It’s Grup, Not Grub

That’s actual size, but I seem much bigger to me.  

Since our previous episode, I’ve written 5,000 words (61,000 so far, another 30,000 to go), fretted while Katie-Sue was de-biled, I’ve read 10 books, bought some stilletto heeled boots, and shelled out hu-gombous bucks to see The Police. STING, Come to Greece! Oh Illious “Lou” Zontirous, where are you now?

Sorry. My past just slapped me in the face like a pair of Greek man-titties. Only one person out there understands, Lou notwithstanding, and she don’t read this LJ. She should. She lived the experience with me.

So, five hundred smackers to see Stewart, Andy and Gordon. Glenn Tilbrook tix cost a mere $20, plus cover, with a dream-fulflilling fantasy tossed in for free! Will I be as successful with my front row seats only grup money could buy? Do I actually have a sing with Sting fantasy? 

Well, No. 

But damn you know I’m going to crowd surf, jump into the mosh pit, and dance my non-existent ass off when they do Next To You, which they better do.

Ok, so why the $500? Well, three reasons. First, I had no choice. It’s a frickin’ stadium show. I wasn’t going to pay $150 for seats where I had to look at a giant LCD screen. I had to be in the fray, down where I could SEE. Not that I’ll be able to see over the sea of heads, but I’ll be close enough my nose won’t bleed due to the extreme height of a cruddy seat. 

Second, concert tix in this wide brown land cost an arm and a leg, plus indeminty insurance and air fare.

Third, It’s The Police. It’s grupdom, it’s what a childless couple with a white couch and no children DO. Needless to say, after that gruppy wad o’ dough, we’re going to miss the Cure, Snow Partol and The Killers.

I miss you KHWP. Wish you were here to see them with me.

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