Yesterday, Jerry and I hosted our Birthday Beach Bash on the Ft Lauderdale beach with our friends. It rocked. The weather was perfect, we secured a great spot, we grilled up some delicious burgers and brats, we swam in the frigid ocean, we played Bocce Ball, and we relaxed in our beach chairs with a few cold beers. Glorious.
As a gift, one of our friends gave Jerry and I two tickets to the Bon Jovi concert (don't get too excited about us having affluent friends -- they were $5 tickets; it was very cool but I don't want Blog homies thinking I roll with big $ friends). So, we left the beach around 3 pm, got home, showered, played with Scooter, ate dinner, and were heading back out the door at 5:30 to meet up with everyone else for a pre-concert happy hour.
At 7:30, we mosied on over to the concert to find two surprising things:
A. Apparently Bon Jovi is still a big deal. I seriously had no idea. I like Bon Jovi, but really only know the early stuff; now that they're quasi-country, I don't listen to them anymore, but apparently, a lot of people do. So the parking lot was packed!
B. Everyone was OUTSIDE the arena. Not in it. So, as we're walking toward the doors, we're informed that there had been a "bomb threat, and the place isn't gonna re-open until 9:30." Seriously? A bomb threat? Someone wants to bomb Bon Jovi? Why? He's cut his hair.
So, instead of heading into the arena, we headed across the street to a bar to get a few more beers (hey, inside the arena, beer is like, $8 a glass, so the more we can drink outside of there, the better). All the bars in the area were packed (they were probably the ones who called in the bomb threat -- all that business was the best thing that could've happened to them!), so we settled into one of the least crowded joints and enjoyed their happy hour specials that they extended for the concert crowd. If there's anything sweeter than coming across a stash of $5 concert tickets, it's coming across 2-4-1 drinks at 7:30 on a Saturday!
I have no pictures because as we were leaving the house I remarked to Jerry: "Should I bring the camera along?" And he said: "No, it's just one more thing for me to carry, and besides, it's Bon Jovi, do we need pictures of that?"
Damn him. Damn him to hell. Because the entire evening was the perfect picture-taking event! At the bar, people kept putting in Bon Jovi songs on the Jukebox, and we heard the entire bar singing the classics: "Shot Through the Heart," "Livin' on a Prayer," "Dead or Alive," and "Blaze of Glory." And that bar was rowdy! After we left, we made a pit stop for a case of Busch light (yeah, that's how we roll), and headed across to the arena. Thankfully, we purchased that case, because we ended up standing in line to get inside for approximately 35 minutes, and you wouldn't want us to be thirsty, would ya?
By the time we actually got inside, got to our seats, and Bon Jovi started (we missed the opening act, Daughtry, because of the long security line to get in the building), it was 10:30, we were all pretty buzzed, and we were, ultimately, pretty tuckered out. So, we decided to cut ourselves off the beer, buy some waters, and sit back for Bon Jovi. Which, I gotta say, was a pretty good show. I mean, I wouldn't pay good money for it, mostly because they don't play much that I like or know anymore (although, they did do the standards that everyone knows and loves), but they do know how to put on a show.
Granted, I was distracted by the fact that Jon Bon Jovi's shirt kept progressively getting unbuttoned, and his crooning to the ladies in the front row who were pawing at him seemed very dated, and Richie Sambora was wearing a really unfortunate pair of pants; and yes, aspects of the show seems so polished and so rehearsed that it felt more like a televised event than an arena concert, but ultimately, I have to give them credit where it's due: It was an impressive show. But by midnight, Jerry and I were spent. We'd been in the sun all day, we'd been drinking all day, and well, we were done. So we didn't stay for the end of the show, and we hit the road. It was a grand time, but I wasn't gonna stick around and wait for Richie Sambora to sign my boobs.
Maybe another time.