Once upon a time, about seven years
ago, I attended a concert with people I knew from a former job. Envision it.
Poison and Cinderella, and I was STOKED to see Cinderella. I am not a fan of Poison, so ‘meh’ on that
one…but Cinderella…Oh lordy…yes please.
Give me some Tom Keifer ANY day and I will be overjoyed.
Where does the crux of the story
come into my story, you ask? Let me tell
you.
Right now I am asking you to
envision a Winnebago. (RV for those not
well versed in brands.) There are at
least 10 people in this mammoth vehicle not including the driver. The driver and I are the only ones sober upon
entrance of the vehicle at around 3 p.m. in the afternoon on this fine
Saturday. Not sure if any of you have
experienced what an utter treat it is to be the only sober person surrounded by
people that are shit-faced, but I can tell you this was no trip to Fantasy
Island. I had one person there that I
enjoyed being around, but still…when everyone else is tripping the light
fantastic with booze and I am there with my can of Coke. Just ‘ugh’ sums it up.
So, as we are traveling the two
hours to arrive at our destination, I start to develop a headache, which I attributed
to the mayhem that was occurring with the Winnebago. I couldn’t have been more incorrect. We arrive at Mankato MN, the destination for
the concert…we grab a bite to eat…we go to the show. Now mind you, I am not one to bring my purse
into a concert normally. I rarely even
carry a purse these days at all. I just
don’t like to be encumbered with a bag of crap when I am trying to ROCK. So, that said, I stuffed my money and ticket
into my pocket and off I went. All of us
were sitting in different locations within the building. My friend and I were on the floor up close. I admittedly was a little giddy. I have a massive crush on Tom Keifer and I
will not lie about it. Once we get to
our seats, I feel a twinge…a cramp…and a gusher. That’s right…I have my period. Two weeks early as a matter of fact. I rush off to the bathroom to find the temple
of the tampons.
The first bathroom I went in, the
vending machine was empty. “Oh whatever,“
I say to myself. “This arena is huge,
they will have one somewhere.”
Meanwhile, my headache turns into an all encompassing demon. Second bathroom, NOTHING. Third bathroom, NOTHING. There is NO damn tampons, OR God forbid, even
some tug-boat sized maxi pad ANYWHERE in the building. I ask the people that work in the arena…they
even check the staff bathrooms and have nothing. At this point, I am DESPERATE. I don’t want to bleed through my
bloomers. I am a pissy bitch now as well,
oh joy. We all can assume why I am this
way given my estrogen rush. I begin to
BEG every woman I see for a tampon. C’mon
ladies, we sisters HAVE to stick together.
(I might add, by this time Cinderella is HALF OVER.) I FINALLY find a kind-hearted
t-shirt vendor willing to check her purse for a tampon. The only one she has was one that was not
wrapped in the plastic; it was covered in make-up dust, purse debris and
smelled like peppermint gum. I didn’t
care. In fact, at this juncture I wouldn’t
have cared if it gave me gonorrhea. I
just needed to stop the hemorrhage.
Anywho…I tamponed myself and went to enjoy the show. I got to hear TWO Cinderella songs. TWO.
Then I proceed to endure Poison…how fitting the name of the band was
what I wanted to do to myself to rid me of all of agony experienced thus far in
my evening.
I survive hearing Bret Michaels
sing, which to me is some sort of miracle.
“God is good!” We all aboard the
Winnebago, where I eagerly anticipate an incredibly compelling two hours worth
of drunken havoc; I mean how could it NOT be, they were drunk before…they will
be drunker after. (Is drunker a
word? Right now, I couldn’t care
less.) We begin our pilgrimage back
home. Across from me, there sits a
certain someone. A gentleman that is
quite large. We are facing each other in
the seats. He is passed out from
boozery. (Yes, I do what I want with
words…) The sound being emitted from him
is something akin to a death rattle. He
is drooling, with mouth agape. He is
wearing short shorts, with Ted Hose (diabetic socks that go to the knees) with
tube socks over those, with sandals. He
is wearing a translucent white ‘muscle shirt’ that is incredibly tight…barely
fitting over the 20 months pregnant belly.
As we roll along the dark highway, I am enthralled with the vision I
behold in front of me. I begin to ponder
life. I begin to question why I was
made. Why am I here? What purpose did this trip serve? What can I learn, other than to bring tampons
with me at all times? I NEED Advil. Satan is ripping out my uterus, and I have a
headache. I hope that the one scurvy
tampon I have in me will suffice until we get home. I keep staring at the man across from me….as
if I am watching people being pulled from the wreckage of a train
accident. The rumble of curdled throat
aspirations coming from his wide mouth…saliva puddles form on his
shoulder. As we move onward…his shirt
begins to roll up, exposing a bit of belly.
It rolls up further…and further…and further…until like someone releasing
their hand from a window shade, it explodes with FURY over the top of his
bulbous belly. His gargantuan stomach
exposed in full, his belly button was the size of a cup holder and his shirt
was now firmly rolled underneath his D-cups.
Despite what you may think, I still kept looking. The horrifying scene unfurling before my eyes
was still NOT TOO MUCH to bear as my evening kept progressively getting worse
and worse. I mean, why NOT test this
out, and see how far it is going to go.
Can’t be much more that could happen to cap my evening off, right?
WRONG. Wrongo, bucko. We passed underneath a highway light…I cast
my gaze downward toward my riding partner across from me. His legs are now spread full bore, like he is
going to get a gyno exam. I see
something. No, really. I saw it.
IT. I saw IT. His balls.
“NO!!!!” I think to myself. I did
NOT just see this dude’s balls. We keep
on toolin’ down the highway…we pass underneath another light and I double check
to make sure I saw it right. You betcha
I did. The whole works was situated
outside of the short shorts. The entire
working unit of this man’s genital system was on display. Before I briskly turn away, I do one more
survey of the landscape of which I had been gazing upon…you know…just savor it,
take it all in. Soak it up like the ray
of sunshine which it was. Damn…life is
amazing! I turned away and thought of
ways to die quickly on the way home and prayed that if it didn’t happen, that
there would be some way out there of washing my mind clean of what
happened. Nope. Still remember. Now YOU do too! Muahahahaha!!
My work here is done.
HUGS and SUCH!! ~L By the way, some of you MAY know the man
of which I speak…but you can’t tell. ;)
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