T is for Townsend: Church on Saturday Night

So this weekend was a good one cause because Saturday night there was a Church service in downtown Phoenix. Church as in, Eric Church. And boy was it a service.

I went with a couple of my girlfriends (and one of their boyfriends - poor Colin was severely outnumbered) and we started the night at Charlene's making dinner and cocktails.

Pre-game cocktails are always a good idea because a good buzz that doesn't cost $50 is always a win in my book. Plus, we were taking the Light Rail to downtown and it was the first time I'd use public transportation in Phoenix sooooo...I needed a good buzz, right??

Between a family of four offering us their day passes for the Light Rail (yay free tickets!) and a pretty empty train filled with mostly people (seemingly) also headed to the Eric Church concert, our journey downtown on the Light Rail started out pretty good. And then a motley crew of sorts came on and they weren't wearing shirts, and they had unicorn purses, and a sling made of shotgun shells, and neon animal fur for hats, and all sorts of fishnet tights, and in that moment all my expectations of what the Light Rail would be like, came true. And this was us:

They started making jokes about basic white girls and I'm almost positive they were making fun of us, but hey, we didn't get robbed and I'm pretty sure no one peed in the seat before I sat down in it so things could always be worse.

After about thirty minutes and 10 stops-worth of us asking, "Is this us? Is this our stop? How about now, should we get off?" we finally arrived at the arena and we made a plan of action: 1.) Bathroom, 2.) Beer, 3.) Seats. Quick and dirty - just like my criminal record. I'm kidding of course, I don't have one of those. We managed to get to our seats with a few minutes to spare before Eric came on!

Once those lights dimmed, the spotlight came on, and the silhouette of Eric himself appeared as if from nowhere, it was all systems go: screaming, yelling, extensive woo-ing, singing out of tune, dancing, and I may have even thrown up a pitchfork a time or two cause sometimes I just don't know what to do with my hands besides throw up a pitchfork (go Devils!) or break out the spirit fingers; I don't think people would take me seriously though, if I used spirit fingers. At least my pitchfork could be mistaken for like, some gangster street cred shiz. Cause I have that, you know. ...People still say "street cred," right?

Anyway, he opened with a rousing rendition of The Outsiders cause duh, The Outsiders World Tour, and then it was hit after hit after hit from there.

The goal was to make our beers last long enough for when he played Drink in My Hand (and also so we didn't have to spend another $12 on a beer cause we're cheap) cause what fun is singing along to that song without a literal drink in your hand? It was a close call for Charlene (far left cup), but we made it and we cheers'd and toasted and sang the whole dang song with our drinks in our hand.

He ended with Springsteen but before he finished the song he took a moment to tell us that hey, we're gonna make a memory right about now (a la the song lyrics themselves), and then he led us on a sweet chorus of "whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh's" over and over and we sang it as one. As one congregation. In the midst of the most amazing Church service.