Growing up, I ALWAYS wanted to be with the band. I think it started somewhere around oh, I don't know, here?
I loved music [yes, I know, Poison doesn't really count as music, but that's a whole other blog, ok? Leave me alone. But, please. Keep reading], l lived music, and I wanted to be music. I wasn't very musically inclined as far as actually playing something or singing [even though I TOTALLY am now ], so like any, um, respectable young woman, I simply switched aspirations from band member to band groupie. Yes. How intelligent of me.
I soon discovered, however, that fulfilling such a dream 'job' required a lot of primping, not a lot of clothing, and a lot of backstage passes. And frankly, I was just a little too lazy to accomplish such a feat. It was the early 90's after all, when my most awesome outfit was an over sized t-shirt with a eco-conscious drawing of a fish tied to a baby chick, a pair of unflattering baggy jeans and some purple Chucks. Always worn with pigtails and gloriously unplucked eyebrows too. Add to that the fact that my mom usually refused to drive me to most of the concerts I wanted to go to and things start to look pretty pathetic.
Fast forward with me if you please to me meeting my husband. Fast forward even further to my husband starting his own record label and management company . Fast forward just one more time to me finally coming to the conclusion its a just whole lot easier to marry someone in the music business then to even begin to attempt trying my hand at throwing myself at musicians. After all, I still get just as many backstage passes AND I get to keep my clothes on. Well, sort-of, um. nevermind.
So yeah, where the hell was I going with this story? Oh yes. That's right. This past weekend.
We spent this past weekend in Chicago with these guys at this festival. A grand time was had by all and many great bands were seen.
But my entire life [and the point of the first three paragraphs} came full circle in one shining moment, when, as I was totally engrossed in my green beans, mashed potatoes and virtually unchewable piece of meat, SLASH walked right by. To say I nearly choked is an understatement. I sprinted, actually [which has nothing to do with choking, but whatever] almost knocking over my husband, and the two hot coffees he was carrying. He says I then yelled something incomprehensible that went something like "OMGZOMGOMFGsquealscreechsquealSLASH!!!!!"; after which I completely froze in excitement as I watched he and his family climb into their car. Yes, thats right, there he goes and there he went, and I didn't even touch him. Or even tell him to pass on to Duff that I said hi.
*Sigh* I'm ok with that, though. Merely breathing the same air, or eating the same catered food, or sharing the same names of our children is good enough for me.
So yeah, that's where I was going with this story. Slash. SLASH.
My grandkids will be hearing about this one. But I'm sure by then the story we have evolved into the two of us having tea together. Because that totally would have happened...