I Smell Like Beer. . . .

OK, not still.  But it was a completely appropriate title for this blog.  Here's why:

My rockin' husband surprised me with tickets to go see Tim McGraw and Lady A in concert at USANA.  I was beyond elated, partly because of Tim and Lady A, partly because I loved the venue but mostly because it was a rockin' surprise and I never get surprised.  So. . . excited I was. (that's my inner Yoda coming out).

We made our way to USANA last night and parked our blanket somewhere near the back.  As at most country concerts at USANA, the place was packed, wall-to-wall so we were confident that sitting near the top would lead to a speedy exit.  Little did I know how true that very statement would become.

It was blazing hot and Trev and I decided that one set of $4 drinks would have to due for the night so we were baking like toasted cheesers right about the time that Lady A took the stage.  So far, the concert was rocking. . . except for this quite loud groups of 20 somethings that were standing over us and comparing tattoos and drunken escapades for about 25 min.  It happens though, right?  Right.

Just as Tim took the stage in his trademarked white tank and jeans and the sun was setting behind us so the temp was cooling off, a storm blew in and she was about 5'2".

I saw a "dude" (you now officially know what he looked like, right?  The pic in your head is accurate.  Just go with it.) approaching quickly from down the slope of blankets.  He was carrying what else but two over sized beer cans.  Let's pause for a minute and reflect.  I wasn't looking for trouble.  I wasn't scoping out the drunkest people (like I normally do) and waiting for a fight.  Trev and I had just relieved ourselves of the "Tattooed Teens" group so we were feeling pretty good about life.  You see what I'm saying?  Minding our own business.  OK, back to the story.

So as the "dude" approaches, I see a hand grab his bicep. . . a little hand.  The little hand is attached to a little arm and then a little body of a girl that you would swear is not a day over 16 except for the two beers that she is also carrying (maybe she was 16 and had a killer fake id?  Who am I to judge?) and the words that are coming out of her mouth.  I didn't even know that those words existed until 9th grade and I would not have had the prowess to put them together in that order at such a young age.  I would like to think that my writing has improved enough of the years that I could now be that creative in my wordsmithing if I chose to but this is not the time or the place.  My mom read this for crying out loud!

As they proceed to "chat" aka yell at each other, I leaned over to Trev and distinctly remember saying, "Um, they are fighting.  This is not good."  Over the next couple minutes, the happy couple "chats" some more, he grabs her arm, she slaps his.  I figure this is all about ready to die down so I turn my attention back to the star of the night, Tim McGraw!

Well, it seems as though I should have kept paying attention to Heidi and Spencer, er, I mean the happy couple because just as I am settling into Tim's show, all heck brakes loose and we found ourselves in the middle of World War III.  It was like slow motion.  The girl cocked her arm back (the one with the beer cup) and went swinging at the guys face.  To her credit, she really missed bad. . . like an epic fail.  I don't know how she managed to miss him completely but hit the girl in the glasses three feet away right square in the chops with her alcohol while simultaneously soaking about 5 other people near them.  A can of beer comes flying the other direction (I think originally intended for the guy's head), another miss!  Man, this girl is horrible.  More beer on the unsuspecting victims.  Did I mention that two of those victims were Trev and I?  Oh, I missed that?  I SMELL LIKE BEER!  Now you see why my title is appropriate, yes?

So, there we stand, soaked in beer.  The "dude" gives the love of his life a gentle shove backwards and storms the rest of the way up the hill.  I had about four seconds to talk myself out of jumping on his back, pouncing like a wild animal, and bringing him to the floor so that the soaking wet masses could take care of him.  I realize writing this now that I maybe watch a little bit too much Discovery Channel.  I am a lioness. . .

Clearly, we're all a bit flustered.  I smell like I've been drinking but without the side effects.  And from what I've read, the smell is the worst part!  Great, my first beer experience and it's in my hair and on my shirt and all I get is a whiff.  (Total sarcasm here, people.  Jokes, jokes.)  Everyone is looking around, wondering who to kill.  Wonder boy has made a swift exit out of the amphitheatre and his underage counterpart is making her way up the hill.  She looks a tad distressed and all I can muster to say to her is "Are you OK, Hun?" to which she so politely replies "Where did he go?!"

Inner monologue at this very moment: "Really?  You care where he went?  He just pushed you and you guys just dumped beer over everyone.  The ONLY words out of your mouth should be "I'm sorry that my abusive boyfriend pushed me over the edge and I got you all wet."  But no.  You ask me where he is?  You're grounded young lady!" 

Just as I'm about ready to tell the girl that I hope her KISA (that's knight in shining armor for future references) walked off the edge of a cliff, I muster a smidge of calmness and in my best "please take this for what it is, a giant blessing" tone, I say "Um, he left."  I really, sincerely hope that the next words out of her mouth are "Good."  but clearly, that's too much to ask for.  Instead, the little snot yells in my face "I'm FIIIIINE!"

Yup.  That about sums it up.  She goes after her boyfriend (probably because she can't drive yet) and we are left wondering what in the heck went on.  Trev is, um, not happy.  Did I mention that this was his first big concert?  Yeah. . . there go my plans for concert hoping next summer.  He's mad, I'm wet and confused.  At this point, I don't know what Tim is singing about so we decided to leave.

Before we pack up our beer-drenched blanket, Skipper comes back in and stops right next to me.  I think "OK.  Here we go. She has her senses back about her and I'm about to get an apology."  Why do I keep hoing for things?  A million dollars.  World peace.  A chance on Name That Tune.  WHY???  My chances for this apology to actually happen are about as good as me replacing Drew Carrey as the host of The Price is Right.  In true fashion, the girl stares at me for four awkward seconds, turns and walks off.

At this point I"m perplexed.  Was she looking at me and contemplating if she wanted to fight with the girl that checked on her after her "bf" shoved her. . . because let's get this straight right now: if she would have started to fight me, I would have eaten her for breakfast.  And I'm not kidding.  I really think that I've had pieces of steak larger than she is.

The other side of me wonders if she was thinking about apologizing - I'm hoping she was.  And that even though she didn't talk, she was trying to tell me "thanks" without other people seeing her weakness.  Who knows what motivates people to do such a thing?  Pride? Anger?  Probably a fierce combination of the two.

Either way, it was time to depart.  Adieu Tim and the Dancehall Doctors.  Maybe we'll have another sunset.  But as for last night, we quit things quite early so that we could go home, lick our wounds and make sure I didn't smell like beer.