When Suburban Moms Go to Concerts This is What Happens

“Look how white my legs are,” I said to Dave. I was getting dressed for a Jake Owen concert on the beach -the Coastal Country Jam- and I’d put shorts on for the first time this year. It felt like summer outside, but my legs are nowhere near summer ready.

“You’re going to a country show. You will definitely not be the whitest person there. That’s the last thing you have to worry about,” he told me.

My husband’s funny.

Usually when I go to the beach I put on board shorts and a tank top over a bikini (I don’t know why – it’s not like any part of me except my feet is going in the water), pull my dirty hair into a ponytail and throw on a hat. But this was a concert. I wanted to look cute. So even though it was at the beach I put on make-up and ran my dirty hair through a flat iron, hoping it would hold off the frizz the humid beach air likes to gift upon me for a little while. I was bringing a hat, but if I chose to put it on my bangs would be smashed and my hair would be under the hat for the rest of the day.

“Okay, look how old and jiggly my legs are,” I said.

“I’ve got to go outside and play with the dog,” he responded.

My husband is also smart.

I then had the following text exchange with my girlfriend:

I decided to go with the shorts. I definitely need more time at the gym (which is impossible right now because my plantar fasciitis is flaring up), but my legs are not going to get tan under leggings.

I put the leggings in my beach bag along with my favorite jacket from Costco and pushed aside the memory of Marley telling me I looked like a suburban mom going to the gym when I wore the same jacket/legging combo last week. It really shouldn’t matter what I wear to a concert on the beach. I’m 50 (alright, 51, whatever). Who cares? It’s not like I’m hanging out backstage with the band. It’s just… when I’m at a concert I feel young and free which is harder to do when you’re dressed like a suburban mom.

Kirkland Signature Ladies Active Jacket
How to Look Like a Suburban Mom 101 (also, I don’t know why Costco cut off this poor woman’s head)

When I got to my girlfriend’s she was wearing leggings. And of course she looked cute. Not like a suburban mom at all. (Maybe because she isn’t one.) I decided to change into mine. Fuck it. Be comfortable. I reminded myself nobody cares what I’m wearing.

When we got to the beach it was actually kind of hot so we changed into our shorts in the car. As we walked into the show I saw a guy on his cellphone who looked exactly like Jake Owen. As we passed him, I mentioned it to Simmah. She said she didn’t see him. She’s the one who really loves Jake Owen, so if it was him she would have noticed. Plus that’s crazy – he wouldn’t be in the parking lot at his own show.

We’d picked up lunch on the way, but since there was no outside food or drink allowed, we sat outside the entrance to finish our sodas (or rather the Costco trailer trash margaritas we’d poured into our soda cups).

Kirkland-pre-made-margarita
One bottle of Costco pre-made margaritas costs less than one overpriced under-poured concert cocktail. It’s my friends’ and my go-to drink of choice.

As we were sitting there the dude I saw on the phone walked onto the tour bus.

Do you understand what just happened? It was Jake Owen.

So, not only did I have a chance of getting a selfie with Jake Owen at his own concert in the parking lot, I had a chance to get a selfie with Jake Owen at his own concert in the parking lot before my hair frizzed and I started piling on the mom clothes and still looked cute. But I blew it. I suck.

We went into the show. There was a huge stage with an open pit to stand in with a designated area for beach chairs behind it. In the back there were vendors, a smaller covered stage, and a mechanical bull riding pen. We set down our chairs, settled in for the day. I felt a little sorry for Jake hiding on that tour bus all day. The weather was perfect. The people watching was prime, so I took in the fashion show. Perfect-bodied twenty-somethings in thong bikinis. Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots (yes, cowboy boots – on the beach). Cute little rompers. (Who wears a romper to a nine hour show when your only bathroom option is an outhouse?)

Then, I saw these shoes.

inappropriate shoes
Seriously, WTF? Who wears shoes like this to the beach? I understand it’s a concert. But, HELLO! Beach!

Did they know where they were going? A concert, yes, but we were on the beach! That was when I laughed at myself. Who cares what I was wearing? The weather was beautiful, the music was great, I was spending the day with one of my best friends and we had a day drinking margarita buzz. Everything was perfect.

Around 6:00 it started to cool down. We changed back into our leggings. (Yes, in the outhouses, which were plentiful and surprisingly not that gross.) I put on my mom jacket. I even traded my flip flops for tennis shoes because my foot was flaring up again. You know what? I didn’t care.

We headed over to the pit before Jake took the stage. (And really, when you’re smashed in with all those people nobody can see what you’re wearing anyway.) When Jake took the stage I sang along.

“Never gonna grow up (Whoa-oh)
Never gonna slow down (Whoa-oh)
We were shinin’ like lighters in the dark
In the middle of a rock show (Whoa-oh)”

Oh yes. Yes, I was.

Expressing Motherhood

My typical Sunday goes a little something like this:

My alarm goes off at 5:00 (yes even on Sunday), but I probably stayed up late on Saturday night – you know, until 10:00 or 10:30 and most likely had a good bit of wine, so I decide to be nice to myself and sleep in until 6:00. I get up, have some coffee, attempt to write my Monday blog post, hit a mental block and end up cruising Facebook or Pinterest instead. At 7:15 I realize I still have to walk the dog and get ready to run at 8:00 and curse myself for wasting so much time and not getting up at 5:00 (though if I had I probably would have just wasted even more time on Facebook and Pinterest.)

At 8:00 I meet my run club and suffer through 25-50 minutes of torture train for my 10K. Then my running friends and I go have coffee. After coffee it’s home to laundry, house cleaning, pulling my wardrobe for the week, grocery shopping (I usually hit at least two stores), and meal prep for the week (when you work 9-6 you’ve got to have a meal plan and at least a few things pre-made) . Sunday is always my busiest and most hectic day. I always aspire to take a nap. It never happens.

Busy-day-collage
Sunday Funday

But yesterday was different. Instead of wardrobe and meal planning and laundry and shopping I ditched suburbia and headed out to Hollywood for a field trip with some of my friends from my writers’ group to see our friend Kim Tracy Prince perform in a show called Expressing Motherhood at the Lillian Theater. Sure, we have no vegetables in the house, we’ll be dining on grilled cheese all week, and I’ll be running around like a chicken with my head cut off in the mornings, having no idea what I’m going to wear. I’m pretty sure we’ll survive. Besides, I deserve a day out with my girlfriends, dammit!

Expressing Motherhood is a show where 12 women get up and perform monologues they have written about motherhood. Some of them (like Kim’s) are hysterically funny, some are incredibly poignant, and a few of them are just gut wrenching. All of them are fabulous. I do wish Kim had advised me to bring Kleenex and wear waterproof mascara (that would have been helpful)! I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed this show.

writer's-group
Suburban moms going rogue

The good news for you is there are 4 more Expressing Motherhood shows next weekend. (2/14 at 7:00, 2/15 at 7:00, and 2/16 at 2:00 & 7:00) If you live in the Los Angeles area, I strongly suggest you ditch your usual weekend routine and head out to the show. I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but listening to a 64-year-old woman talking about the rebirth of her vagina is truly one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. And listening to another woman talk about her son’s cleft palate – one of the most heartbreaking.

Tickets are $25 online (buy them here) and $30 at the door. They sell wine and AWESOME lard-free chicken tamales that you can actually bring with you into the theater instead scarfing down quickly in the lobby like at most theaters.

Expressing-Motherhood
Be good to yourself – go see this show!

I highly encourage you to grab some girlfriends, get out of your suburban rut, and go see the show. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll drink some wine, maybe eat a tamale. You might not have any vegetables in the house or your work wardrobe planned, but you’ll have a great time. And you deserve that don’t you? (The answer is yes, you do!)

P.S. This is NOT a sponsored post. I paid to see this show and would do it again. It really is so fantastic!

*Expressing Motherhood photo “borrowed” from Expressing Motherhood Facebook page  – thank you, ladies!

I Thought I was the Worst Twerk Fail EVER

By now everyone has seen the “Worst Twerk Fail EVER – Girl Catches Fire!” video. (And if you haven’t – where ya  been? Camping in the wilderness with no WiFi or cell service? What’s wrong with you?)

Here it is in case you missed it:

And you also probably know that it’s fake (though I admit, it fooled me) via the ever so awesome Jimmy Kimmel Show.

I think it’s hilarious, but I’m bummed that it’s fake. I felt badly for the girl when I saw it, but I was a little bit happy that someone had an even bigger twerking fail than me. (And of course Miley.)

Yeah, you heard me right, I myself have had a twerking fail. And I think it’s time to come clean…

A few weeks ago the four of us were watching America’s Got Talent and Robin Thicke was on singing “Blurred Lines.” That song is a current guilty pleasure of mine, but Dave and the kids are not fans. And since I know they all hate it, I got up and danced in front of the TV. I waved my hands in the air and sang along. I was having a good ol’ time. (No, I wasn’t drunk, just obnoxious.)

Marley said, “Hey Mom, let’s see you twerk.”

“What’s twerk?” I asked.

Yeah, I’m obnoxious mom, but apparently not pop-culture-savvy mom.  (This was a few weeks before the Miley Cirus twerk fail.)

“Oh my god, Mom. You don’t know what twerking is?” Marley asked me, unable to believe her my-mom-is-so-lame teenage ears.

She took me straight to YouTube and showed me this:

I watched the video very closely then squatted down, stuck out my butt (which even with my recent weight loss seems to be the perfect size for twerking) and then I thrust my hips. And almost threw my back out.

It seems these old hips do not move that way. I spent the rest of the night rolling on my foam roller.

Thank god there was no video. I mean, I wouldn’t put it past Marley to post it. Of course if she did, I’m pretty sure it would have gone viral.

Worst Twerk Fail EVER – Suburban Mom Throws Her Back Out!!!  That fake girl on fire wouldn’t have stood a chance against me.