I love The Rock. So it was not strange that a few days ago I attended a Blink 182 + Fall Out Boy show at the Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion. What was strange, however, was that (save for a few morose-looking parental figures), I was twice the age of every other attendee. But I think that age is just a number. It’s your maturity that counts, and for a show aimed at 15-year-olds, I was just right.

Because everyone knows that teens have a short attention span, the show was broken down into four acts. The first act was Asher Roth, but I can’t comment on the performance, mostly because I missed it. People with jobs can’t make it to the suburbs by 6:30 on a weekday. People without jobs—that is, the lazy, unemployed bums that made up the majority of the audience—don’t seem to mind an early start time. They also don’t seem to mind that they live at home with their Mom and that their stupid ironic haircut will be regrettable in a few years.

When I finally made it to the pavilion, my entrance to the lawn area was further delayed by security’s insistence that I remove all dangerous items from my person. And by dangerous items, they meant my cheery, red picnic blanket. Apparently you can totally poke someone’s eye out with a big, fluffy throw. And also apparently—using mad MacGyver-like skills—you can turn said throw into an inocuous scarf, just by tying it around your neck. Security will find this arrangement acceptable. The fashion police, however, will not.

Just in time for the second set, I found a space on the lawn and settled in. At first I thought my neighbors were real a-holes, the 14-year-old to my right, whispering to her boyfriend that Andrew Hotpants and I looked “old.” But when she then qualified “old” as 18, well, I found it in my heart to forgive.

The second act was a band I don’t like very much. They are called the All American Rejects (their name, not mine). The performance was really incongruous, as they sandwiched bad-boy sexual innuendo between sugary-sweet pop songs. At one point Tyson Ritter, the lead singer exclaimed that we did not know how horny we were making him. But actually—if we were to judge based on how many times he jammed the microphone into his crotch—we did. And yes, he was really very horny.

The third band was Fall Out Boy. They really rocked. And they really love Texas. Bassist, Pete Wentz told us so. After revealing a tattoo of the Lone Star State on his left wrist, Pete explained he’d fallen in love with a Texas girl. And I was like “Oh, thank you, Peter. I love you back. Let’s make some babies.” But when I figured out the Texas girl he was referring to was his wife, Dallas-native Ashlee Simpson, I was all like boo hoo hoo hoo. But then FOB played a Journey cover and I was like, I won’t stop believing. I’ll hold onto that feeeeeeeeling—(the one I had back when Pete wanted to be my boyfriend). And I was OK.

The fourth act was fabulous, Blink 182. It was great to hear the hits, and also—from the witty banter between songs—learn interesting things about the band. For example, bassist, Mark Hoppus told us he effed guitarist, Tom DeLonge’s Mom. And then Tom DeLonge told us that Mark Hoppus likes Vicks Vap-O-Rub on his balls.

After Blink’s What’s My Age Again? encore, Andrew and I made a dash for the pavilion exit. And then some hungry teenagers tried to topple me over and eat sandwiches and crudités off the picnic blanket on my chest. All in all, it was a very good night.