Gettin' Old: Concert Syle

At 22, there was a certain level of hot that I had, regardless of how much or how little sleeping and drinking I had done the night before.
I could haul out of bed and through the shower and still have shiny, full hair if I didn't blow dry it.
The dark circles under my eyes looked like they were part of my make-up.
If there was flushing, it was all-over and it made me look glowy rather than like I have mad Rosecea.

This morning?
Post-concert that lasted past my bedtime?
My new, signature fat-lead-makeup-burned-troll look is going to the next level: Fat, hungover troll.
Eye bags, deepened lines, purple cheeks and, for an extra reminder of what I'm no longer (young and hot regardless of any self-abusing)- I got a giant zit. Yeah. Cystic.
And where did this extra chin come from? Is it part of the giant zit? No, too far away.
What the fuck?
How did I get FATTER when I stayed up EXTRA hours? I burned more calories being awake than I would hav burned being asleep, right?
You would think that if I only slept 3 hours last night, I would be thinner, gaunt even, but you would be wrong.
I've got a double chin this morning that I haven't seen since '05.

I went to a concert last night and instead of the tee-shit, I got Ugly Morning Sarah Troll!
My ears are pounding, I'm dehydrated, I have the tunnel-vision situation, and my head hurts.
Sadly, it wasn't Ozzie that put me in this state, it was the Indigo Girls.

I'm torn up from FOLK MUSIC, which I don't even really like right now.
I cannot address my grave disappointment at the sad state of affairs my Cool has become because it's gone. It probably died of emphasyma with complications from Hep C and a bad case of the Detox Shakes but anyway you cut it, it's gone.
Folk music, which pisses me off anyway, ruined me for this morning.

Folk music.
I spent a number of recent years listening to strummy, whiney songs that are full of intelligent wit.
But it's all the same in its self-righteousness and its quiet, polite audience.
I want to hear things that are more difficult right now, more unpredictable than folk music.

I want to hear the beat d---------rrrrr-rop or the bass or something, anything besides clear voices with intelligent lyrics.

The concert was free and, okay, the Indigo Girls are an exception to my new, FUCK FOLK rule.
They're a Legend.
They changed the landscape for a lot of people, or had a direct hand in it so they get a pass and I will still love them forever.

We get there and it's all hot and we're sitting in the balcony. It's lovely but it seems like maybe we're going to miss something if we're up there and we're with the other Adults.

It wasn't too long before we were seduced by Concert Pixies with their Concert Dust. When it's sprinkled, it makes you grab your friend's hand and attach it to your purse strap while handily navigating her to the very, very ,very, very front row of the Rialto.

This is what I DO at concerts.
It is my gift to you if you take me to a concert. Every time, I can get you to the front row.
It's likely related to my Most Excellent Parking Karma, which I have in spades. I've got no good money, love, or career karma but I always find a kick-ass parking spot.
And I always get to the front row of concerts.
It's my gift and I deliver, every time.

So about half-way through the concert, the Concert Dust wears off and I remember that I'm aging and sweaty.
The Indigo Girls were awesome and sounded great and are so courteous to do their new songs as well as the ones we all come to hear them sing - Galileo and Closer to Fine.
We all know it's true and I appreciate that they don't fuck around with their audience.
I hope they do that on purpose because then they are genuinely kind and considerate people.
Indigo Girls, if you're reading - it means a lot to me that you don't jerk your audience around.

But about half-way through, I'm sweaty to the point where I thought my shoes would slide off if I moved to much.
I'm pretty sure it isn't me who smells but for sure, someone didn't put on enough Goin' Out Patchouli and is rockin' uncool b.o.
The screaming chicks around me were killing my buzz. I want to be sitting.

I realized that I was missing the sky box I've been in for almost all of my most recent concert attendances. My company has one at a bigger venue and like parking and the front row, I'm really good at getting allowance to be a fifteenth wheel to the big cheeses and their clients.
I miss it, though.
It's got cool drinks and comfortable seats and nobody is screaming in your ear.
It's got several big flat screen TVs so you can see the stage very clearly and you don't have to SMELL your fellow stage-rush rats at all.

I realized that I'm a little bit OLD like that.
About 19 seconds after I realized it, I realized that I am totes closer to fine about it, too.

So this morning, I have splotchy red sunbursts to show the world that I am tired and I've got dark circles that look very much disconnected from my makeup.
It's all from staying up too late and too hard.

And I am quite content with this, happy about it in fact.
Lesson learned:
Likes: Skyboxes, water, sleep, Indigo Girls (my single FUCK FOLK caveat), and Jill.
Dislikes: Eye-bags, dehydration, b.o, screaming chicks standing next to me.

arizonasarah at 1:11 p.m.

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