Rock. Paper. Scissors. (part 2)

Paper.

So that fateful day in January, by some sort of miracle, e-tickets magically appeared in my email account via the people that live in my head, or more to the point, the interwebs. VIP ones too! In that same exact moment I happen to come upon that precise amount leaving my credit card account. How fortuitous! Serendipity right there, meant to be!

I instantly printed the tickets out even if the show was 7 months away. You know, in case the entire world collapses into new world order with no internet, no electricity, no food, humans wandering the earth talking to each other and meeting their families for the first time in years - I will still have these papers and the show will go on! It must, apparently.

Now Johnny Depp said we could just leave them in my email and have them swipe the barcode with that miracle wand at the concert via my phone the night of.  Clearly he doesn't know just how many tickets I am printing out on a daily basis! Nor just how many people I have hired to do this as a full time job. Amateur! No need for fancy technology. Best revenge is your paper!

(Side note: If you've followed this blog over the years and you have read the About Me section to the right of this text, you know that I am married to Johnny Depp. I will remain married to the fantasy that I created of him. I am saddened to have to write this paragraph because his reality hit the fan. Allegedly.)

Where was I? Oh yes! Now when a big event is 7 months away, I can file that tidbit into the calm part of my brain and obsess over it just 14 to 28 times a day. Every. Single. Day. Super relaxing, like a vacation for me. I was very proud of myself for keeping it together. Once in a while I'd get a text from the Pixarian with jumbled letters in caps. I am assuming she meant "MY BOYFRIEND STING THIS IS SO EXCITING!" Or maybe it was her grocery list, not sure. Whatever she was saying, it made me feel better about being a tad peculiar.

Now when the time rolled around nearer to the concert day, I could no longer communicate with words nor use my fingers to type. I blinked in Morse code. I don't know Morse code, but play along will you? Travelling. Keep in mind for the far away readers (or les Américains that have no clue where Canada actually is - the big one - on top) that Montréal is an island. Only way to get there is by bridge, tunnel, boat, helicopter, scuba diving, walking on water for the Jaysus like.

JD knowing what two blinks meant, started looking at the traffic cams entering the construction site that is the city of Montréal in la Belle Province. You got a giant orange cone in your garage? No you don't! How about the tiny ones you use for your kid's soccer game or for your dog's agility course? Nope. Check again, someone stole it and used it for Montréal. A city that has you following detours that do not exist. No, I'm serious. There is a detour to the tunnel, we did not take it, because, um, underwater falling down tunnel AND because I was able to blink out the fact that I had read the tunnel was closed anyway. Good talk detour, come again.

This is it. The big day is upon us. I am stretched out paper thin about to rip open...




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