DeGraw and mucus

For the last few days I’ve been sick. I don’t get sick usually so when I do, it’s epic. I lose sight of the floor in my apartment for all the used up, snot-crusted tissue paper landmines and I stumble around like some half-zombie half-Betty Crocker amalgamation. I don’t stop tending to the shit around my place that needs tending to: i.e. laundry and dinner preparation, I just wheeze, sneeze, curse, and mumble while doing it. But hell, shits still gotta get done, right? More than once I didn’t want to go to the store for dinner supplies but you’d surprised how hard it is to find dinner recipes for guinea pigs on the internet. So much preparation involved. Fuck removing their little claws too! This is all just a leading up to me telling you that I suck ass for not writing about my recent concert experience sooner but I was lazy. Writing foreplay? God, I’m as bad at this as I am actual foreplay; moving on.

Last week I attended a concert with a friend that at first I had some reservations about but went to anyway; I was surprised as shit. When Julie asked me if I wanted to see Gavin DeGraw with her I thought to myself ‘He’s the dude that sings that one song on the radio about not needing to be anything other than what he is, which is a rich mother fucker with a great smile and a grip of ladies who would give him a blow job anywhere if he asked, right?’ Having established that he was one and the same, I said “Of course!”  I listened to a few of his other songs and realized that I knew more than I thought I did. Shock. Horror. Shame. Almost all of this dude’s songs are love songs and sappy as fuck. ‘Here we go’ I thought to myself. I love the concert experience though and music in general; Julie, I might add is truly a fun woman to go to shows with. I went to see The Roots with her and I can tell you, for a white bitch, that girl gets down! I am happy to go to most any show with this lady, and I did.

We get to the show, have some dinner, and now we’re standing in line waiting to take our seats. I’ve never done it this way. I always stand through the whole show but Julie does the dinner thing and gets preferred seating. I feel like a snob. I am ALWAYS doing it this way from now on. Fuck standing! I’m too old and I’m way closer to the stage this way; perfect panty throwing distance if the band is worthy. This one would have been too predictable and honestly, I wasn’t giving them the satisfaction. I’ll be saving my chonies for someone who honestly doesn’t see it coming or someone who knows it and will catch those mother fuckers in the air and wear them like an eye patch. 

We’re all standing in line and making idle chit-chat while we wait for the doors to open so we can trample one another for the best seating – I’ve actually played it out in my head like some messed up monster truck show massacre. To my left Phyllis Diller has strolled up and thinks that she’s moving to the front of the line for some godforsaken reason. Honey, maybe  20 years ago you had game, but right now, at this very moment, the Ensure drink in your purse is leaking and the Spanx you’re wearing are sticking out below your shorts. Are those Ann Taylor Loft or Chico? She did not get to pass go and did not collect $200 and I am still going straight to Hell.

Once seated in what I would call the Pennsylvania Ave property of the Monopoly game board [up there in the rankings but not quite Boardwalk or Park Place] I step outside for a smoke. It’s a nice night and there’s not a soul out there save for the doorman who seems completely uninterested. I see the bands trailers but I too am completely uninterested. Just then, I see some riff-raff [I’m 80 years old suddenly] at the gate to my left. The guy closest to the gate tells the doorman that he’s the drummer and asks to be let in. I look over my shoulder half-heartedly. The doorman lets him in and the drummer kind of just stands there in front of me for a second as I’m sitting on the curb. I think he expects that I’m going to accost him for a signature, try to throw myself at him or do some other heinous fan-girl bullshit. He’s clearly confused. It was a magical moment. I continue smoking while he just stands there. One–one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand…I’m done; going back inside.

Lights come up on the piano, Gavin and crew take the stage, and no more than three words were spoken before 200 pairs of women’s panties hit the floor. I’m pretty sure janitors were already grabbing mops so that bitches weren’t slipping and falling during the show. It was ridiculous. Reading this, you might get the impression that I don’t like Gavin and that there were no men in attendance. Let me clear that up for you the same way the janitor cleaned the dance floor. There were at least 20 men in attendance that night; they all had sex later too. That’s what happens when you humor your girlfriend and you go to a show with her AND you tell her you had a good time. That’s the imperative part gentleman. Say some shit like: “He was really soulful. I feel like he so clearly says the things in his songs that I feel for you, but am unable to say.” Boom! Panties dropped and you’re getting laid. It’s a fact. Make that shit sound sincere though. Don’t write it on your hand and read it to her like the weather report. That’s all bad and you’ll end up jerking off in the shower.

The show was great. I was surprised. He was really soulful and said all the things that I’ve felt in relationships, or wanted said to me, but never had. So go ahead…someone drop their chonies. Isn’t that how this shit works? No? Sorry, guess I misunderstood the memo. I don’t know what I expected from this show. I certainly did not expect to get turned out. I expected to be able to poke fun at him and his band, but the truth is I respect all of the very much. They paid respect to our service men and women and recognized them individually during their show. Gavin was very human and relatable and did a fair amount of swearing, which I always find endearing, not to mention his piercing voice. The guitar player is wildly talented and the symbiosis shared with the drummer is remarkable. I sat and marveled at how the two of them maintained eye contact counting off with one another and keeping time; all three men are truly talented. I would definitely see them again, but this time I’d throw panties on stage or a bra at the very least. I will say that at points during their show I really thought the drummer was going to climax in unison with the guitarist; money well spent in my book.

20 men got laid night and if they didn’t then they weren’t paying attention because even Gavin gave out helpful pointers; that shits on you guys if you failed. 200 women had to change when they got home. Phyllis Diller needs a new purse. Julie and I made new friends, but Julie’s social ass seemed to know everybody there. Fuck, I need to go to more shows with that woman. She got to dance with George Clinton – that’s an old dirty fool I would give my drawers to with no questions asked. People say shit like “Oh, you only get invited back stage if he thinks you’re skank.” And??? I’m ok with that. It’s George mother fucking Clinton!! Just because someone thinks you’re a tramp doesn’t mean you have to blow them; that shits your choice. You choose to be a dirty bitch. I just wanna dance and touch his hair. Life is short – dance hard. Oh, and always bring a spare pair of panties.