Rock. Paper. Scissors. (part 1)
Rock.
In the run up of trying to get myself out of the house more, I decided the best way to go about this was to see live music with 75 000 screaming people. Like real people. Screaming. In the dark. Shoulder to shoulder people that move around and breathe. Weird.
On this go around it was only 17 000 people. Pffft. Easy peazy lemon squeazy.
Not so much.
Some of you may have realized by now that I hate people. And places. And travelling. And traffic. And new things. And just about everything and everyone. No, not you. Well, maybe? Take a good long hard look at yourself and get back to me.
In January these two ding bats decide to announce a summer tour together:
Look at them, all jovial and peaceful. Assholes.
Three minutes after they announce their tour, I hear about it from the people that live in my head. More specifically though, the interwebs. I sat there staring off into the mid distance trying to absorb what this information meant in my life. Then I left my body. It wasn't the Rapture, because I'm still here. Surely God would take me, I named a goddamn shark after his only dead child.
Before sanity returned I was typing out a text to the Pixarian. It was nonchalant. Mostly "GABRIEL AND STING!!!! MY GUY AND YOUR GUY IN MONTREAL!!!! ARE YOU IN????"
Like that but way more subdued. Or frantic. I can't decide which. Let's go with whichever one makes me look cool, m'kay? I realized after sending the text that Pixarian lives on the West Coast Land Of Everything Is Sunny All Of The Time and there may be a slight time zone difference. It was early. Like what have you done early.
I waited. I figured by the time she got up, I would have returned to my natural state of hating all the things. I would have reminded myself just how many times I have seen Gabriel in concert (we don't need to know that number do we?) That there wouldn't be tickets left anyway and that this was just pure dead of winter minus lose your mind celsius mania and all will be right in my world again. Phew.
Nope.
She texted back 0.4 seconds later with booked flights, hotel reservations, plans for supper, itineraries and registration for early ticket sales.
The woman doesn't mess around.
Terrified, I queued up to purchase the tickets online, a rock settling in my stomach....
In the run up of trying to get myself out of the house more, I decided the best way to go about this was to see live music with 75 000 screaming people. Like real people. Screaming. In the dark. Shoulder to shoulder people that move around and breathe. Weird.
On this go around it was only 17 000 people. Pffft. Easy peazy lemon squeazy.
Not so much.
Some of you may have realized by now that I hate people. And places. And travelling. And traffic. And new things. And just about everything and everyone. No, not you. Well, maybe? Take a good long hard look at yourself and get back to me.
In January these two ding bats decide to announce a summer tour together:
 |
| From the petergabriel.com site |
Look at them, all jovial and peaceful. Assholes.
Three minutes after they announce their tour, I hear about it from the people that live in my head. More specifically though, the interwebs. I sat there staring off into the mid distance trying to absorb what this information meant in my life. Then I left my body. It wasn't the Rapture, because I'm still here. Surely God would take me, I named a goddamn shark after his only dead child.
Before sanity returned I was typing out a text to the Pixarian. It was nonchalant. Mostly "GABRIEL AND STING!!!! MY GUY AND YOUR GUY IN MONTREAL!!!! ARE YOU IN????"
Like that but way more subdued. Or frantic. I can't decide which. Let's go with whichever one makes me look cool, m'kay? I realized after sending the text that Pixarian lives on the West Coast Land Of Everything Is Sunny All Of The Time and there may be a slight time zone difference. It was early. Like what have you done early.
I waited. I figured by the time she got up, I would have returned to my natural state of hating all the things. I would have reminded myself just how many times I have seen Gabriel in concert (we don't need to know that number do we?) That there wouldn't be tickets left anyway and that this was just pure dead of winter minus lose your mind celsius mania and all will be right in my world again. Phew.
Nope.
She texted back 0.4 seconds later with booked flights, hotel reservations, plans for supper, itineraries and registration for early ticket sales.
The woman doesn't mess around.
Terrified, I queued up to purchase the tickets online, a rock settling in my stomach....
Comments