First, though, on Monday, I got my first pedicure of the summer. "Passion for NY Fashion" pink. I was debating between several shades, and frankly, once I saw the name of this one, there was no turning back.
Then, yesterday, at dinner before the concert, I saw the world's most futile ad:
If there ever was a state that had real, ingrained, intense beer passion, it's Missouri. And it's not for Miller. It's for Bud. An unofficial slogan for Missouri could be God, Mullets, and Budweiser.
On the long, traffic jammed drive to concert parking, I discovered that there are subliminal messages in DMB songs:
Apparently, the messages tell people to buy yellow Nissan Pathfinders. Because I've never seen two in one place that wasn't a car dealership.
BUT. In the parking lot, people were discarding the liquor that they could not take into the concert:
Because "Country Club" Vodka is super premium. "Specially Selected." "Almost Better Than Rubbing Alcohol."
I'm guessing that last one, because, um, I wouldn't touch the stuff with a body part not covered in Latex.
(I almost want to tell a story right now about my cousin's aunt who um, brought vodka with her to tailgate with before football games. Vodka to make Bloody Marys with. What brand did my aunt choose? OSCO Vodka. Seriously, does Walmart make vodka? Because. They would be of similar quality.)
At this point Matt and I go to the concert, the concert of no-picture-taking, because I was told ot leave my camera in the car. By a sercurity guard that claimed to be female, but I think she was female like the East German swimmers at the Olympics were female. I enter the concert and dance like a crazy fool for 3 hours. Then, after the encore, Matt and I rush out of there (it was like a game. We were racing a bunch of people and they didn't even know that they were racing and they were losing. Everytime we passed someone, we'd secretly cheer.) and we get back in the car. It was 11:15. We pull into the line of cars facing east that's trying to get out. And sit there. For more than a half hour. Seriously, we turned off the car. Because we couldn't move, they couldn't move, no one could move. Eventually, close to 12, we saw an opening, turned the car back on, turned the car completely around, and managed to get out of there.
And we got to follow this car out:
Yeah, I think that car has been to more than one Dave concert. And will probably be to many more.
Also, The tempature in Missouri is reaching that of hellfire. Sometimes I find this appropriate.