Bruno Mars was in Nashville this past weekend on his Moonshine Jungle tour and in celebration of her birthday, my mom I went to party down with the rest of the crooner’s 15,000 closest Southern friends.
Best kiss of Bruno’s life. Hands down.
A little pre-concert cocktailing at my mini-manse kicked our evening off on the right high-heeled foot.
Birthday Girl worked it!
On the way to the show, we stopping at my neighborhood liquor store (in which case, I’m pretty sure every customer in the store thought I was a hooker, based on the looks I received for my gaudy outfit), for some smuggled concert liquor concessions that I’m able to stuff in my bra with no problems (a small chest comes in handy at times like these!).
Now ya see it…
Now ya don’t!
After the bra stuffing incident, we (well, mostly me) primped before making our grand entrance onto the arena property.
Thank God for clean car windows.
We followed the beacon to the Bridgestone Arena (who knows where we’d end up without a landmark to follow?!) on a beautiful Nashville night.
We followed the light…
And of course had to have our photo snapped 400 more times (due to my insistance).
Ready for the Moonshine Jungle!
Once we purchased our sodas in the arena, I headed to the bathroom stall (Gross? YES. Cost effective? Absolutely.) to mix cocktails with my booblegged liquor.
What more did you expect from this classy lady?!
I was also able to smuggle in my mom’s fave drink in my purse (maybe I should stop blogging about it so every venue in Nashville doesn’t start full body frisking me when I come within 15 feet of their establishments).
Don’t tell Carrie Underwood that I was in a bathroom stall with her husband (even if he was only on a cup).
While waiting on Mr. Mars to take the stage, I was completely jealous of his gold, shiny, sequined palm trees!
I feel like I need this as wallpaper in my mini manse. Agree?
Trying to avoid the awkward situation where a mother behind us asked that the ladies in our row “stop dancing like strippers” in front of her 12-year-old son (although Bruno Mars does cocaine, sings about sex in about 80% of his songs and uses the F word and M’fer like it’s going out of style and humps the stage with his pelvis, you’re going to get pissed about how we’re dancing?), we held a photo shoot to keep me from getting into a brawl.
Hurry the hell up, Bruno!
When the star hit the stage, all I could do was shake it (probably not as gracefully as a stripper) for two hours straight. I got a side ache from boogying in one spot (and I’ve run a marathon without a side ache…think that means I need to up my jogging game?) while trying to avoid pissing off the couple behind me who stood as still as trees the entire show.
Lights! Back up band that danced like the Temptations! Bruno Mars in a leopard shirt! I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
While sitting to let the crowd clear after the show, I thought we had a medical emergency on our hands, as a gal in our row took a plunge over the seats in front of us.
Wonder what she’s doing?
And still doing?
She was just trying to get a piece of the Bruno Mars glitter magic that was released at the end of the concert. Of course, it didn’t make any sense to her to walk to the now-golden stairs two feet to her left to pick up one piece from the 5.7 billion that covered the surface. Easier to go over the chair. Much easier.
Chair diving for the shiny. So worth it.
Outside, I was wooed by two cute fellas who unlike Bruno, brought flowers to me (and the 10,000 other females who were at the show). I had to leave them broken-hearted because I just couldn’t choose between the two!
It’s been so long since anyone brought me flowers, I couldn’t make my mind up…so I left with Mom.
Keeping up with the theme of the evening, we tried to muscle our way through the entire concert crowd to get into the downtown moonshine bar.
A Moonshine Jungle tour begs for us to drink moonshine, right?
At a quick glance, we were going to be asses to elbows inside the joint and I couldn’t bear to stand on my feet for much longer after my fabulous shoe selection for the evening. It seems that jumping, twirling and step touching did a number on my tootsies in these babies…
How do strippers do it?
Although my feet were a tad sore, I wasn’t about to unload my sparkly kicks, like this person did when his flip-flops apparently gave his feet something to scream about.
Abandoned and alone on the Nashville street.
As we were leaving the downtown area, I asked a young dude and a girl (who I thought was his girlfriend) if he could take our picture he said, “I can do a hell of a lot more than that to you.” Um, OK nevermind. I’m going to ask this Grandpa who probably has never used a digital camera in his life but won’t give me genital warts just by looking at me for three seconds, thanks.
Successful birthday celebration!
We woke up the next morning to find my mom had acquired a concert injury. While walking down the steps in the dark arena, she felt like she was going to fall. Not wanting to drop her precious cocktail, she held onto the railing with just her pinky. She says it still feels really good.
Sacrificing a finger for a party. Smart choice!
And while I thought I was exhausted, parked on my couch for the entire Sunday, Teddy could hardly keep his eyes open after we kept him up until 3am with all of our concert stories (that he really, really cared about hearing).
Who the F is Bruno Mars? I don’t care. I need my beauty sleep.
With weary feet, a side ache still thumping two days later and a shriveled up liver, I’m trudging through this Monday like a champ.
And it was so worth it.