Shattered Dreams

I never talk about my age.

Well, I do, but most likely it is me lying about my age. The closest you will ever get to knowing how old I am, will most likely be through this particular blog post. (Or if you catch me while watching The Real Housewives of New York and the vodka has taken over)

I grew up in the age of the Hair Bands. Oh how I loved my Hair Bands. Warrant was my very first concert in Virginia Beach. When my friend Jodi asked me if I wanted to go to the concert I was nervous. I had never been to a concert before, but I loved me some Warrant (She’s My Cherry Pie!) I would play the tape (yes, I said tape, another clue on how old I am) over and over again on my boom box. (Shut up.) When I had asked permission from The Parents to go see Warrant in concert (side note, I knew they would say yes, if memory serves me correctly, they had just returned from The Rolling Stones concert)  I was greeted with “Of course you can go, just be prepared, you will either love it or hate it, there is no in between.”

Guess what. I totally loved it.

That summer, seeing Warrant at the Boathouse started a very long list of concerts that would quickly come.  Montley Crue, Skid Row, Aerosmith, Deff Leppard, Nelson (you get extra points if you remember Nelson.) I had found my calling. This was all I wanted to do. Go to concerts, all summer long.

Skid Row was my favorite. To the point where one day in The Parents kitchen, while everyone was getting ready for dinner, I excitedly told them how I plan on marrying Sebastian Bach and I wanted to be a groupie. You could hear crickets. I wanted to be a groupie. Little ole virgin me had just announced to The Parents  over dinner that my main goal in life was to marry Sebastian Bach, but first I must become a groupie.

I always wondered why they did not support me in this new endeavor of mine.

You may be shocked to hear I have lived a very sheltered life. I was 17 when I had my first boyfriend. I was home schooled. I was the shy girl who had no friends. So of course it made total sense that I should become a groupie, right?

Fast forward two years.

Funny thing. Did you know there is a difference between being a groupie and being a roadie? Well neither did I. Just to be clear, there is a huge difference. Prostitution to be exact. Imagine my surprise when I found out a groupie enjoys the company of men, well, enjoys the company of the band members…..okay, to be clear, a groupie is someone who will sleep with whoever it takes to meet the band members. This totally explains why The Parents were not supportive of me being a groupie, right?!

I do have to wonder why they did not think to correct me. Why no one thought to tell me “Jennifer, perhaps you mean roadie, someone who helps the band set up their equipment, and not a groupie, which is another name for a whore.”

Were they waiting for me to find out on my own? Did they know I would be totally embarrassed telling everyone I came in contact with that I was going to be a groupie for Skid Row? Or……and I had not even thought of this til JUST NOW, maybe they did not know the difference? Okay, I am reaching aren’t I?

Perhaps it was my determination to be a groupie and later, Sebastian Bachs wife, that led The Parents not to clue me in on what a bad bad idea this was. Perhaps The Parents thought this was a “teaching moment” for me, and perhaps they figured if I was that determined to be a groupie and Sebastian Bachs wife, then maybe I first need to learn what exactly a groupie is.

Another funny thing. I ended up getting pregnant just two years later. At the tender age of 19.

Unfortunately, it was not by Sebastian Bach.

And, I never became a groupie….or roadie.

Shattered reams I tell you, shattered dreams.

MI0001352637

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s