Dreams, Music

Promises, Promises (Part 1)

I know, I know…I promised myself that I would write more regularly.

So here goes –

It’s been a helluva couple of weeks here in my world. I have figured out that I am:

  1. Too old to attend Dave Matthews Band concerts, especially the lawn;
  2. Still too fat to comfortably navigate that trek in humid Texas summer weather;
  3. Not too proud to shove my drunk-ass son in an Uber, risking $300 if he pukes, just to escape the venue and 10,000 of my closest, personal friends;
  4. Never leaving home without my gun ever again.

In my quest to fulfill my promise to my three kids, I bought the tickets. I left The Warehouse (DMB fan club for the un-initiated) years ago so my hope for getting anything within the cover of the amphitheater was slim-to-none, not to mention price prohibitive. So I figured GA Lawn would be fine. It always looked like folks were having fun out there, so what the hell. I also sprung for the lawn chair rentals because who wants to put up with that? Naturally I assumed we would take cabs to and from the venue, because who wants to put up with traffic and parking? Besides, my brother and I had done that the last few times we went and it worked out fine. I booked us at a downtown hotel so as to shorten the distance we had to travel and thought we were set.

That was 8 years ago. EIGHT. The world is a much different place now.  First of all, the traffic patterns in Dallas must change as often as I change underwear, because my Jeep’s navigation couldn’t get me to that hotel on the first or second tries. It took my daughter and her cell phone to help me navigate our way there. Got there to find ZERO parks. Okay, it’s downtown and I know those are limited, but none? Oh there were parks, handicapped and plenty of them. WTF people? I picked what I felt was the least of all evils, a loading zone, and left the kids in the car with the keys and instructions to drive around the block if the cops show up. #momoftheyear #relax #theyareadults

I ran in to check in and check on the valet parking situation. Dude was like whoa you parked in a loading zone??? I rolled my eyes – yes, dude, that’s all there was! So we grabbed everything and I told him to take care of my baby (c’mon, it’s a $40,000 vehicle…don’t act like you wouldn’t say that if it were yours!). We took our stuff to the room and started searching for cabs. When I went to Atlanta last year for training, I had no trouble lining up a cab at the airport using a Yellow Cab app. Dallas was like, girl this ain’t Atlanta. Welcome to Uber-ville.

Uber skeezes me out. Yes I know you have an app, can track your driver, know their name and car and such. But it’s still someone’s personal vehicle. At least in a cab they work for someone who can physically be seen and spoken to. I don’t know, it’s just odd. So I set up my profile on the app and Razeem says he will be right there to pick us up. $7.41…not bad.

Those bad kids made me sit in the front, and I had to make small talk. Ugh. Well, turns out, Razeem didn’t quite know his way around downtown and matter of fact, ran a red light. Blatantly.  I was like okay, that happens, no big deal. He got us to the venue, unscathed, but dropped us off in the middle of South Fitzhugh street. Literally. Didn’t drive up into the venue or anything. This is South Dallas – Fair Park to be exact. Thank God it was still daylight.

This is the digital age, so no physical tickets. I sent each of them their tickets and my daughter and I went to the bag line while the guys went through the bag-less line. I gave them each a $20 and said knock yourselves out. Well, one beer did that immediately for the guys. What the fresh hell is going on here??? I realize that venue concessions are high, but DAMN!

I bought their concert t-shirts, because again, promises. Those damn things were $40 EACH. Sheesh….and then there was my daughter. Takes after her Daddy. Bless her. She was hangry as hell and needed food. So she goes to the window and places her order. “Ummm, yeah, let me get some pulled pork nachos, a pretzel with cheese sauce, and that refillable Dr. Pepper.” Next thing I hear is “MOOOOOOM!” I’m over trying to juggle chair rentals and all the shirts and shit, but I go see what’s up. “I need another $8!” What.the.hell.  My well-planned cash supply is quickly dwindling, and I was not really keen on using one of the oh-so-convenient ATMs they had strategically placed throughout the venue.

Here’s a shot before reality totally slapped me in the face…IMG_2934

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