Hungry Like The Middle Aged Couple Two Rows In Front Of Us Making Out Inappropriately

This just in: I suck at blogging. Every day I have plans to blog something super awesome and hilarious and then I get to work and I’m all type type type blech. I think my job is sucking my will to live. And then I go home and I’m all “I am totally writing 3 blog posts tonight” and then I look at my cat and she’s all “We both know you aren’t blogging tonight” all judgy-like and so I just give up and sit on the couch for 4 hours and then go to bed.

But today. Today! I. Am. Blogging.

You’re welcome.

All that up there was me trying to explain to you why I’m about to tell you a story about going to a Duran Duran concert three weeks ago.

So I went to a Duran Duran concert three weeks ago. Courtesy of my new best friend in the whole wide world, Kristine at Wait In The Van. Are you reading Kristine’s blog? Ohmygod, what a stupid question because OF COURSE YOU ARE.

Kristine invited me to go with her to the concert, despite all the creepy stalker comments I’ve left on her blog. So of course I said yes. And then left her a comment about shovels and burying bodies or something. I can't remember exactly, but you know...just trying to show her how funny and totally not murder-y I'm going to be when we meet up in person finally.

We decided to meet in front of the venue (how fancy am I? Venue. Ooo la la) and I got there a little early so I spent my extra time checking out everyone walking into the building. Y'all. So many cougars. Mostly my age and older. Many inexplicably wearing halter tops with back fat hanging out of them.

Then Kristine texted me that she was there and I got all nervous because ohmygodwhatifshe’scoolerthanmeandthinksI’msuperlame? But of course, that didn’t happen. We were immediately bff’s despite my first sentence being “OMG when did you graduate from high school?”. I don’t know. I do things like that sometimes.

So the concert starts and Duran Duran comes out and they look surprisingly well preserved. Simon is wearing tennis shoes, which was weird but whatever. The music was pretty good (the old stuff, not the new stuff. I have no interest in anything this band produced after 1993) and Kristine and I are dancing around and sweating like crazy and having a grand old time.

See? She's totally not scared of me and that is totally not a fake smile.

So there we are…jamming out to The Reflex, when we see them. They are two rows in front of us and we have a clear view of them. A couple, maybe in their late 40’s…hard to tell from where we were, but definitely older than us. And definitely too old to be aggressively making out at a Duran Duran concert. But yet there they were, all over each other. She in her one-shouldered tank top and khaki capri pants. He with his balding gray hair and air guitar moves. Groping and slipping each other the tongue in between yelling out lyrics and gyrating against each other.

It was horrifying.

We could not stop watching.

And it only got worse as the concert wore on. He’s kissing her neck. He’s grinding his hips into her butt. He’s grabbing her boobs from behind.

Dear Duran Duran Gods….please for the love of the 80’s, make it stop.

And then the concert was over…except it wasn’t. Because of course there was an encore. And it was one of their old ones and it was so great. And Simon had whipped the crowd into a frenzy of old memories and sad regrets. And the couple were all over each other. I think Kristine threw up in her mouth a little.

And then the concert was really over. The drummer threw his sticks into the crowd and 40 year old women fought over them like they probably did when they were 18. The gropey couple disappeared and Kristine and I left. It was 11 pm and we were both exhausted. What? It was a Thursday night. We’re old. Shut up.

Luckily, I took the next day off from work so I was able to sleep in until 9am. Unfortunately for Kristine, young children never take a day off. So when I got out of bed Friday morning, I knew she had probably already been up several hours. And being the new caring best friend that I am, I sent her a text.

Me: Hey remember that one time that we went to a concert together and then I took the next day off and slept in but you still had to get up early to take care of your kids? Yeah, that was great.
Her: Am. So. Fucking. Tired. And I hate you.



p.s. I wrote about Rick Perry being super excited about maple syrup and totally not drunk over at Sprocket Ink today. Click here to check it out.