The things I do just to bring you trainwreckery
Last night, I took Holls and her BFF from downstairs to the Justin Bieber concert at the arena. I decided to allow them to go to the concert while I stayed in a parent's room downstairs, but there was still trainwreckery galore this night.
It started before we ever got to the venue, with an actual wreck. We left at 6:00. What is usually a 20-30 minute drive plus finding parking turned into an hour and a half. We didn't actually park (more on that in a minute) until 7:20, and the show was supposed to start at 7:00. Cue two frantic preteen girls in the backseat while mom creeps through the wreck traffic, the concert traffic, and just plain rush hour. Fortunately, JB had two (!) opening acts, so the main point of the evening didn't even get going until after 8:00.
When we finally got off the exit, I followed the cars in front, looking for halfway decent parking. There were some enterprising teenagers with cardboard signs directing cars to a church parking lot (for $5), but I was in the wrong lane. We found a huge parking lot marked "Verizon Parking" that others were going into, so great! There was an ancient-looking woman sitting at the entrance, and I rolled down my window to pay. She said "This is for suite residents only!" Her speech was a little slurred, she didn't look like any parking attendant I've ever known, and we were already frantic to get inside, so I just pulled right in. Nobody stopped me, and other cars were following. We easily found a place. There are some $$ condos next door, but this was marked "Verizon", and anyway, their parking is in a garage. I was a little worried about the car, but that's the first time I've been there that I didn't automatically shell out $5-$10 just to rest my wheels.
Second wreck: I had to show my credit card at the door to receive the tickets. For some reason it wouldn't scan, so the kids, a few other people, and I had to follow a young man through a labrynth of hallways and elevators to another window. Here, we got the tickets and an usher took the kids to their seats. By luck, we were right outside their entrance. The man then took me to the waiting room. He was in a motorized wheelchair, and I was irritated when several tweenagers cut him off, forcing him to brake suddenly, as if he wasn't there. When I said this, he explained that he was used to it but it did get irritating when people stared over him or talked to his wife ("And what will he have?"), instead of to him. Worse was when people shouted at him, as if he were deaf, or addressed him like a child. He had multiple degrees, but just enjoyed working these concerts (and I imagine he's seen and met quite a few celebs). On a plus side, he did have people coming up to him and greeting him like an old friend, so I think he's been there a long time.
The third wreck, which was my own fault: when I got to the parent's room, I'd thought that "drinks provided" meant free. Nope. $2 for a can of pop, and no ATM, of course. Also of course, I'd given my money to the kids for intermission. Oh well. It was quite pleasant, with "So You Think You Can Dance", followed by FoxNews on a TV, and I had 2+ hours of reading. The bass from upstairs was shaking the room, and presumably when JB came out, there was a noise like 10 million vuvulzuelas through the walls. I think I've found the answer to all our vexing problems: simply blast the sound of thousands of squealing preteens amplified 2,000x into Pyongyang, into Tehran, and wherever. That sound will bring anyone to their knees.
Then a potential wreck that turned out to be not one! After the concert, I actually found the kids waiting right where I'd asked them to stay. They'd had a blast (first concert for both), and sometimes I don't mind trainwrecks to have memories like that. I'd been concerned about sending a couple of 12 year olds to the concert, but I was surprised to see seven and eight year olds up there sans parents.
Fourth wreck: I got in the wrong lane again exiting (that's the name of my autobiography: My Life In The Wrong Lane) and decided to get on an expressway going the "wrong" way and try to turn around. Cue my kid yelling, "Mom, you're going the wrong way!" while I followed a construction zone and finally found another expressway going back the right way! My kid didn't stop shouting at me to turn around until I pointed to our own exit and said, "Now do you know where you are?!" I knew to try to turn around was inviting futility.
I wonder how long I can keep the upcoming Jonas Brothers fete a secret.
It started before we ever got to the venue, with an actual wreck. We left at 6:00. What is usually a 20-30 minute drive plus finding parking turned into an hour and a half. We didn't actually park (more on that in a minute) until 7:20, and the show was supposed to start at 7:00. Cue two frantic preteen girls in the backseat while mom creeps through the wreck traffic, the concert traffic, and just plain rush hour. Fortunately, JB had two (!) opening acts, so the main point of the evening didn't even get going until after 8:00.
When we finally got off the exit, I followed the cars in front, looking for halfway decent parking. There were some enterprising teenagers with cardboard signs directing cars to a church parking lot (for $5), but I was in the wrong lane. We found a huge parking lot marked "Verizon Parking" that others were going into, so great! There was an ancient-looking woman sitting at the entrance, and I rolled down my window to pay. She said "This is for suite residents only!" Her speech was a little slurred, she didn't look like any parking attendant I've ever known, and we were already frantic to get inside, so I just pulled right in. Nobody stopped me, and other cars were following. We easily found a place. There are some $$ condos next door, but this was marked "Verizon", and anyway, their parking is in a garage. I was a little worried about the car, but that's the first time I've been there that I didn't automatically shell out $5-$10 just to rest my wheels.
Second wreck: I had to show my credit card at the door to receive the tickets. For some reason it wouldn't scan, so the kids, a few other people, and I had to follow a young man through a labrynth of hallways and elevators to another window. Here, we got the tickets and an usher took the kids to their seats. By luck, we were right outside their entrance. The man then took me to the waiting room. He was in a motorized wheelchair, and I was irritated when several tweenagers cut him off, forcing him to brake suddenly, as if he wasn't there. When I said this, he explained that he was used to it but it did get irritating when people stared over him or talked to his wife ("And what will he have?"), instead of to him. Worse was when people shouted at him, as if he were deaf, or addressed him like a child. He had multiple degrees, but just enjoyed working these concerts (and I imagine he's seen and met quite a few celebs). On a plus side, he did have people coming up to him and greeting him like an old friend, so I think he's been there a long time.
The third wreck, which was my own fault: when I got to the parent's room, I'd thought that "drinks provided" meant free. Nope. $2 for a can of pop, and no ATM, of course. Also of course, I'd given my money to the kids for intermission. Oh well. It was quite pleasant, with "So You Think You Can Dance", followed by FoxNews on a TV, and I had 2+ hours of reading. The bass from upstairs was shaking the room, and presumably when JB came out, there was a noise like 10 million vuvulzuelas through the walls. I think I've found the answer to all our vexing problems: simply blast the sound of thousands of squealing preteens amplified 2,000x into Pyongyang, into Tehran, and wherever. That sound will bring anyone to their knees.
Then a potential wreck that turned out to be not one! After the concert, I actually found the kids waiting right where I'd asked them to stay. They'd had a blast (first concert for both), and sometimes I don't mind trainwrecks to have memories like that. I'd been concerned about sending a couple of 12 year olds to the concert, but I was surprised to see seven and eight year olds up there sans parents.
Fourth wreck: I got in the wrong lane again exiting (that's the name of my autobiography: My Life In The Wrong Lane) and decided to get on an expressway going the "wrong" way and try to turn around. Cue my kid yelling, "Mom, you're going the wrong way!" while I followed a construction zone and finally found another expressway going back the right way! My kid didn't stop shouting at me to turn around until I pointed to our own exit and said, "Now do you know where you are?!" I knew to try to turn around was inviting futility.
I wonder how long I can keep the upcoming Jonas Brothers fete a secret.