Unless you’re in a car that’s stuck in traffic on your way to the Green Day concert and your friend (yes, it was me) kept clanging the cowbell when pedestrians went by. That’s when there is too much cowbell and there is a danger of getting said cowbell thrown out the window or stuffed up your… ve-jay.
I was just excited. I was seeing my boyfriend up there on that stage, eye make-up done to perfection and his cute little butt (and I mean little) stuffed into some skinny black jeans, dancing around, jumping off of stage sets and looking fierce. It’s just too bad he’s so busy with his Green Day band mates that our relationship almost seems non-existent. At least the restraining order proves we have some contact, well outside of 500 ft., that is.
I was just excited. I was seeing my boyfriend up there on that stage, eye make-up done to perfection and his cute little butt (and I mean little) stuffed into some skinny black jeans, dancing around, jumping off of stage sets and looking fierce. It’s just too bad he’s so busy with his Green Day band mates that our relationship almost seems non-existent. At least the restraining order proves we have some contact, well outside of 500 ft., that is.
Over two hours of non-stop action later, including a humping scene on the stage that left me breathless, and we were on the move – navigating through the crowds at Hamilton’s Copps Coliseum – and the cowbell was in service once more. I don’t like crowds, I really don’t, and unless you want a fist upside the head you will not cut me off and step on my toes in the process. Breath on me and I’ll bring out the uzi.
So the cowbell did the job, without the blood letting. Which is a good thing. Sometimes. Sometimes you want there to be blood, just a little, so your point of moving the hell out of the way is brought home. Nothing brings it home like a contusion.
Despite the restraining order and with the help of a borrowed set of binoculars, I am a happy girl. Not Mrs. Billie Joe Armstrong-happy, but it will have to do. I sure hope the man isn’t reading this… it’s you I love Mon Petit Chou Chou (which means, my little cabbage in French btw). Billie Joe and I are just a passing fancy. I fancy him and he passes on me. It’s okay, I’ve come to terms with it.
The cowbell now has a permanent spot in my oversized purse, just for crowd situations like the one we experienced last night. It’s also good for serving notice to pick-up drivers talking on the cell phone while smoking a cigarette and driving on Hwy. 403 going into Hamilton. For that, bucko? Cowbell.
A real cowbell?! Ha! You're hysterical.
ReplyDeleteI like Green Day's music. Glad you had a good time and witnessed a humping sesion on stage.
Akilah,
ReplyDeleteI picked up the cowbell at a promotional products trade fair I attended. I didn't know what I'd use it for but thought it was cool. No blood on the streets. Cowbell.
That is too funny!
ReplyDelete