As you know, PittGirl and friends spent Saturday downtown at the Kenny Chesney concert, after a few stops beforehand:
1. First, you can’t park downtown, walk through the Arts Festival and try to walk past this booth thinking you’re not going to buy something.
It didn’t delay us long because it only takes about two minutes to shove down six grapeleaves and a spinach pie. Sexy.
2. Jerome Bettis’ Grille 36 for dinner. So I guess we’ll call the bellyfull of Greek food an “appetizer”.
I tried the Tuna Wrap. Look how pretty that is:
Here’s a tip, the creamy green stuff drizzled all over the bottom of the plate? Don’t be fooled like stupid PittGirl. It is NOT cilantro avocado sauce. Thinking it was, I picked up a tuna wrap wedge, dragged it all through the sauce, took a bite and then was all WASABIIIIIIIIIIII!
Instant tears. My nostrils shooting out flames, I turned to my friend and said, “This must be what doing a line of cocaine feels like.” Sexy.
3. Entering Heinz Field, getting ready to head to our seats in time to see Gary Allan rip through his songs, it was potty time. I love being a girl (says Ken Rice). But I HATE being a girl when this is the men’s room line:
And this is the women’s room line.
I will never understand this phenomenon, and I can’t express to you how close I was to just walking into the men’s room all, “Have you SEEN the line over there?!” Men must have bladders the size of bread baskets. Sexy.
4. The concert:
Dancing and singing in the rain, some things that struck me.
A. There oughta be a law that you cannot take your shirt off at a concert if you are over 45-years-old. They should card people. “Sir, can I see some ID? Right. It says here you were born in 1950, so I’m going to have to ask you to put your shirt back on for the LOVE OF GOD!”
B. Our city. It is magnificent.
As I sat there listening to Keith Urban spill his hot all over the stage, and then watched as the constant clouds finally thinned out and parted to reveal a splash of sun rays hitting the windows of the skyline, I could only think that yeah, there are other cities as cool as ours, maybe as pretty as ours, and maybe richer than ours, healthier than ours, newer, faster, stronger than ours, but this one is ours, all ours, and it moves me and it inspires me and it makes me think that maybe we’re prouder of ours.
Also? Someone in the audience handed Kenny Chesney a Terrible Towel and he flapped it around from hip to hip like he was a bullfighter and it was his cape. REALLY?! Tsk.
(All photos courtesy of Saucy, my bitch, who was all, “Damn. Country music? The next concert better be Ne-Yo, girl. Country frickin’ music … Can you at least turn me off until it’s over?!”)