How did I get here?

I am outnumbered 5-1. Basically 10 ovaries 2 testicles. The Chosen One, the 2 little ones and the 2 female dogs to my two testis. Thats 10 -2 or 5-1 if you do the math and simplify!

That leaves me sitting here wondering how I got in this position. The Chosen One is away on business and I am left as the major caregiver, the guardian, the full time parent. This week has been quite easy and my current rant will not be that of a bitchy type or one to complain that I am responsible for my children for the time being. After all they are MY kids. I know when Deb gets back tomorrow afternoon the bingeing will resume and life will continue as easy and as peacefully as I know it and love it.

However I am cursed today with giving comfort and shelter and guidance to 4 screaming little girls. Both of my kids have friends over. One made the cut to sleep here tonight. So for this whole day I have had the pleasure of being around little women and all the problems that accompany 4 different female personas to coexist nicely so I can do what? Play the xbox.

I offered to take them to the pool and get outdoors for awhile but when I opened the door to their room you would think that they were looking at an alien or robot for the first time. I was greeted with four simultaneous screams that pierced my ear drums. They were so freaking loud I was surprised the cops didn't come thinking I was murdering someone or something. It's just me why are they freaking out like this? Anyway I left as quick as I could.

Now comes the hard part or babysitter part, I begin to get bombarded with questions like "Can we do make overs?" I said "Sure thats a great activity to pass the time." Once I had given it more thought I ran as fast as I could back to the room because something told me scissors and nail polish on the carpet were going to be involved. As sure as the sun sets both items where placed neatly nearby on like a doctors tray, in an almost eerie way where some 7 year old ritual or a "rite of passage" was about to take place. Thank God I got there in time cause that was a call I didn't want to make to the other parents involved. "Yea, I am the only one here...I know I look like a criminal but...I know I shouldn't let them play with scissors or nail polish or matches for that matter...yes I know I was wrong and I will pay for the haircut that needs to...yes she will need reconstruction on her hair. I am terribly sorry....you're coming now? OK. I understand." That is not the conversation I want to have, ever!

Shortly after this it was all too quiet in that room so I went in and I asked them what they were doing and they replied "...playing house!" I said "Excuse me? What?! You are playing house?" They simply responded with "...no, like we are caaamping." I said to myself, it can't be that bad, there are no boys in the house, at least I don't see them and they are just quietly hanging out. So I figured that quiet house/"caaamping" game was way better then them running around pissing me off. After all I have been very busy this summer doing a whole lot of nothing. I couldn't possibly bear the burden of taking care of four girls for a couple of hours.

Responsibility is a concept so foreign to me from June to the end of August. "As little as possible" is my motto. Although I am thinking of changing that motto after I saw a dude wearing a t-shirt stating a play on Lance Armstrong's popular slogan "Live Strong." We have all seen that but I have seen the the real message and it read "Live Drunk." So as of now I am changing my motto. I like that better. I wonder if I could go to work with that shirt. Would that be a good message for the kiddies I teach? They'd probably love it.

So I sit here with four girls in the house. 3 of them coming to Grandma's with me so I don't have to cook. 3 of them excited at the prospect they get to wear lipstick to this fancy shmancy shindig down the road. I am going to tell them they need to wear dresses. Lets make it legit. I of course enjoy my mother in laws company, especially when she cooks for me and the kids when The Chosen One is out on the town earning the big bucks. Wait, the term "out on the town earning the big bucks" didn't sound right but anyway she is away and I am here.

What a hypocrite! I almost complain that I have the responsibility to take care of these maniacs yet really nothing changes because I still have someone to cook for me and basically make sure certain needs are met. Should I be proud of this ability to have people want to help out or should I be ashamed because people feel I am almost incompetent? It is my own personal nightmare I deal with everyday. It almost keeps me up at night.

So I get the task of making sure these ladies are happy in my care and don't cringe at the sound that Mommy has to go out of town for an extended period of time. "Do what you want." Don't burn the house down." "Go outside and catch toads." "Come on you're in the way of the tv. I cant see!" "OH Allie, check this out, this guy gets knocked the f**k out!" These are words of instruction and guidance they get under my care. Yea babe, don't go out of town or this is what they get!

This is the thanks I get. I am rewarded with having the pleasure of taking care of these little ladies and make sure all is well for them while the boss lady is away. This is the thanks I get for trying to be a good person in maybe a past life or even my youth. Shit, at some point I thought I should be rewarded with some testosterone of some kind. Where is the football in the house on the floor? Where is the dirt bike? Where are the cleats? Where are the screams of agony when dad is kicking someone's ass? Maybe I will get to kick someone's ass when they start dating...Oh shit, that's not something I really want to think of. A .40 caliber Sig P229 with night sights and maybe an AR15 assault rifle will be readily available. That should deter any wrong doers.

The original question was "how did I get here?" What ever path I had taken to get I am thankful. The two young ladies I have here are really cool. The Chosen One is OK too but I will save that for another day!

More than 6

A conversation came up this afternoon between me and you know who about what is the appropriate amount of beer to consume in one evening. She thinks that 3-4 beers are the right amount. Her words were "it keeps you feeling good and right there."

I don't and never will get this concept. She has it nailed down. She can have a great time on two or three drinks in a night. Me, no f**king way! I live by the creed "I don't drink to have a GOOD time I drink to have a BETTER time! In the immortal words of "Frank the Tank" from the great movie "Old School," "It feels so good when it hits my lips!" Does this mean I am an alcoholic? I don't think so.

Beer doesn't really taste that good to me. Let me rephrase that. The first 10 are delicious and then after that the 11th one they start to get kind of gross. I can have 1 cup of coffee or 1 can of diet soda. I am good and satisfied with drinking 1 of those. I will never just have 1 beer. If I am offered a beer I won't drink it if I know I'm not in it for the long haul.

I spoke to a few of my friends about this and most agree. They seem to think like me and say why have one or three if you can't have 8 or 10?

I have rules to my drinking. I will never consume any drinks during the work week. Sunday through Thursday has been a lesson in sobriety throughout my life. Even when I was in the Marines and there would be parties throughout the barracks with no plans of strenuous activity for the next day, I still wouldn't partake in any drinking. I live by the code of "Weekday Soberness" presently.

All bets are off if there is a 3 day weekend. In the case of a Monday with no responsibilities my friends and I would gather for the "Trifecta" on a Sunday evening. This was derived from a fellow binge drinker who lived by me and visited 3 of the worst bars in our neighborhood one night while riding solo. We didn't live in a shitty part of town, it just so happened that 3 of the shittiest bars happened to be in a square mile and about 5 minutes from my house. I always knew when we had a Monday off that Sunday night was gonna be rough. It got to the point that if we had a Monday off The Chosen One would ask, "you doing the 'Trifecta' this Sunday?"

A small description of the "Trifecta" is easy. First bar we would go to was called "Billy Z's." At the door to get in, you were pretty much guaranteed to see two females fist fighting. This was a cool bar not only for the cat fights but also because it spawned the invention of "long range hard as you can throw" darts. Second bar is a karaoke joint with a Nascar theme called "Turn 3." This bar had rules. You weren't allowed to pick the song you sang, but you were definitely singing a song. Another great aspect of this bar was that apparently smoking crack in the bathroom was OK. It would only land a stern warning. Last stop in the "Trifecta" was a liquor store and a bar. This was a dangerous bar. I didn't feel in harms way singing or dodging darts from thirty feet away, but here I always felt like a fight was waiting to happen. Maybe it was because the first time we went there we witnessed a man of no less then 60 years old passed out on the stage. The fact that the toilet had been ripped from the floor and lay on its side kind of worried me too.

I brought up the "Trifecta" because this night and pretty much all other nights that I'm giving beer my undivided attention requires a drink minimum of at least 8. If it aint 8 why bother? In order to get an invite to the "Trifecta" you had to be able to drink at least 10 beers. We did make an exception and our ladies did receive an invite, once. It wasn't the same.

In all honesty if I am with The Chosen One and we are just chillin at a local pub 6 beers will work. In this case I am OK with the number 6. If I am out with the fellas at some horrific establishments where smoking crack gets you a warning and not a police escort out, 6 doesn't work.....EVER!

By the way, I closed last night out on 4. In bed by 11:30. That sucked! So please, for your sake don't come at me with a weak ass 6 pack.

When the love is gone...

"When the love is gone,

there is nothing you can do but feel the pain. 

If only I could feel the freedom that I've gained 

I could be happier and start again."

If you don't know who sang this then shame on you. She is a wonderful performer. Her name is that of like Prince or Rhianna, singular, a one name type. The lyrical wordsmith who put this together was talking about the fact that sometimes love runs out and what to do after this happens. Never in my life have words rang more true than they do today.

Although she did not write this beautiful ensemble, Cher sings these prophetic words in the first verse of a song called "When The Love Is Gone." As I type these words I am feeling that the love is definitely almost gone. I am feeling that if I lay my eyes upon one of the habitants that reside in my house I am liable to throw her out into the darkness that rests in the ruthless streets of Matthews, North Carolina. 

It is the summer. The time to sleep late. The days that I get to wake up and eat when I want to eat, shit when I want to shit and listen to music when I want to listen to music. I am not on a schedule other than I eventually will get up and do something. Whatever the day brings, I will get to it when I want to get to it. 

10 months out of the year I'm as regimented as they come. I must get that from the time I spent killing Somali's or Iraqi's for the United States Government. For 4 years it was wake up, exercise, shoot some one and then we would party on through the night. That's basically how my life is run now. Everyday I wake up, eat an egg white omelet in my car with my bare hands on the way to work, listen to music and surf the net from 8:00-9:30, substitute shooting the enemy for teasing kids til 3:30 then party the night away until I do it all again tomorrow. 

One could expect that a break is needed from that rigorous schedule I keep. Well that break is now, and I am trying to enjoy it. I was enjoying it up until this morning when I woke up to many a different mess scattered throughout the house. 

The culprit has been at it now for quite some time and I am wondering why she keeps doing it? When is she going to stop? Is it because she doesn't receive enough attention or praise or something else? It pisses me off because she is old enough to know what is acceptable and what is not acceptable. I am tired of waking up to her mess. Hey, guess what dick head...I don't like to clean that up! I don't know, call me crazy but cleaning up your shit is not cool!

I'm sick of this f**king dog! Yes, I've said it. Today I wake up to a mess in the bathroom. For some reason this asshole likes, no LOVES, to rip up tissue paper. It's all over the bathroom floor. This is the first thing I see. I clean it up and wash my hands. I go downstairs now for breakfast and I see an entire pack of gum eaten. Yes, a 20 piece pack of Trident gum devoured in one sitting.  I am sure, soon enough, I will have to clean the puke that will definitely follow that meal. Oh, maybe not considering I just found a pile of shit. Well, at least I know she digested it and I can now tell my kids and the idiots at school that the old wives tale of gum staying in your digestive system for extended periods of time is way FALSE! Don't ask how I know it's the gum.

In the past our beautiful Christmas present that Santa left us that one year has eaten basically everything in site. The list grows everyday. It started that she ate deodorant. After a series of convulsions, violent shakes and a $1000 stomach pump later she is fine. Next up, she ate something that made her narrow head swell to the size of a giant football. To this day I don't know what the f**k she ate that made her head swell up like that, but she never ate it again and her head went back to normal after the vet gave her a Benadryl. A bottle containing 45 pills of 600 mg of Ibuprofen was next. She ate 44. That last one she couldn't get down. The second cone of shame, a stay in the hospital with another stomach pump and a bill of about $1200 was what made her healthy as a horse. For desert some Dove Dark Chocolate washed down with a bag of Twizzlers will have to do. A mess of epic proportions ensued shortly after, prompting my oldest daughter to inquire "Nala, why'd you have to go and shit all over the floor?"

Have I mentioned the whining? I never had a dog that lays around all day and whines or sighs like an old man. This dog gets love from us and all the kids in the neighborhood. She does not go without attention. What the hell is her deal? I am typing and she is sitting at my feet looking at me with these huge brown eyes of sorrow as to say "I 'm sorry man, I see these things and...I just want to eat em. I can't help it. I'm too impulsive. Come on I'm a dog for f**k's sake!" 

I know Nala, I love you too! Cher was wrong, the love is not gone

Oprah aint got shit on me!

My ladies and I have started a movie club for the summer. We call it "The M.A.D.A. Movie Club." The initials come from the first letter of our titles. I was hesitant to invite The Chosen One into the club because I know she will try and put the kibosh on some of these movies we, I mean I plan on watching. The little one negotiated hard for The Chosen One to be included. She wasn't budging either even when I tried to explain to her that most of the movies Mom wouldn't like, and she's not going to let us watch them either. I tried to tell her "Mom isn't gonna find this fun, she would rather work than be lazy and veg on the couch to a good movie." She wouldn't join without her. I tried to stand my ground but in order for her to come along I had to let her in. 

I came up with this idea to kill two hours during the long summer days. I know I can't just keep taking them to the pool everyday. These kids would have faces like a catchers mitt by the time they hit H.S. if we went to the pool every day. I don't want them to become known as a leather face. However, I say this in almost a hypocritical fashion because I know if we still lived in Florida we'd be at the beach as we speak. 

Besides, I know that if they are occupied with some ridiculous movie about robots, apes, or whatever else interests me I know they will not be fighting. They had a small disagreement as The Chosen One went to work this morning. It was as if she finally got me back with all the times they fought on the way to school and I would leave her to the fighting children and say something like "Oh man, look at the time...I'm going to be late." or "Have fun, love ya!" 

Today was a little bit of payback. As the first word of aggression came out of the little one's mouth she was out the door and down the road, fast as shit, like an old car chase scene in a movie where the tires burn and smoke. That's how fast she left. I didn't even receive the obligatory phone call to see if all was well and they were still alive.

As I type this, a loud "OWWW" reverberates through the house and I am forced to see what fracas I have to mediate now. I am thinking we may have to watch two or three movies a day. We never allow tattling in our house, no matter what. I allow no explanations to be said, just a simple command of "Separate" is more then enough to solve what bothers them. I start to walk back with the little one and she starts in by whispering "OK, here's what happened..." I stop her and let her know they are still taking camp applications somewhere.

As we get into the specifics of the movie club, I have declared myself the supreme movie chooser. They will have no say in what movie we watch. I and I alone choose. I gave myself this job because I know I would be stuck watching some bullshit like "Hannah Montana: The Movie" and "The Jonas Brothers: The Movie" or maybe even the latest installment of "High School Musical 13: The kids hit the job market after college and find themselves unemployed and addicted to crystal meth." Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing that one.

Today, we watched "The Dark Knight." A great film. I love Batman and the eldest lady kept asking to watch it. I couldn't wait to see their faces when "Harvey Dent" gets his face burnt off. At that point in the movie I was happy to see their reaction was that of utter terror. I was a little disappointed with their reaction to Batman. I thought they would like his ass kicking ways. They didn't seem to impressed.

Now, I let them know the pseudo purpose of our new club was to discuss the movie over lunch after we watched it. They seemed to like the concept and we discussed the movie over grilled cheese and blueberries. The more we dove into to the story, we found out that the moral of "The Dark Knight" is that it is OK to lie for the greater good. I said it is still not OK to lie to me or Mom, but if you're the Gotham Police Department you can lie and say Batman killed those people to help the city. We kept the discussion alive and we found out that (these are the words of my youngest lady), "the lie about Batman  is OK, but a lie about going out with men to a party is not OK?" I said "No sweetie, a lie about going to a party with men is NEVER a good lie!"

Up on the agenda for tomorrow is a film from "The Terminator" series. I will most likely screen T2 because it has no love making or should I say Sarah Conner's little boobs being squeezed by a young Kyle Reese. I don't want that talk to come up yet. 

Burnin' Up?

As I type this entry of the daily happenings in my life I sit here and listen to the sweet sounds of Trent Reznor yelling angry thoughts at me from every emotional angle he can. I'm very proud of the fact that I have introduced his music to the small ladies in my life with huge success. They seem to enjoy it. I have tried and tried to inject Nine Inch Nails to The Chosen One but for some reason she wants no part of them. She would rather jam to Indigo Girls or some other lesbian with a guitar. So I'm left shaping the minds of my 9 and 7 year old. 

I feel that if these ladies are able to enjoy some music with a real message then I'm way ahead of the Miley Montana's or the Hannah Cyrus' of the worlds. My ears bleed when that crap comes on the radio. My heart hurts when they request it. I want to say "Look I'm busting my ass to keep you sheltered from that shit! It's not GOOD! Here is a great CD, listen to this instead."

I thoroughly enjoy listening to music. I know that a good song can evoke some sort of emotion from even the most heartless of beings. Shit, even ole Charlie Manson liked The Beatles. Look where music got him.

I figured out that last year when I was transitioning to life in the Carolinas, no matter how bad my day was, I could come home, throw on some tunes and all the troubles from only the worst day of my life wouldn't matter. Music calmed me down and made me feel like all was well.

I would play anything and everything depending on the mood I was in. Usually the mood was shitty, so some aggressive Nine Inch Nails or Rage Against The Machine would most likely be running through the ipod. As I would lay flat on the floor screaming and cursing privately in my head cause some asshole wouldn't listen to me when I blew the whistle, my ladies would pile on my back and some how their weight erased the heaviness of my problematic world. I loved this time, and the girls seemed to like playing pig pile on me too. What made it more enjoyable to me was that I thought they were getting the same enjoyment from my choice of music as I was. 

This week we celebrate The Chosen One joining the Earth many years ago. More years than either of us would like to admit, meaning my first day of breathing air is not too far behind. I'll be 15 later this year. As we made the trek to and from the in-laws yesterday we had a healthy dose of a live NIN album. A highlight on the CD is a song called "Terrible Lie." I had no idea my ladies knew the song or the words. Hell, The Chosen One didn't even know what song it was. I'm sure she is going to have a great time on Friday. Who cares I'm gonna...AGAIN! Anyway, I see these two kids singing in unison to the chorus, banging their heads and waving their arms. I was and am still amazed. How did they know this song? Next song is even harder and faster. Minus the "F" bombs throughout, they stay right on task, singing away, matching the verbal stylings of Mr. Reznor word for word. Yes, they know they are not aloud to say the bad words in songs that Daddy listens too.

This was one of those moments where the Dad is real proud of his offspring. I felt like I was a good dad. I felt like I was doing my job, raising them to make the right choices in life, musically of course. Boyfriend choices and all the important decisions will come later and hopefully be handled by The Chosen One as to not disrupt the harmonic vibe I got going on now.

I drove home admiring the fact that these two crazies where digging the same music as I do at the ripe old age of 9 and 7. It was an awesome moment. It was awesome until we pulled in the driveway. I opened the door to the house and was asked the one question I did not want to have to answer. These ladies could have asked me anything at this point. I would have preferred a question on how babies are made, if there is a God, is Santa Claus real or who the f**k is The Easter Bunny anyway? Shit, I would have explained why Muslims hate the West if they would have just asked. 

Nope they didn't ask anything of the sort. They asked the one thing I didn't want to hear. They asked the one thing that pierced my guts. They asked if they could download the song "Burnin Up-The Single" from the f**king Jonas Brothers. I said "Seriously? The Jonas Brothers?! What the hell you want that crap for? They suck! They're only the worst band EVER!  We just jammed something fierce to a band I was willing to sacrifice my relationship with your mother because I wanted to buy you guys concert shirts! This is how I am re-payed with a bubble gum shit ass Disney Band?" 

The response was a resounding "Yea, we love that song!" 

These assholes attached the words "The Single" to end of the song as if to make you think that there is somehow more bullshit connected to this like say, "Burnin Up-The CD" or "Burnin Up-The B Sides." Oh how I am disgusted. 

Am I making a difference? I thought I was. Now I am not so sure!

Somebody's got to be the butt...

"Hickledy pickledy pig, let me out and make me big." 

This is a line from a play my youngest is in during the last week of school. She is in the first grade and apparently movies and end of the year parties are a thing of the past. Working in a middle school, I understand the reasoning behind the no party rule. Preteens with hormones raging do not need any help with being an asshole. Let the little ones party on. If an elementary school teacher can't keep some bratty kids hopped up on extended sugar highs, then maybe said person's teaching certificate should be revoked. How bad could 18 screaming shit heads jacked up on "Smarty's" and cupcake frosting be?

Please take into consideration that I am a teacher, however in my humble opinion I think that some teachers may create some dumb ass assignment just to say to the person in charge "Look what I am doing. My class is creating a play." "Good for you! Good for you Mrs. Crabapple. Great Job!" 

It's busy work. I know it. You know it. Somehow the kids don't. Thinking back I wonder when I picked up on the establishments bullshit. At what age did I rebel against the norm and say "F**k it! I ain't buying this crap no more. I'm not going to be a bird in an egg with an elastic beak singing 'Rockin Robin'." Oh, I remember now, it had to be after the 3rd grade because that was the last time I was in a play as a bird in an egg costume with an elastic beak singing "Rockin Robin." 

As I have stated, I have two small daughters whom I refer to as my ladies. One of my ladies who is finishing up the first grade is performing in the upcoming hit "The Day I Followed A Pickle". I guess I should be thankful it is not the stage version of the now famous book for couples "Tickle His Pickle." She plays a "little instant" as she calls it. You and I may refer to the "Little Instant" as our small intestine. 

OK, so the play is called "The Day I Followed A Pickle" and one of the lines is "Hickledy pickledy pig, let me out and make me big", seems to me that the teacher has created a masterpiece on the ins and OUTS of digestion. 

My young lady goes on to describe who is in the play and what their roles are. As we get to the bottom of things...no pun intended, we find out the major players. We have a mouth, an esophagus, a stomach and little and big instants. She goes on to describe that when the pickle goes in the mouth and down the esophagus, each student has to hug the pickle to make sure it goes down. I know this simulates the body parts pushing the article of food through the digestive system but I almost have a problem with this. 

No matter how hard she tries to describe the play I am still left with many questions. The number one question is: What the hell is this teacher thinking? We have a person with a college education making kids hug each other during a play about "shooting torpedoes", "dropping the kids off at the pool", "taking the Browns to the Super Bowl" or my personal favorite "banging out a deuce." This genius of an educator has given the go ahead to make a play on taking a shit. My second question is does the kid have to change costumes on his way through the big instant? I would also ask the teacher at what point does the green pickle become a brown pickle. These things need to be addressed. Seems to me there are some holes to this story. Something doesn't smell right.

If we have all the parts to this play as the 1st graders may think, I am left with one question. Who is the butt or anus? Which student got cast as the "ass"? 

I felt it was a fair question to ask my young lady. Her reply was, with a shake of her head and her little hand up in the air as if the question was somehow not a legitimate inquiry, "Ah, no one is the butt." I then said "Somebody has to be the butt. Where does the food, or in this case the pickle go?" She had nothing to say. 

Rewind to the meaningless assignment comment and we have something that supports my theory. Couldn't this be one of those assignments that fall directly into this category? I would pay money to be able to not only see this performance but(t) to ask the question when the clapping is finished,the bows completed and curtain calls taken to ask the teacher "Now what? The pickle doesn't just hang out in the big instant. And who is the butt? Somebody's got to be the butt!"

Gettin' kicked in the chest...

Probably around the month of March I was told that two of my favorite bands from the 90's were hitting the road for a summer tour. These weren't just two bands. It was Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction. These two bands have basically defined my being for the last 20 years. They have definitely helped mold me into my current self. 

The first date was to be May 8th in my old home town: West Palm Beach. The last date was to be in my new home town: Charlotte, North Carolina. I felt like it was a destiny that I had to fulfill by seeing the first date of the show and the last date. 

I have a friend who was more than a willing combatant. He was enthusiastic to make the trek with me whether we went by land, sea or air. More over he was willing to be a guest at my mom's house in Boynton Beach. There is nothing quite like the hospitality of a mom letting two hooligans stay in her house for a few days while they relived their youth drinking the sunny days away and listening to some kick ass music in South Florida. 

Please keep in  mind that the date of the show fell on the Friday of Mother's Day weekend. In keeping to the idea of me being a selfish teenager, I thought nothing of booking the trip and making the jaunt down to South Florida with my friend. We planned a weekend of drinking, music and hopefully more drinking. After we bought some plane tickets, the thought of the trip and me returning on Mother's Day sank in. "You're not mad are you?" I asked. In being my perfect companion she said "No, go have a good time!" After seeing her status updates like "I'm vacuuming and my husband is at the beach!" or "My husband is living it up in South Florida...Happy Mother's Day to me???" on Facebook I realized the trip may not have been in my best interest (see past blog "The Talk"). 

I bought tickets for the show and remember being psyched that we had SEATS! Seats meant we are closer than the "lawn people"! A seat means we are under the covering in case it rains. You may not think that means a lot to a bald adult, but for some reason it did at the time of purchase and still rings true today. Under no circumstances could I possibly spend $159.00 for a plane ticket and not be as close as possible to my rock gods. There was no way we are seeing the first show and not going to be on top of the action. At least that's what I thought. As any teenager would do, I convinced my bud to spring for the extra $40.00. We paid $40.00 to be an extra 20 feet closer. We were the last row of seats. I was in full view of the "lawn people". When I bought the tickets The Chosen One was in my ear saying "Why don't you just buy the lawn seats?" Ahh, hellllo! We want to be close to the action! Thank God it didn't rain cause we weren't even under the covering. 

I've had a bad experience of being on the lawn during a concert. It brings back memories of what I had to do to make The Chosen One fall in love with me. At the last concert I saw on the lawn, we had a blanket and it was James Taylor. I like  J.T. I think he is a great musician in his own right but a real bore to see live. He sounds great, music is great but the vibe of jumping up and down rhythmically with the crowd to "How Sweet It Is" doesn't seem like a great idea. I saw that blanket and I was pissed. I don't want to sit on f**king blanket. I wanted to sleep on that damn blanket. 

Mind you, seeing this concert or snooze fest, was when I was courting The Chosen One. During this phase I said and did all sorts of dumb shit such as go to a Kenny Loggins concert. Yeah, I did. Not one of the prouder moments in my life. It kind of ranks up there with me wanting to buy a Camaro, but I was there and when I saw him stand on a chair and belt out "Foot Loose," I thought the roof was going to come down. 

That was the last time I was more charming than selfish. I would do other things too like say stuff like "Oh yeah, I like to read books" or "Oh, I love to go dancing." Meanwhile this poor woman had no idea she was getting a binge drinking, video game playing idiot who swears a lot and is completely politically incorrect.  

We have lawn seats for the date in Charlotte. I figure the money I save will go to my liver. 

Me and my bud get to the show and I go right for the merchandise tent. The Chosen One had given me specific instructions that I was not allowed to buy shirts for the ladies. I somehow blocked those words out and asked if they had youth sizes. No luck. Too bad cause I'd have bought them. Man, my kids would have been the coolest kids at their elementary school rocking a NIN or Jane's Addiction concert shirt.  In a world where Hannah Mountcrapa and The Jonas Turds are the norm, two sweet little girls come to class with a NIN or a Jane's shirt on? Come on that's bad ass!

We finally get to our seats right in time for Nine Inch Nails to hit the stage. Words cannot be put in writing to describe the ass kicking display of raw power they gave to us during that first show on Mother's Day weekend. Jane's Addiction, who were equally awesome, hit the stage after a NIN set that consisted of 20 songs. I was left completely satisfied. Both bands delivered beyond expectations.

I get back on Mother's Day and, after pleasantries are exchanged, my youngest asked me how the concert was. I said "It felt like I got kicked in the chest, held down and screamed at for a good three hours!" She looked at me in disbelief. A few days later I was surfing youtube and found some of the songs both Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction played. I showed her "Mr. Self Destruct". She looked up at me and asked "Is that when he kicked you in the chest?"