Pretty much the same, but with normal hair

When I was about 11 years old, I was SO going to grow up to be Mrs. Jon Bongiovi. I was convinced that New Jersey had to be about the coolest place in the world to live. And yes, I recorded the "I'll Be There for You" music video on my parents' VCR and watched it back in slow motion. Many times. I just loved when Jon tossed his 80s metal mane and crooned that when I got drunk, he'd be the wine. Like that isn't a stupid lyric or something. And like I even knew what that meant in 1989.

Then there was a period of time during my adolescence and high school days when I was far too deep and artistic to be a bubble gum Bon Jovi fan. So I developed a similar devotion to 90s grunge bands, particularly Nirvana. The first full-fledged concert I ever attended was Nirvana at Palmer Auditorium in Davenport, Iowa -- a few months before Kurt Cobain committed suicide, actually. I was 16. Kurt dumped a bottle of water on me and my friend, Cyndy, and we vowed never to wash the shirts we were wearing again. I mean, probably if I still had that shirt the Smithsonian would be beating down my door right now. (In my own defense, may I just say that my friend Amy has a similar story about Joey from New Kids on the Block spraying her with a garden hose at the Iowa State Fair? So yeah.)

I guess I still thought Jon Bon was cute in the 90s and all. It's just that I preferred more cerebral song lyrics, like "Oh well, whatever, nevermind" to stuff like "Remember at the prom that night? You and me, we had a fight."

So last night's Bon Jovi concert at Wells Fargo Arena was all about indulging my 12-year-old self. And let me just tell you: My 12-year-old self had pretty good taste in hotties. Why is it that men seem to get better looking with age? Because the man is seriously more gorgeouser than ever.

The aforementioned Amy contacted me a loooong time ago about getting tickets to this show, and I'm so glad she did. We didn't spring for the $110+ floor seats, but we still had a decent view among the sellout crowd. The setlist was pretty much perfect for me (possibly excepting the omission of "Lay Your Hands on Me"). Amy really wanted to hear the songs from the movie Young Guns, dating back to her obsession with Emilio Estevez and the time she and her friends were frequent watchers of Young Guns and were pretty sure they spotted Emilio at a McDonald's in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and OH MY GOD they picked up a quarter he dropped on the floor. (See: EVERY woman my age has an embarrassing 80s and/or 90s celebrity crush story! Also: I just can't resist telling Amy's hilarious stories because they are so perfect. And she will probably kill me after she reads this.)

Like everyone else, my favorite Bon Jovi song is "Livin' on a Prayer," so I was 99.9% confident I would get to hear it. And of course I did.

The opening act, which started before we arrived at the concert due to extenuating circumstances which involve me snarfing down a bowl of deep fried mushrooms in 6 minutes and dust particles clouding my retinas and which prove downtown Des Moines is not fully equipped to handle major volumes of event traffic that I may or may not share in more detail later, was Daughtry. I'll admit I had to use the Google to figure out who this cat was before I went to the show, but I'll say he wasn't half bad. In a sad commentary on my aging, my favorite selections from Daughtry ended up being when he played about 1/4 of Motley Crue's "Home Sweet Home" and most of Filter's "Hey Man, Nice Shot." I also noticed several teenagers swooning over Daughtry like he were Jon Bon Jovi or something. I mean, that was weird.

So, I would just like to thank Amy, Kim, Deborah, and my evening at Wells Fargo Arena for reminding me just what a dorky child I was and for giving me the opportunity, under the cover of darkness in Section 307, to revisit the complicated series of hand gestures I once created to go along with the song Bad Medicine.

Shake it up.