AND... At the age of 46, I finally have found my calling.
And it is... groupie. {How much do you think something like that pays?!} But I'm not giving up my day job. I'll just moonlight as a groupie. It's pretty part-time anyway.
Groupie has been in my blood always. {It helps to be a bit boy crazy.} I believe I was born to live in California, smack dab in the middle of things. And some day I will live there. For at least one year.
I saw my first rock concert when I was in sixth grade. My older sister and her boyfriend took me and my best friend Kellie to see Peter Frampton. It. Was. Eye Opening. I still can picture someone being carted off the floor on a stretcher (we were in the high seats). The couple in front of us made out the entire concert.
I was sold.
Problem was, we lived in Middle of Nowhere, Texas. The closest venues were in Lubbock and Midland/Odessa, each about a ninety minute drive away. So it would be a few years before I hit my concert-going prime, hooking up with our hip youth center director who would "chaperone" my friends and me on these little field trips.
We'd leave as soon as the bell rang at the end of the school day, arriving just prior to the doors being opened. Since all the shows were general admission, we'd book it down to the stage. And we were fast. We were younger than anyone else around us. (back then, 40 wasn't the new 30. It was old lady territory.) We had a blast as front-row Joes. I once traded a hair clippy for a guitar pick from Saga. I got hit on the head with a beer bottle at a Rat concert. I spent many evenings drenched in sweat so bad that my entire body would be waterlogged. I was pulled over the front barrier and fed ice chips at a Quarterflash show. {That was my first bout with claustrophobia. There was no air circulation and I was pushed up against a large, sweaty woman in a tube top. 'nuff said.} I spent the rest of that show (Rick Springfield) up in the high seats.
You get the idea: livin' the dream without even realizing it.
In my BC (before children) adult life, I actually spent some time hanging with up-and-comers and full-fledged celebrities for a living. I was on guest lists. I was trusted to be left alone with rock stars in a hotel room. Or maybe they were trusted alone with me (I was in my twenties). I was backstage with Depeche Mode. Sweet-talked by Spandau Ballet. Information Society rode in my car (driven by my now husband).
Those wild magazine years were preceded by many concert outings, when I could pull the funds together and/or luck out on tickets, and followed by the child-bearing years. I swear my older son loves music so much {he's in a band} because in utero, he heard Willie Nelson, Depeche Mode {where I remember worrying that the pot being smoked around us would affect him}, Billy Bragg and Jonathan Richman. During most of the child-bearing years we lived in Iowa, only saw a few shows: Cowboy Junkies, Jonathan Richman {this time pregnant with Boy No. 2}, John Denver {I don't care if you judge, remember?}, Greg Brown.
And finally we were back in Texas, though the only band interaction I've had since coming back would be a wink and a stage shout-out from Billy Bragg. (He called me "love." So British of him.) Eye contact with the Depeche Mode band extras. Maybe a drop of sweat from Dave Gahan, but I can't be sure. A small lecture from the stage from my favorite musician, Mark Kozelek, who gave me a surprise hug at another show. And the craziest meet-and-greet a couple of years ago with Collective Soul, where my husband snapped some of the funniest photos.
Fast forward to current day happenings...
A couple of months ago, I forked over some precious cash for a VIP ticket to Matchbox Twenty's performance in San Antonio, Texas. The seats were "spendy," according to the woman sitting next to me last night. I would rank them XL spendy (fourth row center). But worth. EVERY. penny.
The show was yesterday, and as it grew closer, I donned my What Would Penny Lane Do wrist band and consulted the Official Guide for Band Aids book. {Not LITERALLY... that's just a metaphor or a way for me to pimp my favorite movie ever or something.} My imagination ran wild with possible scenarios. I was meeting the band. That much I knew. And that's all that mattered. The details were a mystery.
Until two days prior, when I was notified via email that I had to be downtown for the meet and greet by 3:45.
Impossible.
Yesterday was a school day. I have a high schooler who goes to school until 4. My husband would be unable to leave the office before evening. I was SOL and glad I'd purchased insurance.
So, like any good parent, I mulled the whole thing over, weighing the pros and cons. Then I pulled my son out of school early. At first I felt guilty...but that feeling was overcome by fear of not being able to find a parking spot downtown. And maybe a little fear that my 46-year-old self would stick out like a sore thumb amongst the hot 19-year-olds I'd conviced myself would be lined up for the meet-and-greet.
Turns out I was book-ended by grown-ups. The woman behind me was celebrating her 47th birthday {making me a youngster at 46}. She had come to San Antonio from Oklahoma with her husband earlier in the week. She'd made presents for EACH of the band members {suck up}. She liked to talk. I like to listen. Okay...I like to talk. I checked her lipstick for her, offered to share my Altoids. Typical groupie bonding. We became fast friends.
I met the band before she did. I asked them if we could do a fun pose for the photo. Singer Rob Thomas screamed out "silly face" as the flash popped in quick succession. This is what we ended up with:
I'm not exactly sure what we talked about. I remember a mention of Mi Tierra. Rob pretended to offer to disrobe. I pretended to try to dissuade him, asking him to show some tat instead. He complied. We hugged. I may have told him I love his music. I may have thanked him for including San Antonio on the tour. I tried to remember to make eye contact. I remember being surprised that they all shook my hand, considering it is flu season and all. All I know for sure is it went by as quickly as the camera's flash.
Somehow, I thought meeting the band would get Rob Thomas out of my system once and for all. I was wrong. He's taken up residence in my heart and refuses to pack up and go. Guess I'll learn to live with his absence, visiting him only occasionally on-line, where he'll continue to serenade me via mp3 and talk to me through social media posts about no-kill animal shelters and his beautiful wife until we meet again at a future show.
Following the meet-and-greet, my fellow groupie with the lipstick and band gifts, Robyn, let me hang out with her and her husband. We finally calmed down enough to grab a bite to eat before heading to the back of the theatre in hopes of landing an autograph or two. We were successful. Robyn had made a sign and told Rob numerous times that it was her birthday. They bonded over their similar names.
Inside the theatre, Robyn and I had seats in the same section, a couple of rows apart. We planned to meet up following the show. During the show, Rob dedicates a song to Robyn for her birthday. One of his "people" said he'd hook her up for a show they're playing in Oklahoma in a couple of days. I've never seen ANYONE so happy. And she is a HUGE fan, so she deserved all the attention. I just played wingman. Or bridesmaid. Or Rosie to her Sophia Grace -- none of which is a bad role.
The best part, according to Robyn, was that we have a new friendship with eachother and a shared experience that we can gab about for years -- or at least days -- to come. We promised to stay in touch. {And we traded texts today. Something along the lines of "pinch me. was last night real?"} We'll share videos and photos from our great MB20 experience. Some day we'll take a road trip together to see MB20 again. What was that line from Say Anything? "If I can't tell you about it, it's like it never happened."
And I don't want to forget.
