By: Kelly McClure
I almost wasn't going to write about how I went to a Beyonce concert two days ago, because I had a lovely experience, and that's boring, but then I was washing a pan in the kitchen five minutes ago and started laughing remembering how earnestly and emotionally I screamed during her show, so then I thought "I better write about this."
I received two tickets to a Beyonce show for my birthday, which was on May 13th. Since receiving these tickets, I looked forward to the show in a very pure and intense way, right up to the point of actually going to the show. Sometimes when I have something that I'm really looking forward to, and there's a lengthy chunk of time between when the thing is presented as a concrete possibility, and the actual day of the thing happening, I will find a way to fuck up the event. Either I will mentally have some form of mental fit on the day of the thing, or my body will form a cancerous growth or make a period come to be, just for the thing. Normally my body and my life is whatever, just very casually handling business on its own. But if there's a thing, or an event, my body tries to be an asshole about it. But not on Beyonce day. On Beyonce day my body was like "I'm right here with you. Let's do this. Can I have a piece of gum?"
On Beyonce day my GF and I took a bus from Port Authority into New Jersey and it was fine and nice. There was a brief touchy moment where my GF discovered that the pretzel snack I got from the bus station had mini hot dogs in it, which she was not happy about, but other than that, the trip was smooth sailing. When we arrived at the venue, we stood off to the side of the parking lot and smoked cigarettes, preparing our minds and bodies for what was about to happen, and also watching a 40-year old fat man grill burgers on a mini grill next to his pickup truck. Watching this man, we both concluded that he was there for some sort of sex trafficking reason. After our cigarette we made our way to the medium sized line of people waiting to file into the arena, and while we waited in it we listened to the man behind us teaching his date about how to properly remove stinks in your home. He referenced a website he found where he learned of proper stink removal, and wanted her to know about it. She was fascinated.
During the opening act, my GF and I drank beers and noticed that our seats were about 75% better than everyone else's seats. The three to four minute chunk of time that took place within the last moments of waiting for Beyonce to take the stage, to her taking the stage, went something like this:
Me: Look at all these weird dates that these girls had to bring to this.
Lindsey Baker: Yeah. Oh my God. Look at that girl's hat.
Me: Yeah. Can I have some of that popcorn.
Both: *Silent Observations*
Me: What do you think AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! I'M CRYING!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! I'M CRYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Historically, one of my favorite things in life is where you want a thing, and you're waiting for it, and then you have it. Like, you have to pee so bad, and there's no where to pee, and then you find a place to pee and are peeing. Or you are so thirsty, and are looking for a refreshing beverage, and then you find one, and are drinking it. Or you went to a place, and regretted leaving your house, and then you leave the place, travel home, and are home. While waiting for Beyonce to take the stage, I knew that eventually she would be on the stage, and then my eyes would have her. My eyeballs, which want her so badly, would have her, and feast upon the sight of her, for hours, and it would be perfectly legal. I could not have anticipated, however, that when Beyonce took the stage I would scream like someone had just thrown a bloated corpse filled with bugs at me. But I did. I screamed so loud that I scared people in a noisy room. And that is what love is all about.
During the entirety of the Beyonce show I tried to pay such such such close attention. I wanted my eyes and my brain to perfectly capture and log every single thing that was happening. Two specific instances that rise to the top are me telling my GF that Beyonce is the closest thing we have to Elvis these days, and the moment when Beyonce said a thing about having flaws and made her arm fat jiggle, which was like a whisper in my ear from Jesus at that moment. Beyonce making her arm jiggle is the same as Buffy the Vampire Slayer calling you on the telephone and saying that you should totally call in sick to work, because fuck that place.
If you don't like Beyonce you're an asshole, and that's basically all I have to say about it.