Green Day Concerts and Facebook Likes

Billie Joe Armstrong (St. Jimmy)

Billie Joe Armstrong (St. Jimmy)

Over the weekend my wife and I took a one-night trip to West Palm Beach to take in a Green Day concert and get one night of uninterrupted sleep. As we were walking into the amphitheater, I couldn't help but notice that I was the only one who had printed my tickets on card stock. Pretty embarrassing for everyone else. As it turns out, though, while card stock is undeniably classy, it is a bit hard to fold up and store after entry. Luckily, my shirt had a handy breast pocket that was perfect for the job!

The concert rocked, of course, because they are amazing. And by they, I actually mean we. Don’t get me wrong, Green Day are the best, but the guy five seats to my left and I put on a truly amazing performance. Yes, we brought the energy to section 8, row F. We were pretty much the fourth and fifth members of the band. From Know Your Enemy to open the set all the way through to Good Riddance twenty-five songs later, we didn’t let up. That we maintained enough poise and energy to deliver on an emotional rendition of 21 Guns after more than two hours bouncing, dancing, wiping sweat from our brows with our handkerchiefs, “hey-oh”-ing, hand waving, fist pumping, holding up our hands with pinky and index finger extended for some reason, and singing our hearts out in 90-degree heat was nothing short of awe inspiring. Man, I definitely would have given that guy a big high five if giving high fives was the type of thing I ever did.

21 Guns acoustic: Guy 5 seats down and I SLAYED on this one!

Needless to say, I was pretty drained after the show. I slept like a log. So, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up to find that my little Facebook page had zoomed past 500 likes! Luckily, I was able to recover from the shock in time to drive home and reunite with my kids. My voice was wrecked though. I definitely left it all out there in row F. Worth it. I thought the car ride was going to be a quiet one, but my wife was relieved when I discovered that, while my regular singing voice was completely gone, my upper register and falsetto were still intact! You wouldn’t believe the rendition of Standing Still by Jewel I delivered while driving down I-95. Goosebump-inducing was a phrase that was bandied about (by me…in my head).

Thanks again to Meredith at That’s Inappropriate for sharing my carrots for lunch post and introducing so many of you to my page and blog. And welcome to all the new comers. I’m so glad you’re here. After Green Day concerts, there’s nothing I love more than a big online party (which is ironic because there’s nothing I hate more than a real-life party).

A short introduction for those who are new. I’m a dad of three kids ages five and under, a husband of one, and a writer from the Orlando, Florida area. I typically write comedy, parenting, and other random things and I use this page to share my work. And I also post memes and pictures, too. So, don’t worry, there are things that people actually like. If you like what you see, please feel free to share with your friends and invite them to join us. (If they’re nice, that is. No meanies or people who don’t understand what jokes are. My feelings get hurt very easily).

Anyway, while we’re talking about Green Day, here’s an excerpt from a chapter from my book (shameless plug!). Hopefully you'll understand what's going on better than my 3-year-old did when I showed him this video from the concert. I recorded this snippet from Jesus of Suburbia because it's his favorite part to sing along to in the car. But when I played the video for him, he was like, "They're saying 'I don't care.' Why are they saying that?" Sigh. You can't win with kids.


No Pride: There is a list of about 127 character traits I need to get me through each day as a parent. Pride is definitely not on that list.

Basket Case: Duh.

Boulevard of Broken Dreams: The street on which my 3-year-old permanently resides because I am always doing unforgivable stuff like throwing away his hardened PB&J sandwich crust seven hours after he started eating it, but two minutes before he was planning to finish it.

Road to Acceptance: The street on which my 3-year-old never resides. Ever.

I Want to Be Alone: Duh.

Let Yourself Go: Done and done.

86: The number of times I say, “It’s just about bed time,” every night between the hours of seven and nine.

All By Myself: I wish.

One of My Lies: “Sorry dude, Starbucks is out of cookies again!” That is one of my lies, there are about a thousand others.

Scattered: The pieces of every jigsaw puzzle we own (and several I am not even sure we own but seem to have taken up permanent residence in our home) and their relationship with our floor.

See the Light: My sons’ go-to explanation for why it is not time to go to bed yet or why it is time to get out of bed in the morning.

Walking Alone: I wish.

Words I Might Have Ate: Any words by which I communicate to my kids anything (positive or negative) that is going to happen in the future (be it five minutes or five days).

Brain Stew: You know that moment when your baby is crying at 2:42 a.m.? At first you think it is a dream and you’re like, “Why doesn’t someone get that baby?!?” Then you rouse yourself enough to notice you are sleeping in an upright position on the couch with a Chihuahua draped around your neck and an infomercial for the Pocket Hose is blaring on the TV. And finally, when you get up to get the baby you have conceded is actually yours, it takes you a couple minutes to remember where he is? Brain Stew is that moment.

Wow! That’s Loud: Every child’s toy ever created, particularly when stepped on in the middle of the night.

Are We The Waiting: If a child is sleeping, the answer is always yes we are.

Rest: I wish.

Warning: If you ever sing “Let It Go” in the presence of a 3-year-old, do not under any circumstances change the words to “Let It Snow” in an attempt to be hilarious. Consider yourself warned.

Misery: Bed time.

Pulling Teeth: Bed time.

Waiting: I’ve been waiting a life time, for this moment to come…The moment I’ve been waiting for, of course, is my kids to put on their shoes.

Brutal Love: The love of a parent for his child. The most heart-breaking, rewarding, sometimes frustrating, all-encompassing, frighteningly visceral, in a word, brutal, love of all.

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