mine I like to keep close to the chest. I guess that leaves Vegas. All you motherfuckers that say, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” – yeah, fuck you!
Concerts are a big deal for me. They’re a religious experience. It’s not unusual for me to find out about a show that I want to attend then buy tickets a year in advance. Pre-sale is the way to go! So, 1 year ago, some friends and I purchased tickets to see Lady Gaga in Las Vegas. When we found out that Gwen Stefani was there the same weekend, we were like, “Shit, let’s do that one, too.”
I could give you a play by play of the entire weekend; tell you about the hotel accommodations, what we ate, who said what, and how many times each of us took a piss – but here’s the thing – no one fucking cares!
The abbreviated version is that Gwen Stefani’s show was fabulous. It was 1992 in there. I was eagerly lapping up the sweat and snot rockets she was throwing down*. Our group had floor positions against the stage for both shows. Gwen could have kicked me in the teeth if she wanted. Instead, she made deliberate eye contact and smiled. I’m pretty sure she wants me. I mean, I was wearing my Pumas and my good butt jeans, I’d be hard not to fall for.
Lady Gaga was night #2 in Sin City. It wasn’t what I expected. I knew she’d be artistically liberal, but this was fucking weird. She tried to incorporate a storyline into the show, and it just didn’t work. It was Avatar meets mescaline and masturbation. I give her tremendous credit for her athleticism and her vocal abilities; she’s truly remarkable.
The general “feeling” or vibe at Gaga’s concert was not as chill as Gwen’s. In fact, it was shitshow.
As a frequent concert attendee, I’m well versed in the rules of pushing, wedging in, and, most importantly, holding your motherfucking ground. There are common courtesy protocol procedures usually ingrained in each of us. One of them being that the douchery shouldn’t begin at a concert until the music actually starts. It’s like when you’re at the movies; no one really expects your dumb-ass to shut the fuck up until the previews start. The lights are still up in both cases, people will see you. They’ll know you’re a fucking punk ass-bitch. Or worse yet, you’re just incredibly stupid, like helpless stupid. I’d rather be an ass.
Apparently, the memo was not circulated at Gaga’s concert.
We found ourselves in front of a “super nice” and “very ladylike” lesbian Hispanic couple. The women played tonsil hockey for roughly 30 minutes, which I’m certain was an attempt to make one or all of us uncomfortable. I happened to be wearing my rainbow panties that day. The group of women I was with is equally accepting – one of them having been in a relationship with a woman at one point. Needless to say, that isn’t what got under our skin.
The final straw came when the couple began to enclose and absorb the little woman next to me. They had her pinned against the guard rail. They were groping one another while leaning over her, pressing her ribs into the bar. I began to watch her disappear. I had to say something.
In my delicate and kind fashion, I told the ladies that they could possibly make more room for this little bird. I think it sounded something like, “Hey, are you okay under there?” The small woman meekly replied that she was not and was having difficulty breathing. Well, that set off our brusque and burly friends. Suddenly we had a heated exchange about concert rules. Soon my friends would get involved, then the security. It wasn’t friendly. They threatened, “if we’re getting thrown out, we’re taking your dumb bitch ass with us.’
My very glamorous best friend had had stomach issues from something she ate earlier in the day. It was at this time that crop dusting seemed appropriate. I have never loved that woman more than at that moment. Choke on that Chef salad with ranch dressing, you fucking cunts!
The remainder of the show was spent with these two bitches fucking with my best friend. I had asked to trade places with my girlfriend. I really, really wanted to be closer to these women. My friend was much better at keeping her mouth shut. She had already gone to jail once for punching a man at a softball function, she knew better than to repeat that behavior. I, on the other hand, had some sense of fiery morality that seemed feral.
The show came to a close. My girlfriend popped her earrings off, I removed my sweatshirt, and we both placed our phones in safekeeping. We figured it was game on. We turned to leave, expecting those hood rats to be waiting – they bolted! Fucking primadonnas! Disappointed, three of us were ready. One friend was ready with bail. The rules of the concert floor will be adhered to! I paid good money for a show. As a decent human, I won’t watch your fat-asses smother a 38 yr. toddler to death with drunken attempts to make others uncomfortable. That’s what office Christmas parties are for.
I’ll be putting together a manual for how to comport yourself in public; specifically large public events, for idiots. Keep your eyes peeled but don’t hold your breath.
**FYI, Gwen Stefani does, in fact, blow snot rockets on stage. She told us during the show, but it was also obvious.