No, I'm Not Twelve
For my birthday, Rachelle bought me concert tickets . . . for the Jonas Brothers. This year I'm turning twenty-two. . . not twelve. Seriously. And we were both legitimately excited. Seriously.
We waited to go into the Pepsi Center with thousands of twelve-year-old girls. Thousands.
We actually had pretty good seats; we could see the JoBros' faces. *dreamy* haha.
These girls sitting in front of us were really cute and had these signs they held up whenever the any of the Jonas Brothers came to our side of the stage.
The screaming, however, was excessive. Our ears were literally ringing by the time we left.
And even though we unashamedly went to the Jonas Brothers concert--and we weren't taking any younger relatives--at times we felt a little silly. Sure we went and sure we sang along and sure we took the free poster from the Verizon vendor outside, but we drew the line at t-shirts with the JoBros' faces on them.
PS--Admittedly I had to listen to legit music when I got home. I can take only so much twenty-first-century boy-band music.