Life is shit, let’s be honest. For the past five months I’ve been doing what I do best and ignoring my blog, weeping at videos of cute puppies and forsaking life as a sack of shit. It only took me until October 12th to remember that I am a blogging goddess and it’s time I picked up my pen and paper, put it down again, remember that blogging is digital and fire up my battered MacBook to give the people what they really want: a tale of the time I saw Justin Bieber in concert.
While life certainly is shit – and it really is shit – there comes a time every once in seven blue moons when something actually happens that is sweet as fuck and you enjoy yourself
a fucking lot a bit. Last December – that’s almost a fucking year ago – the Purpose Tour tickets dropped from the heavens and I got my hands on not one but two of the badboys, which meant I didn’t have to cry alone in a dark room listening to JB; I could cry as a pair with my dear sweet cousin. There’s nothing quite like a bit of family bonding over your heartwrenching obsession with a human who will never know you exist.
Now my blog is full of anecdotes drawn from memory, but I fear the memory of the Biebs might fade into the vast caverns of my absent mind and I’ll be unable to recall the fine details of the night, so I’m whacking it out for you now just one day after all my dreams came true.
Justin Bieber is amazing. You’re a Belieber too, don’t deny it. When Sorry drops in the club you’re hollering “I fucking love this song!!!” and doing that weird dance they do so well in the video that you can’t do at all. Hopefully by the time Sorry does drop you’re already knee-deep in a Stella Artois haze and you really do believe you can dance; if you’re not sufficiently drunk trying to dance like Justin can be truly embarro.
Anyway shit dancing aside (and there was plenty of shit dancing on the scene last night) I’m reviving my blog to fill you in on just how to cope with being in the same room as ultimate God of everything: Justin Bieber.
First up: embrace the tears, for there will be many. Simply breathing the same air as Justin Bieber was enough to make me well up like a 14 year old who’s just been dumped by the captain of the football team, and when ultimate banger Baby kicked in I think my face actually partially melted as I bawled like a fucking toddler. It’s OK to be borderline psychotic over a stranger, I promise.
Secondly: remember that it’s OK to be a Belieber, ‘cause everyone is now. All those player haters that mocked me when I got a Never Say Never tattoo after he and Jaden Smith shut it down back in 2010 are now all massive JB fans, and anyone who says they still hate him is
a lying little cretin in denial.
Thirdly: try not to think about how incredibly depressing the boy’s life is. For a 22 year old with a $200 million fortune, Biebs clearly isn’t very happy, and that’s pretty sad, especially when you’re one of the 50,000 females screaming at the top of your lungs in his general direction and probably making him feel like a caged animal.
Finally: appreciate every second you spend in such close proximity with JB. HE IS A GOD.