Old Balls.

As you probably already know, I went to see Blink 182 a little while ago and even though I was initially school-girl excited about the whole experience, it definitely didn’t end up being as stellar as I had originally hoped.

For the weeks leading up to the show, me and my friend would sit on the phone or email whilst at work and talk about how excited we were to re-live all our pre-teen fantasies. Instead, when we actually arrived at the show it just reminded us that we’re old balls. And that going to "punk rock" shows is difficult and exhausting. Especially on a week-night.

The second we got there we realized we’d made a terrible mistake by purchasing floor tickets. Seriously though, who did we think we were!? 16-year-olds with stamina?! No. We don’t like standing, nor do we appreciate being jammed into a massive clusterfuck of perspiring yougins jumping up and down. In the day that might’ve been considered “fun,” but my definition of said word has changed drastically. Now, “fun” is a bag of Hawkins Cheezies and an episode of 30 rock.

Anyways, we decided it would be best to abandon our tickets and see if we could find us some seats so we could comfortably enjoy the show from a safe distance.

The beginning of the night sounded a little like this:

"My back really hurts."
“I'm tired.”
“Work was really stressful today.”
“I don't think I want to be surrounded by sweaty pop punkers that are undoubtedly going to jump up and down for the entire show. I just don't have the stamina like I used to.”
“Me neither.”
“Should we try and find some naive under age fan that is desperately wanting to experience what it's like to be in a mosh pit and then suggest that they pay us an increased ticket price in exchange for their tickets?”
"Yes. Yes we should. Then I can sit and enjoy a malt and watch all the crazy floor people steadily acquire other peoples sweat whilst jumping franticly."
"This plan is excellent."

Luckily, we stumbled upon a couple of innocent looking boys with club seats just dying for their chance to partake in the pop-punk front line action. We suggested that they give us a bit of money for the trade of the tickets, but when they hesitated we figured that a comfortable seat is enough compensation. We handed them over the tickets and watched their small eyes light up with the kind of excitement that only a first-time mosh pit experience can bring.

At that moment I sighed a bit internally and wished that I hadn’t turned into a business-casual-wearing, in-bed-at-9 working woman - but I figure this is just one of those moments in life where you realize that you just need to move on, because some things are only meant to be enjoyed when you’re 16. This is with the exclusion of teen-movies and television dramas. They may be made for 16 year olds, but they are meant to be enjoyed by any age. Don't let anyone tell you differently.

Regardless, the show was still fun; I danced a little in my seat, ate a large vanilla/chocolate swirl malt and judged people. Now that's my idea of a good time!