Last week was a brutal week for me. I was so sick. The sickest I can ever recall being. Yesterday was a huge day for me, and the first day I felt remotely like myself, and that maybe, just maybe I would kick this thing by the end of the week. But that is not what made it one of the biggest days of my life, no. What made Wednesday July 13th, a day I was looking forward to with the passion of a virgin bride on her wedding night, was that I knew it was the day I would be going to my first Duran Duran concert, EVER. Before you question the legitimacy of my fangirldom (it’s a new word that I just made up)you need to understand that I didn’t go to concerts as a teen, because I didn’t grow up with very much money, and seeing artist perform live was a luxury that I could not afford. So I settled for vinyl versions of them instead. What made yesterday potentially the coolest day of my life was, if the God’s were shining upon us, my amazing girlfriend Jenni, told us we might just end up with backstage/after show passes.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME??
I MIGHT GET TO BE FACE TO FACE WITH JOHN TAYLOR? NO WAY.
Well as it turns out, YES WAY. The evening started innocently enough, with dinner, and a couple vodka martinis, and then we arrived at the venue. Jenni grabs the tickets from WillCall. There was one innocent yellow sticky, in lovely cursive, on the envelope that read:
MEET AT THE SKYLINE PATIO
AFTER THE SHOW
And then the shit hit the fan. Because the vodka began being consumed in earnest. Liquid courage to meet the biggest crush of my life. IN THE FLESH. It was happening. The moment I had dreamed about maybe six million times, or more, was actually happening. All the times I spent looking at photos of him and thinking; “I wonder if I’ll ever meet him, wouldn’t that be so cool.” Sort of like how I felt about meeting Tommy Lee back in the day. Then I did. In fact we worked out side by side in the ring at Billy Blanks’ studio city gym, and it was awesome. My actually meeting Taylor was finally happening. And I truly wanted it to be memorable. For both of us.
And then I had too much vodka, and said a dumb thing or two…and I’m confident he’s still thinking about the weird blonde, who made zero sense the second she opened her mouth. And if the shame of that, combined with my disappointment in myself isn’t enough? My head is punishing me in solidarity with my sad heart, it f’n hurts, like a lot. Like in a way that makes me want to detach it from my body and set it aside until it feels better, sort of pain.
The moral of my story is: When getting to meet somebody you have admired, and crushed on for the better part of your life, leave the vodka in the bottle.
Oh yeah, and the wine and champagne too.
This has been a Shantelle Bisson PSA. You’re welcome.