Sara Bareilles

This is about the night I wanted to shrink Sara Bareilles with the shrink ray I invented (and definitely own) and eat all of her limbs with the hopes that she would somehow end up in my heart. Forever.

And ever.

About two months ago my friend Sara (not Bareilles) stumbled upon Sara (BAREILLES). Ok, wait, this is going to get confusing. Friend Sara, you will now be Janith. Because, lol, the name Janith. It’s like Janis with a lisp, I think I invented that too. Just call me Benjamin Franklin.

Hundred dolla bill, yall. #inventions #showmethemoney #ballinsince1706

Janith (lol) stumbles upon Sara’s “Little Black Dress Tour” on the internet and immediately posts it to my Facebook wall. I send comments like “IOAFSAOLDJSAJ” and “wut.” Sara has been our idol since the sixth grade, ever since we heard “Love Song” and decided we weren’t going to write one either, cause you asked for it, or even if you needed one.

Aunt Nadine, also known as, Aunt NADe-the-day-prist-INE, commented on the post saying that she was buying us the tickets.

On a scale of one to even…

We couldn’t.

We respond with multiple emojis and ermahgerds because “our” aunt just bestowed upon us the greatest gift we had ever received. Besides life. But that parental team effort has long been appreciated. Thanks, stork.

July 17. It’s a Thursday. TGIT….BWGTSSBLICOMGMBWTPIOTGLASCASSICC.

Thank gahd it’s Thursday… Because we get to see Sara Bareilles live in concert oh my gosh my body wants to puddle-ize itself on the ground like a child’s soft serve ice cream cone.

I’m chocolate-vanilla twisted with jimmies all over myself about this concert.

When we arrive fashionably early at 7:03 p.m. to the 7:30 p.m. start time, we are greeted by a woman in orange demanding a parking fee. FIFTEEN DOLLARS? ARE YOU… MAD? Fifteen dollars? I don’t have that kind of money. Not without surgical procedures or selling my insides on the black market. FIFTEEN? There’s like 1,000+ in this grass field you call “parking spaces.” You can’t charge for this! The only person who can charge for this is the Earth. And you don’t see the Earth dressed up in an orange jumpsuit demanding I pay them two hours of manual labor at my Chipotle part-time job. CHRIST.

I pay it.

*Scurrcchhhh* We pull in. And it didn’t make that sound. BECAUSE IT’S GRASS REMEMBER.

*Scooooooosh* Non-asphalt grass sound.

In honor of the “Little Black Dress Tour,” I’m sporting “little black” overalls. She’s got them… itsby bitsy, teeny weeny, soullessly… black… over…alls. SNAILED IT.Slippery sluggin the tats out of these things.They’re from the ’80s. Janith’s aunt gave them to me. She bought them from Victoria Secret, which makes me “tee-hee.” At some point in the VS fashion timeline, black overalls were hot. If only they made the spreads today. Picture this: Flaming hot model in some saxy black overalls. She’s setting them on fire with her skin, customers barely able to tell what article of clothing she’s modeling. I’m ALLS-OVER it.

Janith is wearing a black romper (a dress with shorts — a pair of drorts — a shess) Shess just sounds like a really pompous way of saying the word “chess.” Ahhhhhh shesssss, the game of SHESSSS. Much better than SHHECKERSS. Shhheckers is for the shhhinadequate.

I don’t remember the opening acts, to be honest. They were OK. But I was hungry and I wanted a beverage. I had a phone call or two, too. Plus I was staring at this basket of fruits and cheeses and wines of the couple ahead of us. I was too distracted thinking about how they managed to get that entire wrapped basket in when everybody else had to discard their 16-ounce water bottles at the door. I didn’t ask. I was just Sara Bejealous.

9:30 p.m. rolls around and everyone is sitting on their blankets like “All right… Sara… little black shess-overall planned outfits receiving quite the windy chill and regretful thoughts now…”

The whole place goes black, with the exception of the blanco fog from the guitarist’s fog machine. And she appears. SHE’S PERFECT. Like a little black stallion. In her little black dress. I may have even imagined her galloping, but from the heavens instead of upon the stage. I even think she was brandishing King Triton’s trident in her left hand. Leave it to Sara Bareilles to know him. Wait. That’s a microphone. She’s. Going to sing for me now.

I’ll be honest, her new CD, not my favorite. And as I’ve been busy this summer and for the past months abroad doing things, I hadn’t had the time to give it a proper listen besides the few I do know “Brave” and “I Choose You.” The first song was a blur, as was the second. But the third did not disappoint as she began to play the introduction to “Love Song” on her piano.

My heart. Was fully erect.

And the best part about the entire performance was her humor. She’s such a down-to-earth radical chick. She used the word f*** about seven thousand times and even mentioned downing a bottle of whiskey before singing one of her songs. She told the fans in front of the stage to “shut the f*** up” when they interrupted her story about her “broken-ass bus.” Gahd I want her as my relative. Or mate. I was going to say both, but Shea. That’s incest, silly.

If you’ve ever heard the song “Gravity,” then you know the ear penetratingly beautiful note she hits whenst singing the word “down.” For reference, non-SB loving readers:

It was flawless in person. AND HER COVER OF SIA’S CHANDELIER LITERALLY MELTED MY FACE. I may have spent zero dollars on tickets, but the facial reconstruction is going to cost me a fortune.

Basically, I was a puddle of sweat and tears by the end of it. So tell the world we finally got it all right. I choose you, Sara Bareilles.