Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Yeah, I'm Gonna Have to Move On...
All right, I've had it, I'm done, I'm moving on. The Boy has had his moment and after a month of unreturned phone calls, broken plans and trying too damn hard to catch his eye, I've decided to just let go. Now onto bigger boys, to better boys, to British boys...unless he calls.
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Tuesday, June 22, 2004
My sister says I'm a stalker, but I prefer to use the word fan
Hotel in downtown Atlanta: $200
Three tanks of gas to cover 400 miles: $75
Ticketmaster tickets for one night only: $47
Front row center at the concert of the your dreams: Priceless
KEANE!! Friday night at the Cotton Club was SO AMAZING. Made some great new friends, but best of all got up close and personal with three of Britains newest rock stars. I've loved them since last summer so getting to hear them, see them, TOUCH them was like a dream. Tom was brilliant, Rich was funny, and Tim told me he was so impressed I knew the words to every song. I left that night, floating, with a set list, an entire roll of pictures and a whole second day of KEANE to look forward to.
Saturday afternoon at Tower Records, in hindsight, started much earlier than necessary. After a hurried lunch and a quick dash into one fantastic little shop to pick up some treats, I made my way to Tower to wait, and wait, and wait. With all that waiting, I had plenty of time to browse the ample shelves and buy a few too many presents for myself. About 45 minutes before showtime, I ran into Greg, the beautifully hot merch guy/personal trainer from New Zealand. We chatted for half an hour about his homeland, how he lived with Tom, whether or not I would make a good surfer and why Florida SUCKS. The boys finally came out and delivered yet another unbelievable show. Front and center once again and I swear Tom was singing to me. They came back out later to sign records. I gave Rich the Chocolate Hob Nobs I had bought for him earlier that day with strict instructions from Greg that they had to share and couldn't eat them until the next day. Tom mumbled that Rich had eaten every Hob Nob on the bus the day before and Rich was so excited to see that red little tin that he lept to his feet and threw his arms around my neck. Further down the line, Tim and I chatted about Krispy Kreme, the band's plans to tour the states again in September and the need for them to come to Florida ASAP.
My friend and sister practically dragged me from the store, but not before I went to say goodbye to Greg. It must pay to know the merch guy because he waved back by throwing me two of Rich's drumsticks.
Driving home was miserable. Eight hours after I started, I finally rolled into the driveway. Now all there is to do is wait until September.
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Three tanks of gas to cover 400 miles: $75
Ticketmaster tickets for one night only: $47
Front row center at the concert of the your dreams: Priceless
KEANE!! Friday night at the Cotton Club was SO AMAZING. Made some great new friends, but best of all got up close and personal with three of Britains newest rock stars. I've loved them since last summer so getting to hear them, see them, TOUCH them was like a dream. Tom was brilliant, Rich was funny, and Tim told me he was so impressed I knew the words to every song. I left that night, floating, with a set list, an entire roll of pictures and a whole second day of KEANE to look forward to.
Saturday afternoon at Tower Records, in hindsight, started much earlier than necessary. After a hurried lunch and a quick dash into one fantastic little shop to pick up some treats, I made my way to Tower to wait, and wait, and wait. With all that waiting, I had plenty of time to browse the ample shelves and buy a few too many presents for myself. About 45 minutes before showtime, I ran into Greg, the beautifully hot merch guy/personal trainer from New Zealand. We chatted for half an hour about his homeland, how he lived with Tom, whether or not I would make a good surfer and why Florida SUCKS. The boys finally came out and delivered yet another unbelievable show. Front and center once again and I swear Tom was singing to me. They came back out later to sign records. I gave Rich the Chocolate Hob Nobs I had bought for him earlier that day with strict instructions from Greg that they had to share and couldn't eat them until the next day. Tom mumbled that Rich had eaten every Hob Nob on the bus the day before and Rich was so excited to see that red little tin that he lept to his feet and threw his arms around my neck. Further down the line, Tim and I chatted about Krispy Kreme, the band's plans to tour the states again in September and the need for them to come to Florida ASAP.
My friend and sister practically dragged me from the store, but not before I went to say goodbye to Greg. It must pay to know the merch guy because he waved back by throwing me two of Rich's drumsticks.
Driving home was miserable. Eight hours after I started, I finally rolled into the driveway. Now all there is to do is wait until September.
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Thursday, June 10, 2004
The Stanley Cup paraded through downtown yesterday, bringing with it the 20+ people who helped bring it here. Somewhere in the parade was a little yellow zamboni and somewhere on that zamboni was a cute bearded boy. He smiled and waved and threw a commemorative puck in my direction but still refuses to accept my invitation to lunch. I must admit to being slightly confused, more than a little disappointed and really at a loss for what to do now.
In other news, today is my birthday. A family friend approached me on Sunday, placed his hand on my shoulder, tilted his head to the side and said, "It's all right Mandy, you still have time. There are plenty men out there and you aren't that old." Apparently he misinterpreted 23 to mean 45 and he didn't even soften the blow with a present. You, however, can avoid his mistake and spoil me rotten with an untold number of presents.
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In other news, today is my birthday. A family friend approached me on Sunday, placed his hand on my shoulder, tilted his head to the side and said, "It's all right Mandy, you still have time. There are plenty men out there and you aren't that old." Apparently he misinterpreted 23 to mean 45 and he didn't even soften the blow with a present. You, however, can avoid his mistake and spoil me rotten with an untold number of presents.
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Monday, June 07, 2004
Go Bolts!
Saturday, June 05, 2004
Be careful what you wish for
It might just come true.
He called, only hours after I pitifully bemoaned my meager existence in this awful little town. He called and invited me, ME, to watch Game 3 outside the Forum on Saturday night. It was a intimate occasion - me, and him, and 3,000 other fans sporting face paint and thunder sticks. Though I might have preferred something a bit more personal, I really didn't mind losing him to the charms of ice and pucks, cheap shots and the potential for some serious fights. He's a GUY and, worse, a FAN, so expecting him to turn away from a finals game was rather like expecting Vincent D'Onofiro to show up on my doorstep and drop to one knee. Despite the game, things went well. There were lots of side glances and secret smiles. At the end of the night there was even an invitation to join him later in the week for another game.
We haven't talked since then, but I'm suprisingly all right with the way that we've left the situation. I'm playing it cool, as cool as possible, and making deliberate yet seemingly casual moves towards progressing things away from the friendship tip. Things will happen if they're supposed to and I'm learning to accept that as fact.
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He called, only hours after I pitifully bemoaned my meager existence in this awful little town. He called and invited me, ME, to watch Game 3 outside the Forum on Saturday night. It was a intimate occasion - me, and him, and 3,000 other fans sporting face paint and thunder sticks. Though I might have preferred something a bit more personal, I really didn't mind losing him to the charms of ice and pucks, cheap shots and the potential for some serious fights. He's a GUY and, worse, a FAN, so expecting him to turn away from a finals game was rather like expecting Vincent D'Onofiro to show up on my doorstep and drop to one knee. Despite the game, things went well. There were lots of side glances and secret smiles. At the end of the night there was even an invitation to join him later in the week for another game.
We haven't talked since then, but I'm suprisingly all right with the way that we've left the situation. I'm playing it cool, as cool as possible, and making deliberate yet seemingly casual moves towards progressing things away from the friendship tip. Things will happen if they're supposed to and I'm learning to accept that as fact.
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