The Fat Girl Running – Kristann Monaghan

A month ago I had the wonderous experience of going to Tucson with my BFF for a concert of my all time favorite band.  Yup.  That’s right. I got to see Duran Duran live in concert ONCE AGAIN.  For those of you who don’t know, I have only missed 2 tours of my favorite band since 1983 because I was too poor or they were playing nowhere near me. Luckily, when the tour dates were announced I was completely excited to see that they were playing just a few short hours south of me.  Pretty sure I was online immediately at 10am in April to get tickets and managed to get 5th row back on John Taylor’s side of the stage (the ONLY side that matters to me).  BFF and I made arrangements for time off work and to have a fun weekend in Tucson at a nice resort.  We had no idea what the venue was like nor did we care, till I looked online at it and realized it was an amphitheater.  Outside.  In August. In the desert.  Who the frack books a concert outside in the desert in the summer?  Seriously.  It’s like 2 million degrees outside in August in Tucson.  Don’t give me that it cools down after the sun sets crap either.  To what?  1.5 million degrees?  It’s like having a concert on the sun.  BFF and I braced ourselves for the heat and tried to plan accordingly.

OK let’s just set the record straight.  I am NOT an outdoor girl.  I don’t like to do outdoor activities, eat outdoors or hang out outdoors.  There is all sorts of things like bugs, heat, sun, heat, and other icky things.  I especially do not like being outside in the south of Arizona in the summer.  Who lives down there?  Do you people like living in a sauna?  It feels like the armpit of hell when you step out of your car or the air conditioning of a building.  And I don’t wanna hear “but it’s a dry heat” either.  It’s still FRACKING hot!  I don’t wanna live anywhere that the temperature on average in the day in the summer is over 100 degrees.  So gross.  You can’t do anything cuz you feel like you are melting and the sweat puddles that are forming in the folds of your fat are now creating little Rorschach designs on your clothing.  So not attractive.  I tried so hard to dress appropriately for a concert outside while trying to look cute.  I didn’t wanna wear a tank top because I did not want John Taylor to wave at my arm fat that would be waving at him.  So I chose an off the shoulder shirt and capris with flip-flops.  BFF chose the cutest skirt and light weight top.  Good choice as she could create her own fan effect in her nether regions when she felt like she was gonna spontaneously combust.  I, however, was stuck in denim.  It was over 100 degrees when we got there and thank god I chose a high pony tail to keep my air off my neck because the sweat was running down me before we even got to our seats.  I was sure that my raccoon grease was gonna make me so unattractive by the time the concert started that I would resemble that scary mask from the garage sale.  I could feel the sweat start to pool in my fat rolls and my shirt stick to me in weird places as the fat roll art started.  So awesome.  All we could discuss was how much we were sweating and it was 8pm.  Seriously.  It was 8pm and OVER 100 degrees out.  Again….who books an outdoor concert in august in the desert?  And who’s bright idea was it to build an amphitheater in the desert?  Pretty sure it was someone who thinks a dry heat is a wonderful thing.  Screw you dry heat lover.  No amount of heat is good for a fat Irish girl.  Between the sheen of sweat and the red face, I was sure that SOTL man was gonna pop out somewhere with his measuring tape to see if I would pass out from heat stroke so he could finally finish his skin suit.  But then it happened…..Duran Duran took the stage.

Wanna know how to turn the Fat Girl into a screaming teenager who doesn’t give a rat’s ass if she is creating a puddle of sweat in her underwear or if her deodorant is working as she throws her hands in the air?  Let my favorite band come out and play for nearly 3 hours straight.  Yup.  That will do it.  The minute they took the stage, I forgot how much I was sweating and enjoyed myself like I was a teenage groupie.  Of course, at one point, I worried that I would get heat stroke and judged how much water I could drink by how much was in my bottle versus the end of the concert (let’s just say that once the band came out for encores, I guzzled my water).  Even the band commented on how hot it was in Tucson and quickly shed coats and such (yahoo!).  Best.  Concert.  Ever.  When it was over, BFF and I noticed that it had finally cooled down to the cool 95 degrees at 10pm. Ew.  Even worse was trying to go potty after the concert.  Pretty sure I should not have to peel my chonies and shorts off and wonder if I was gonna be able to get them back on because I soaked them with sweat.  And let’s not talk about how I smelled.  The car smelled like a combo of sweaty teenage boy and McDonald’s on the way back to the resort (hey…we had to eat and that Diet Coke was the best one I have ever had!).  But a great time was held.

Oh yeah.  I didn’t die today.  I realized that my sweat art on my shirt could sometimes be used as Rorschach ink blots but I didn’t die.  I am fat girl who hates the desert in august, well really, hates being outdoors running.  The experiment continues….