Only when we get there, and we see the stage, do we realize what kick-ass seats we have. Like, literally, we could kick his ass. Or pinch/grab/man-handle it. Whatever. Much to our delight, behind the stage means directly behind the man himself. Perfect location to admire his behind then.
Okay, so my iPhone takes crap photos, but come on, you get the idea. Just look at that tooshie! I just wanted to squeeze it all night!
Besides the toosh, his voice was great too. The man knows how to sing. His energy, flirty smile, and twinkling blue eyes don’t hurt either. Lets just say he’s got charisma covered. What he does not have covered is dancing. Which is totally fine since all those aerobic jumping jacks and lunges he does helps shape the butt.
Yah, I know, enough of the behind already!
Beyond Jon Bon Jovi the man, there was the music. I mean, come on, if you existed at any point in the 80’s, early 90’s, Bon Jovi was there. You most likely made out to him or had a poster on your wall or drank your 2L wine cooler while dancing along to him. Or was that just me?
Looking around the packed stadium, I know it wasn’t. Nostalgia was out in full spring-time bloom. Fish net stockings, crimped hair, bangs, huge hoop earrings, white cowboy boots (an alarmingly large amount of them!), vests…
The people watching was among the best part of the night. I absolutely adored it.
There was the obvious nostalgia dresser-uppers along with the ones you were not quite sure had ever left the eighties.
There was the couple in matching track suits and runners.
There was the dude at the bottom of our section, completely rocking out, all by himself, with no inhibitions about doing just that.
There was the little boy with the headphones on to protect his ears, dancing wildly and unapologetically.
There was the stoic man beside me. He stood still, stiff, arms folded. He looked middle eastern, adorned a mustache, and at first I assumed his wife had dragged him along. Only then I noticed that he’d stand before any of the rest of us would. Clapped longer. ‘Woohoo’ed’ louder. This dude was a fan!
Love it. Love imagining the stories behind the people. Who is the Superman girl with the expressive mouth singing every single syllable to every single song? Who are those group of screaming guys, beers in one hand while the other fist pumps in the air along to Blaze of Glory? What about the Korean looking guy three rows from Bon Jovi, in his button-up shirt, looking very traditional until he starts jumping up and down like my 4-year-old to Raffi?
Now listen, perhaps it was the Vodka Red Bull coursing through my body, but at one point Bon Jovi is playing It’s My Life and I remember looking around at the 20,000 fans, and just filled with love, aching to know their lives. All their lives. Because we all have stories don’t we? All these people that have caught my eye throughout the concert- the crazy ones, subdued ones, wild ones, provocative ones, eccentric ones- each and every one have stories to tell and I just love, love, love that.
I sang, I cheered, I swooned and it was good my friends.
Music, friends, drinks, a night with no motherly duties… Oh yes, it was good.
The morning brings haziness but no hangover. It brings mimosas and brunch and shopping and coffee. So, so, good.
Then eventually it is time to go home. Where my girls envelop me in hugs and giggles and I grab their cutest little tooshies while singing and dancing to my iPhone video of the concert and I know, really, really know:
It’s my life
It’s now or never
I ain’t gonna live forever
I just wanna live while I’m alive
(It’s my life)
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said, “I did it my way”
I just wanna live while I’m alive
‘Cause it’s my life