My eyes are open

Continuing on with observations from the Coldplay excursion.  You know, because observing is my thing.  Pro Bono Publico Observer at your service.

The Butt Shaker.  I have very few actual complaints about the show.  Sure, our ears were numb (i can’t feel my ears!!!) and my 80-year old granny back was breaking and the Earth came to an abrupt halt as the multithousands of us tried to exit two doors at the same time.  All to be expected.  What Gav and I could not handle was The Butt Shaker.  Ohhh, The Butt Shaker.  Gav and I wanted to headbutt The Butt Shaker.

Directly in front of me was this blonde chick wearing a black tank top that showed off her pealing back and a short white skirt that showed off her sunburned yet surprisingly not pealing legs.  The very white skirt was easily visible at all times in the darkened venue.  And, that very white skirt shook left to right to left to right to left to right and so on and so forth throughout the entire show.  Fast song, slow song, mid-tempo song…left to right to left to right at the same accelerated frequency.  God yes, the butt shaking wasn’t even matching the rhythm of any song being played.  It was maddening.  I would look over at Gav’s clenched jaw as he roared, “Mom!  Please make It STOP!!!“  I could only clench my jaw in solidarity and mutter, “I know.“

I imagine some dude at some point in The Butt Shaker’s life complimented her wiggle, “It is so cute/sexy/adorable/hawt/a turn on/mesmerizing/hypnotizing the way you shake your butt side to side like a rhythmless two-year old just discovering she has hips.” Dude, you are such a liar.  I hope It was worth it.

The other annoyance that got our cranky goat was all the flippin’ Public Displays of Affection.  PDA out the MFA.  Go ahead, give me the tsk tsk for criticizing the hand-holders/back-rubbers/face-lickers of the world.  I’m sorry but it grosses me out.  I might be persuaded to hand-hold if I were in a hubba-hubba relationship (which i never am), but I seriously doubt I could ever be cajoled into public tonguing.  Ugh, and all the fleshy massaging.  ::shudder::  The horrors.  The creepy crawling hands across mounds of flesh horrors.  (no, i don’t have issues; why do u ask?)

Now that I’ve shook that out of my system…

The three-hour drive home after the show was the only thing I kinda sorta worried about.  I kinda sorta worried about it to the extent of dreaming that Gav and I were sleeping side-by-side on the side of the road the night before.  And, I kinda sorta like an idiot told Gav about the dream but kept emphasizing, “We were SLEEPING, not DEAD! We could wake up anytime we wanted.” Seriously, we were just sleeping.  The two of us. On the side of an interstate somewhere.

So, despite having an arsenal of Family Guy dvds to watch or big comfy seat to snooze away the drive, Gav insisted on seeing my open eyes all 200 miles.  His eyes were very wide open the duration of the trip.  I was the drowsy one fiddling with a digital camera while doing 70 mph along the interstate.  Sleeeeeeeep, come to me on the side of the road.

The better to see you with, my dear.

Gav had a few Keep Mom Awake tactics up his sleeve.  There was the constantly looking at me for one.  I know that was simply paranoia on his part, so let’s watch her and make sure we don’t end up asleep on the side of the road.  I could feel him staring at me.

What?  What are you looking at?

Just making sure you’re not falling asleep.  You’re not asleep, are you?

Well, I’m talking to you, aren’t I?

Yeh, but are your eyes open?

An actual planned tactic of his – see that iTouch there in his hand?  Being the King of iTouch applications, he has any and every free app you can imagine.  Yo Mama, Bikini Clock (gav constantly checked the time), Dog Whistler (a lot of unhappy dogs along I-65), Urinal Test (i never got the chance to see what stance i would assume at the urinal, me and my imaginary johnson),That’s What She Said (which is just that, some dude saying, “that’s what she said”…gav was constantly weaving the conversation so i’d say something like “i only got my hands on one ball” re: the bouncing balls during “yellow” at which point i’d hear his iTouch quip, “that’s what she said”).   There was the matchmaker app that predicted a high success rate of Prince and myself working out as a couple.  (hella yes!)  And, Gav’s prized Keep Mom Awake app?  Shotgun.  You simulate cocking and firing a shotgun.  He would quietly prepare the “shotgun” while I was caught up in some song and than CRACK!  Off goes the shotgun in my right ear.

Gav!  We’re going to “sleep” on the side of the road NOT because I fell asleep at the wheel but because you startled the SHIT out of me with your shotgun app!

Are your eyes open?

My tactic to stay awake?  Singing along to my vagina music.  (whoa! was that a typo?) (no)  I have a mix CD of songs I refer to as my vagina music.  It’s all girly, you know. Girly like a vagina.  I warned Gav that he might want to crank his iTouch and listen to his own music for a while,

You know, Gav, you’ll grow a vagina by the time we reach Birmingham if you continue listening to my music.

Because I’m fairly certain he’s satisfied with the random male gender he was assigned in utero, he would periodically sing OVER my vagina music with his own I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers.

Gav knows every single word.  Even words he didn’t understand.  Haver – Scottish speak for babbling on.  I do quite a bit of havering around here, eh?

I was having another Conway Twitty moment.  How the heck does he know these lyrics from 1988?  When was he introduced to The Proclaimers?

Oh, The Proclaimers were on Family Guy singing with Peter Griffin.

Oh.

Enough of my havering for one day.  Know I’ll enjoy my vagina music later as I sleep not on the side of the road but in my own bed free of Butt Shakers and shotguns.  (that’s what she said)