I've been sitting on tickets to see John Prine in concert for months. I got a sitter. I got dolled up. And I got dissapointed. Here is a list of things I did not post to Twitter about the concert:
OMG. I am too tired to go out. Whose bright idea was it to buy these concert tickets?
I have assembled the perfect outfit. High heel boots, with nude fishnets, skirt, T-shirt & suede jacket.
I need a shot of espresso with a redbull chaser.
F! It's really cold.
Finally at the Warfield. Remember me, old music venue?
Who are all these old people?
Who is this warm-up act?
Who is that guy?
Damn, my feet hurt.
$10 for a cocktail?
Why is everyone sitting? Oh right, the median age is 50+.
There is a huge hole in my stockings and it could be somewhat obscene. I hope I don't end up exposing myself.
The guy next to me keeps yelling, "Space Monkey". Over and over and over.
All this fun AND $10 an hour for the sitter.
What if I fall down the stairs and my skirt flies up and everyone sees my ripped up hosiery? Focus on the clean underwear. Please.
Why do I wear heels?
Going for to the restroom for entertainment. Sure sign of a bad show.
Can I go home now?
My husband is such a good sport for putting up with & indulging my singer/songwriter fascination.
When I get home, I am so putting on sneakers to walk the babysitter out.
When I get home, I am so throwing these hose in the trash.
I bet bartenders have to contend with some stinky breath. Especially when everyone in the audience has gray hair.
Look, Mister. There is a set list and I'm pretty sure he's not going to stray from it.
Ohhhhh. Encore. There setting up an extra mic! I hope it's a duet!
Oh - no, just bringing out the warm-up guy again.
Yay! Time to go home. Just have to hobble to the parking lot.
Well, that was fun. Just not as much as I had anticipated. Okay, maybe fun is an overstatement. I got out of the house. Whoot.