When I saw that Monster Jam was in town at the Verizon Center, I laughed out loud. Giant trucks demolishing smaller trucks and roaring through an arena that suddenly seems small in their larger-than-life presence? Wasting fuel with all that engine revving? And boys upon men upon guys decked out in camo gear and tacky t-shirts repping their favorite truck (and who knew the trucks had names? and personalities?!)? None of it was me - and all of it stirred something in my deep down Georgia roots that made me feel alive, and that's what made it so irresistible.
After the last six months of filling my life to overflowing with applying to graduate school, and the last few weeks of painting Zan's place and writing Craiglist ads and thinking non-stop about how in the world to get it rented for what we need to rent it for... it seemed like nothing in the world would be more satisfying than watching trucks with wheels taller than me crush things. It was kind of my own therapy session.
I drank a vodka cranberry and dabbed wet tissue to the fake ink on my chest and on Zan's neck and straight up enjoyed overpriced drinks and picked a favorite truck -the Crushstation! We ate fried food and filled the lulls in the show with banter with our friends and felt so glad we have the kind that embrace the silly, fun bits of life with all they got.
The Monster Jam was completely ridiculous, and 4 trucks out of the 6 broke down (seeing one stuck on the piles of cars was kind of a highlight?). It felt good to laugh at the antics and aggression of it all, and that was worth the ping of a vodka headache and rawness of a throat that cheered all night the next morning.
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