This blog post has no real educational purposes and is basically frivolous story telling. I hope you enjoy my silly stories.
It was the height of the big hair, glam rock days of the 80s. My mom scored some serious mom points by getting tickets for me and a friend to see Poison and Warrant. She drove us an hour and dropped us off to wait in line outside the venue.
There I was, acid washed jeans ripped to shreds, high top Puma's, white tank top, big silver belt, sky high bangs and tacky jewelry. (For you youngsters out there, those were all good things at the time.) I am sure my companion was looking just as stellar as I was.
We were young and set free in the rock and roll concert world. What more could a teenage girl want. We walked around before the show started, checking out the guys. Then settled into our seats. These were the days when they still put folding chairs on the floor in front of the stage. As Janie Lane rocked out to Cherry Pie we all got up on our chairs to dance. Then Brett Michaels and the rest of Poison took the stage and people got a little nuts. CC was hit in the face with a flying object and played while bleeding and pissed off. A typical rock concert in Indiana at the time, I guess. I was also at the Grateful Dead show riot in Noblesville, but that's another story.
But still they played on. I got back up on my chair and was enjoying the show when a very intoxicated guy behind me took a tumble off his chair. In an attempt to stop his fall he reached out and grabbed the first thing he saw, which happened to be the rips in my jeans right under my ass cheeks. And down he went, taking most of my pants with him, leaving me standing there in my tank top, Pumas, underwear and a sort of denim belt. Mortified, I managed to tie the remaining fabric around like an odd skirt and finish the night with as much grace as possible when you don't have pants.
That, folks, is why I always, always wear underwear. Huh, I guess it was a little bit educational after all. Here's a peak into that world: