Mrs. Unproductive, that’s me.
I set my alarm clock for
7:30am for Friday morning, so I could get up and go to yoga, and finally gave
up on the snooze button at 10:00 am. Yes; you read that non-typo
correctly. Pathetic. To continue to my
streak, I got out of bed, crawled onto the couch, and wasn’t even successful at
staying awake to watch a movie.
I’ve been a terrible writing
slacker lately too, and the guilt is starting to set in. It’s been forever
since I wrote my pin pal and actually had a dream a couple of nights ago that
he sent me a message severing our friendship over my lack of
communication. I couldn’t even get
excited about documenting our last Saturday’s front row concert Dave Matthews
Band experience.
Well, actually MY front row experience, Patrick was pushed
back to second row, one of the negative side effects of being a restless person.
The positive side effects, like having a high metabolism and the ability to actually stay awake for things, weren’t exactly helping
him see the bright side of the situation, either.
I really thought he was going
to lose his cool so far off the deep end that he was going to start seeing
spots and walk away as the Incredible Hulk, screaming and shredding the shirt
off his chest, inadvertently missing the entire concert.
Luckily for me and
everyone else crowded around us, after a oddly unrelated-genre-opening Mariachi Band left the stage, all was okay when Dave appeared.
An incredible concert, and we both even got to shake Boyd’s hand.
After the oncor, Carter walked up to the edge of the stage where we were standing, looked directly at me (I’m not talking about the kind of moment when you wave back at someone to immediately be embarrassed because you realized it was someone behind you or beside you that they were originally waving to) and tossed me a drumstick.
Unfortunately there was a ton of greedy people with longer arms than me who snatched it from my grip. But at least I know it was meant for me.
Being upfront and personal in the pit is a priceless experience, but everything comes with it’s own set of sacrifices. After having the best time I ever spent waiting in line while simultaneously tailgating with our long-time-no-see-friends Leisha and Jason, we waited in another line inside the venue to be released towards the stage. From that point on, there’s no more drinking or peeing. Impossible. And after hours of being in the hot sun, all a body wants is agua. Instead, we stood in one place, surrounded by insulated warmth, and sweated until we were so dehydrated we had no spit to swallow.
Watching the band members sip on their beverages was almost painful torture. Towards the end of the concert we even started replacing Dave’s lyrics with songs about how thirsty we were. It was all we could think about. When it was all over, we sprinted through the crowd, dove right into the cooler in the car, and grabbed our priceless possessions: bottles of water. I drank an entire bottle in less than 2 minutes. I’ve never, EVER, drunk an entire bottle of water at one time in the history of my life. Patrick doubled my record without effort.
Back to Friday, I finally
made it out of the house, and head-first into a Barnes and Nobles to touch and smell
some real literature with an Iced Soy Hazelnut Macchiato in my hand and found a corner to hideaway in, only to
find myself extremely annoyed by a loudly speaking lady making her search for "organic" books extremely obvious and talking to her young
daughters about how growing weed is illegal but mushrooms aren’t, and although
most people talk about eating weed in brownies, its much better in 7 layer
cookies or sautéed in butter. What in the
world?
How do you feel about book store etiquette?
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