So, life's interesting as always here in KP's corner. It's great, because I don't even have my first book written and I've already started on the content for the sequel! In my mind I am going to be very wealthy someday with the books I plan on writing. For the sake of making myself feel good after a long day, I'm going to say that counts for something.
Let's see...where to begin. This past weekend: my mom came to Beantown. Just writing that sentence launches a nervous twitch across my body. My mother. In Boston. 4 whole days of passive-aggressive bonding. And she was going to meet "J". The last time she met one of my boyfriends, the meeting (in a snapshot) entailed a spilled glass of wine (on the passenger's seat of a car), an embarrassing self-choreographed dance, a country song, and a now infamous line: "I am who I am". As much as I enjoy "J" and want him to be a part of everything that is "me", I wasn't sure I was ready for him to become familiar with any of the characters in the "Story of Nancy". But, nonetheless it was inevitable. The first meeting, at "J"'s apartment went well. His daughter was there, and everyone acted as normal as possible. It was wonderful. When we climbed into the car my mom's best friend immediately asks me: "what's wrong with him? He seems perfect. No man is that perfect - something must be wrong." Since she's a self-proclaimed man-hater, I decided to just be happy with my perfect "J" and expect that life will always be this good. I don't see a reason to think any other way...
The weekend continued. We went to lunch on Saturday with "J"'s friends from London, and then went to get pumpkins with his perfect little daughter. It was a wonderful afternoon, and mom participated without being overbearing or passive aggressive. A major (but not often experienced) success these days. After the orchard, mom, "K" and I headed north to Portsmouth and "J" headed out with his friends.
Because I didn't want to leave Ella at home with my crazy living situation, she had to come with us. Everywhere. That meant every hotel we stayed at, we had to stuff the poor little puppy into a bag and smuggle her in. By the end of mom's visit, she got so used to being put into a bag she would just climb in. So sad, really. But, she was a good sport, and got to see lots of new things. Important for any dog's existence.
All in all, the weekend was an extreme mix of emotions. Mostly I began freaking out when I realized my roommate was going to let a criminal live in our apartment with us. I, of course, am extremely uncomfortable with the fact that a man who goes around beating peoples' heads in with bats is going to be living with us. Or, rather, will be anywhere near me. I knew immediately that I needed to start looking for a new place to stay. And, after more than a year of instability and moving from place to place, this is the last thing I wanted.
Basically this past week has been filled with work, spending time with "J" and looking for rooms to sublet. The process can be grueling - trying to find a room with people you like, getting Ella back to Michigan, and figuring out where to stay in the interim...
So, more or less that's been the past couple of days. Always good. Always interesting. Always exciting. And my perfect boyfriend continues to be perfect. After my mom made a comment about my ugly feet, he said to me: even if we had terrible sex, I'd still love your feet. Now if that's not perfect, I don't know what is.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
"I'd like to check you for ticks"
A little more than a year ago I was at a Brad Paisley concert the night before I left for my best friend's wedding in Mexico. On the way, I dropped my entire collection of underwear off at the laundromat to be washed so that I could pick it up afterwards and make my 6:00 am flight the next morning. Once the concert started, though, I started to re-think the idea of leaving early just to get my underwear. I distinctly remember turning to my friend and saying "he hasn't even played Ticks yet!" And, with that, I decided to stay at the concert and went to Mexico with no underwear. I mean, who needs underwear in Mexico anyways, right?
This morning I awoke to the sleepy blue eyes of a very handsome British man looking back at me. Despite my exhaustion and desire to remain in bed with said boy, I got up with a smile on my face, re-playing my wonderful weekend in my mind. With sleep in my eyes, I kiss him goodbye and wish him a wonderful day - I head home and he heads to Home Depot. I barely make it up the stairs, stumble to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Not very efficiently due to lack of sleep, I grab a clean towel, put toothpaste on my toothbrush, apply facewash to my face, get undressed and climb in the shower. I follow the same routine I do everyday. Wash face. Rinse hair. Brush teeth. Apply shampoo. Lather up. Rinse. Apply conditioner. Rinse. All the while singing and dancing to the uplifting lyrics of Sugarland's All I want to do. It's a wonderful and celebrated experience every morning. Except this morning something happened that didn't fit into this routine.
As i was rinsing off - just before turning off the water - I realized I had an itch on my thigh. I scratch it. It continue to itch. So I look down. A bug. Gross but no big deal. I flick it off my skin. It doesn't move. I flick again. It still doesn't move. "Oh. My. God. This is not a bug. It's a tick." I immediately go into panic mode. I start pacing. Freaking out. Panting. Crying. Hyper-ventilating. All of a sudden I become acutely aware of the creature that has attached itself to my body and is sucking my blood. My blood. Sucking. I dry off. Still shaking. I start pacing. "I need to figure out what to do. What do I do? I cannot pull this thing out of my own skin. Simply cannot." I send "J" a text message. If it's at all possible for a text message to convey hysteria, this one did. I made sure to use the appropriate punctuation and caps to ensure he understood I. WAS. FREAKING. OUT.
He calls me. He tells me to get some tweezers and pull gently. I try to explain as calmly as possible that there is no way on this green earth that I can possibly pull this thing out of my own leg. Within minutes, he's in the apartment ready to perform an extraction. We go into the bathroom and shut the door. He sits on the tub, me on the toilet. I drape my leg over his and turn the other way. About to pass out, I try to focus on anything except the feeling of him pulling at this thing that has buried itself under my skin. I am going white. I can feel the blood rushing from my head. I can feel the food I've consumed over the past 3 days coming back up with a vengeance.
I realize at this very moment - with my leg draped over the tub, hair soaking wet, hysterical and about to pass out from the trauma of this situation - that if this guy stays with me after this, it must be love. He never loses patience or his cool. As I am freaking out, he's kissing my knee, never letting go of the tick. He's gently pulling, trying to coax the tick to let go of my skin. What seems like a lifetime later (partly because as he pulled harder, I could feel the tick latching on, reluctant to let go) he got it out. And I immediately stumble to the couch, lay down and put my feet up in the air to prevent myself from losing consciousness. I was that close.
I took my time and got ready for work. I called the urgent care and went over to be tested for Lyme disease. It was everything a Monday should be.
A few hours later as I was sitting at my desk, the Brad Paisley song comes to my head (thanks to my best friend in Kville). I start to laugh as I remember the lines: "I'd like to walk you through a field of wildflowers. I'd like to check you for ticks." Maybe that's what "J" had in mind when he suggested a 20-mile bike ride through the woods of Vermont...
This morning I awoke to the sleepy blue eyes of a very handsome British man looking back at me. Despite my exhaustion and desire to remain in bed with said boy, I got up with a smile on my face, re-playing my wonderful weekend in my mind. With sleep in my eyes, I kiss him goodbye and wish him a wonderful day - I head home and he heads to Home Depot. I barely make it up the stairs, stumble to the bathroom and turn on the shower. Not very efficiently due to lack of sleep, I grab a clean towel, put toothpaste on my toothbrush, apply facewash to my face, get undressed and climb in the shower. I follow the same routine I do everyday. Wash face. Rinse hair. Brush teeth. Apply shampoo. Lather up. Rinse. Apply conditioner. Rinse. All the while singing and dancing to the uplifting lyrics of Sugarland's All I want to do. It's a wonderful and celebrated experience every morning. Except this morning something happened that didn't fit into this routine.
As i was rinsing off - just before turning off the water - I realized I had an itch on my thigh. I scratch it. It continue to itch. So I look down. A bug. Gross but no big deal. I flick it off my skin. It doesn't move. I flick again. It still doesn't move. "Oh. My. God. This is not a bug. It's a tick." I immediately go into panic mode. I start pacing. Freaking out. Panting. Crying. Hyper-ventilating. All of a sudden I become acutely aware of the creature that has attached itself to my body and is sucking my blood. My blood. Sucking. I dry off. Still shaking. I start pacing. "I need to figure out what to do. What do I do? I cannot pull this thing out of my own skin. Simply cannot." I send "J" a text message. If it's at all possible for a text message to convey hysteria, this one did. I made sure to use the appropriate punctuation and caps to ensure he understood I. WAS. FREAKING. OUT.
He calls me. He tells me to get some tweezers and pull gently. I try to explain as calmly as possible that there is no way on this green earth that I can possibly pull this thing out of my own leg. Within minutes, he's in the apartment ready to perform an extraction. We go into the bathroom and shut the door. He sits on the tub, me on the toilet. I drape my leg over his and turn the other way. About to pass out, I try to focus on anything except the feeling of him pulling at this thing that has buried itself under my skin. I am going white. I can feel the blood rushing from my head. I can feel the food I've consumed over the past 3 days coming back up with a vengeance.
I realize at this very moment - with my leg draped over the tub, hair soaking wet, hysterical and about to pass out from the trauma of this situation - that if this guy stays with me after this, it must be love. He never loses patience or his cool. As I am freaking out, he's kissing my knee, never letting go of the tick. He's gently pulling, trying to coax the tick to let go of my skin. What seems like a lifetime later (partly because as he pulled harder, I could feel the tick latching on, reluctant to let go) he got it out. And I immediately stumble to the couch, lay down and put my feet up in the air to prevent myself from losing consciousness. I was that close.
I took my time and got ready for work. I called the urgent care and went over to be tested for Lyme disease. It was everything a Monday should be.
A few hours later as I was sitting at my desk, the Brad Paisley song comes to my head (thanks to my best friend in Kville). I start to laugh as I remember the lines: "I'd like to walk you through a field of wildflowers. I'd like to check you for ticks." Maybe that's what "J" had in mind when he suggested a 20-mile bike ride through the woods of Vermont...
Sunday, October 12, 2008
A little piece of Heaven...
I have just had the most amazing weekend EVER! It was a perfect and extended period of time where everything in the universe was in alignment - everything worked out just the way you think it should. Let me explain.
We started planning late, as "J's" schedule is constantly changing. It's like an amoeba - it has a life of its own, morphs when it needs to fit inside any environment, and can change at any given second. It's kind of exciting, though because it gives him a level of intrigue that he otherwise would lack as the totally open, honest, wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve-brit that he is.
We check every bed and breakfast in the state of Vermont. No rooms. Anywhere. Committed to sleeping in the car to make this trip happen, we finally come across what appears to be the last vacant hotel room in the entire state. It's in a town called Killington, which is 30 minutes away from our destination of Woodstock. I book it immediately, and we start getting excited.
We left Friday night after work and headed up. Several hours and wicked traffic jams later, we made it to the hotel - a ski lodge up in the mountains. Starving and exhausted, we found the only local place still serving food. We ordered some drinks, fried cheese and onions, played some air hockey, pool, and arcade games. We even met some friends with whom we shared shots and games of pool (we won each game, no thanks to "J" - I had to clear the table myself).
Saturday we slept in, woke up to some fantastic Zeppelin tunes, got ready and headed out for a day in Woodstock. We grabbed a late breakfast at a cute little cafe in town (I got quiche!!!!), made some Canadian friends, and headed to pick up our bikes. We mapped out our 20 mile trip and, with lots of ill-placed confidence, started peddling. And peddling some more. For about 4 hours we went up a lot of hills, and down a few. We saw covered bridges. Beautiful leaves. Empty fields. Cows. Horses. The gorge. It was incredible. We stopped to take pictures. And to fix my bike. And shop for glass. It could not have been more perfect. I take that back. If I was able to at all feel my legs at the end, it would have been more perfect. Because I seriously thought "J" was going to have to do the whole ride-on-the-handlebars maneuver with me. It's nice knowing that he would have, but that he didn't have to in the end. Although it was a close call.
Afterwards, we bought some wine, cheese, crackers, maple syrup candy and headed back to our hotel. We rested, got our energy back, and celebrated a relationship milestone. High on life but low on energy, we headed to dinner at an adorable New England-style inn. We had the best butternut squash soup ever. We had a wonderful dinner of salmon and conversation, followed by a glass of port and the Red Sox game. The night was amazing - a perfect ending to a perfect day.
We woke up this morning to the sun shining brightly through the window of our hotel room. We were hesitant to leave this wonderful place, but excited to drive to our next stop, Brattleboro. We stopped and had breakfast - pumpkin pancakes with pure Vermont maple syrup - at a cute little diner nearby. Our waiter was straight (and I don't mean sexual orientation) out of The Sopranos. We had a totally appropriate conversation that to an outsider would sound like anything but, and cracked ourselves up thinking about the poor conservative couple sitting next to us, trying to enjoy their eggs.
Brattleboro was awesome. Total granola town with hippies, no bras, unshaven armpits, liberals, and artists. We loved it! We enjoyed lots of coffee, reading, tree climbing, and movie-making (make sure to check out "J's" facebook page for my debut role as the granola secret agent).
All-in-all, it was an amazing weekend. The drive back was all about sharing personal experiences (some of which were very uncomfortable (i.e. mine)). I will always be grateful that I was able to share this dream with "J" - the feeling of peace and happiness is one that I will not easily forget. I hope that I will have many more just like it. Yeah, the universe is a pretty awesome thing...
Monday, October 6, 2008
You seriously won't believe this...
Welcome, everyone, to the exciting chronicles of KP. Please, drop everything you're doing, forget everything bad that happened today, and come with me for just a minute. I promise you won't regret it.
So, we just went to the New Kids on the Block concert. And it was amazing. We wake up the next morning high on the drug that is our youth reincarnated. We threw on some clothes and walked up to Broadway for another round of good 'ole DD. Gotta love some french vanilla goodness on a Saturday morning! After breakfast we decided to spend some time with "J" and his amazing, beautiful, intelligent daughter who has me wrapped around her little finger. As any 4-year old would want to do, we put on a Hannah Montana concert. We jumped and sang into hair brushes and cooking spray bottles. We had a blast. Sadly, though, as much as "KB" and I tried to convince "Little J" that we should try singing to New Kids, she wasn't budging. It was Hannah. Over and over and over....
We decided we were going to hang out in Cambridge. Despite the never-ending rain that began the minute her plane touched down (and didn't stop until her plane took off on Sunday). We had a wonderful afternoon - a fabulous lunch at Z Square, the BEST hot chocolate on the eastern seaboard at Burdick, and a walk across Harvard's campus (and for those few minutes we were on site, they reported a significant drop in the overall IQ...).
Soaking wet and exhausted, we went home to get ready to go out with my old roomie. That's right. We were going to the gay bar! We spent lots of time making sure we were ready for this particular excursion. We definitely needed to make a good showing! We had a blast. We danced for what felt like 30 minutes, but turned out to be 2 1/2 hours. We danced on the stage. On the platform. There was no stopping us. We were hot!
The night ended, we said our goodbyes, and collapsed into bed. We were so exhausted. We said goodnight like a sexless lesbian couple would, and went to sleep. Until 4:30 am when my phone went off.
A text message from a number I didn't recognize said: "Hey stranger". Curious as to who is texting me from Rhode Island in the middle of the night, I, of course, ask the obvious question: "who is this?" Answer? "Drummer".
Now, most people who read this blog are familiar with said person. Some are not, however. A brief summary: I met drummer through my relationship(s) in Providence. A friend of a friend. We spent some time together - about a week - before I moved to Boston. Before I left to drive back to Michigan, "drummer" said some things that made me believe I would see him again. After about a week back home, all calls and text messages just stop. Completely. No explanation. No freak out. Nothing. Just totally MIA. That was almost 6 months ago.
So, you can understand my surprise, then, when at 4:30 in the morning, I receive a text message from him. After several attempts to try to get an explanation out of him, I receive the best text message ever. "Well, why don't we put the past behind us and send each other some dirty pictures." I. ALMOST. DIED. Um, I'm sorry, it's late/early, my eyes must not be working correctly. No one could really expect that I would just agree to this. My response: "There are several reasons why the answer is no. Not the least of which being I am not alone in my bed." He doesn't stop there. So sad. So pathetic. I end up giving it to him straight: "look...I have much more self respect than to do that. If I did send you pictures, it would imply that I have been waiting around for you to call me. And I haven't. Plus, and most important, I have found someone that will do all those things for me. I don't need pictures of you for anything." His response: "I guess it was silly to think you would send me pictures." SILLY!?! Yeah, I don't know that 'silly' would be the first word that came to my mind, but if that's all you can come up with...sure. We'll go with silly.
None of this is made up. It all really happened, and I have the text messages to prove it. I love how things have come full circle. I love that he came to me, and I shot him down. I love that I have found a wonderful boy in "J", who understands we all have pasts, and forgives me for all of my 'mistakes'. Most of all, I love that I now have this story to add to my arsenal. It's the one I'll whip out when a girlfriend calls me and says: "You won't believe what just happened to me..." Because, after this, I'll believe anything.
So, we just went to the New Kids on the Block concert. And it was amazing. We wake up the next morning high on the drug that is our youth reincarnated. We threw on some clothes and walked up to Broadway for another round of good 'ole DD. Gotta love some french vanilla goodness on a Saturday morning! After breakfast we decided to spend some time with "J" and his amazing, beautiful, intelligent daughter who has me wrapped around her little finger. As any 4-year old would want to do, we put on a Hannah Montana concert. We jumped and sang into hair brushes and cooking spray bottles. We had a blast. Sadly, though, as much as "KB" and I tried to convince "Little J" that we should try singing to New Kids, she wasn't budging. It was Hannah. Over and over and over....
We decided we were going to hang out in Cambridge. Despite the never-ending rain that began the minute her plane touched down (and didn't stop until her plane took off on Sunday). We had a wonderful afternoon - a fabulous lunch at Z Square, the BEST hot chocolate on the eastern seaboard at Burdick, and a walk across Harvard's campus (and for those few minutes we were on site, they reported a significant drop in the overall IQ...).
Soaking wet and exhausted, we went home to get ready to go out with my old roomie. That's right. We were going to the gay bar! We spent lots of time making sure we were ready for this particular excursion. We definitely needed to make a good showing! We had a blast. We danced for what felt like 30 minutes, but turned out to be 2 1/2 hours. We danced on the stage. On the platform. There was no stopping us. We were hot!
The night ended, we said our goodbyes, and collapsed into bed. We were so exhausted. We said goodnight like a sexless lesbian couple would, and went to sleep. Until 4:30 am when my phone went off.
A text message from a number I didn't recognize said: "Hey stranger". Curious as to who is texting me from Rhode Island in the middle of the night, I, of course, ask the obvious question: "who is this?" Answer? "Drummer".
Now, most people who read this blog are familiar with said person. Some are not, however. A brief summary: I met drummer through my relationship(s) in Providence. A friend of a friend. We spent some time together - about a week - before I moved to Boston. Before I left to drive back to Michigan, "drummer" said some things that made me believe I would see him again. After about a week back home, all calls and text messages just stop. Completely. No explanation. No freak out. Nothing. Just totally MIA. That was almost 6 months ago.
So, you can understand my surprise, then, when at 4:30 in the morning, I receive a text message from him. After several attempts to try to get an explanation out of him, I receive the best text message ever. "Well, why don't we put the past behind us and send each other some dirty pictures." I. ALMOST. DIED. Um, I'm sorry, it's late/early, my eyes must not be working correctly. No one could really expect that I would just agree to this. My response: "There are several reasons why the answer is no. Not the least of which being I am not alone in my bed." He doesn't stop there. So sad. So pathetic. I end up giving it to him straight: "look...I have much more self respect than to do that. If I did send you pictures, it would imply that I have been waiting around for you to call me. And I haven't. Plus, and most important, I have found someone that will do all those things for me. I don't need pictures of you for anything." His response: "I guess it was silly to think you would send me pictures." SILLY!?! Yeah, I don't know that 'silly' would be the first word that came to my mind, but if that's all you can come up with...sure. We'll go with silly.
None of this is made up. It all really happened, and I have the text messages to prove it. I love how things have come full circle. I love that he came to me, and I shot him down. I love that I have found a wonderful boy in "J", who understands we all have pasts, and forgives me for all of my 'mistakes'. Most of all, I love that I now have this story to add to my arsenal. It's the one I'll whip out when a girlfriend calls me and says: "You won't believe what just happened to me..." Because, after this, I'll believe anything.
Still Hangin Tough...
I'm not even going to apologize for the lack of posts right now. I'm simply going to dive in like I haven't been gone at all...
So last weekend was probably the best weekend of my life. Seriously. There were so many things that make that statement true. First of all, on Thursday night, my best friend flew in from Knoxville. I hadn't seen her in at least 5 months, since before I moved to Beantown. Now, that might not seem like a lot of time to some people. However, I was used to seeing this particular friend at least once a month. I would travel down to Knoxville for work, stay with her and help her with her 2 wonderful children. Sometimes for a week. Sometimes more. We became a sexless lesbian couple - her husband is always out of town, so when I was there, we would run the house together. One gets the kids. The other gets dinner. We've been stuck on the couch with the flu together. She's become someone I simply cannot live without. I missed her terribly.
Before I went to pick her up at the airport, though, my new boy stops by the apartment to say hi. He begins to tell me about his day - about something he realized. After a lifetime spent loving women who need him, he was finding it hard to fall in love with me. Because I don't "need" him in the way he's used to. He realized, though, that love isn't based on filling someone's voids, but rather about sharing your strengths. He said he couldn't wait to run over and tell me all of this. That he's ready. To let go. To love me. That it's so clear to him now. That this is right. I smiled. And laughed. And felt something incredible move deep down inside. I was so glad he told me this. So happy he realized this before running away out of fear and the unknown. He kissed me - and ran off to the store. I stood there for a moment, unable to stop my world from spinning on all axis. This must be what pure happiness feels like.
Hmmm...still in a daze, I pick "KB" up from the airport and we immediately start cramming for the New Kids concert the following night. "Summertime", "One Song", "2 in the morning", "Don't Cry" - all of their new stuff that I needed to learn. We picked "J" up and went to a local Southie bar for some drinks, food, and karaoke. Good times were had by all. He even got up and did a little Eminem for me (I told you, he's perfect)!!!
The next day "KB" and I walked around Boston, bought some new clothes for the concert, laughed, got soaked in the rain - had a WONDERFUL day! But, all of that is nothing compared to what happened that night. The concert. We had to drive because the wait for a taxi was over an hour long. As I often do, I got lost in Boston. "J" was wonderful enough to talk us through getting there (this is definitely his strength over mine...). We find a spot to park and enter the TD Banknorth arena, which has never in its existence seen this much estrogen at one time. Women were wearing their old buttons, ripped jeans, high tops, side pony tails - it was awesome! Some were pregnant, all were close to our age - it was thousands of grown women who left their husbands at home with the kids. This equation always makes for a good time!
When the boys finally came out, we were holding onto each other and jumping like little school girls. I was immediately transformed to 4th grade when I was in love with Mark Sarzynski. Yes, Mark, you totally blew my mind that time! For 2 1/2 hours this madness continued. We danced. We sang. We cried. It was INCREDIBLE! No other band could - or will - ever be able to make me feel the way they do. We walked out singing the songs, dancing through the streets. We treated ourselves to some good 'ole DD for the ride home, got in the car, and turned up the New Kids.
Nothing could have brought us down from that buzz. Nothing still can. We are grown groupies and proud of it! WE LOVE YOU GUYS!!!! Donnie, Danny, Jon, Jordan, and Joe - you guys definitely still have the right stuff! Thanks for making 2 women feel like giddy little school girls again. It's something that neither of us will soon forget.
So last weekend was probably the best weekend of my life. Seriously. There were so many things that make that statement true. First of all, on Thursday night, my best friend flew in from Knoxville. I hadn't seen her in at least 5 months, since before I moved to Beantown. Now, that might not seem like a lot of time to some people. However, I was used to seeing this particular friend at least once a month. I would travel down to Knoxville for work, stay with her and help her with her 2 wonderful children. Sometimes for a week. Sometimes more. We became a sexless lesbian couple - her husband is always out of town, so when I was there, we would run the house together. One gets the kids. The other gets dinner. We've been stuck on the couch with the flu together. She's become someone I simply cannot live without. I missed her terribly.
Before I went to pick her up at the airport, though, my new boy stops by the apartment to say hi. He begins to tell me about his day - about something he realized. After a lifetime spent loving women who need him, he was finding it hard to fall in love with me. Because I don't "need" him in the way he's used to. He realized, though, that love isn't based on filling someone's voids, but rather about sharing your strengths. He said he couldn't wait to run over and tell me all of this. That he's ready. To let go. To love me. That it's so clear to him now. That this is right. I smiled. And laughed. And felt something incredible move deep down inside. I was so glad he told me this. So happy he realized this before running away out of fear and the unknown. He kissed me - and ran off to the store. I stood there for a moment, unable to stop my world from spinning on all axis. This must be what pure happiness feels like.
Hmmm...still in a daze, I pick "KB" up from the airport and we immediately start cramming for the New Kids concert the following night. "Summertime", "One Song", "2 in the morning", "Don't Cry" - all of their new stuff that I needed to learn. We picked "J" up and went to a local Southie bar for some drinks, food, and karaoke. Good times were had by all. He even got up and did a little Eminem for me (I told you, he's perfect)!!!
The next day "KB" and I walked around Boston, bought some new clothes for the concert, laughed, got soaked in the rain - had a WONDERFUL day! But, all of that is nothing compared to what happened that night. The concert. We had to drive because the wait for a taxi was over an hour long. As I often do, I got lost in Boston. "J" was wonderful enough to talk us through getting there (this is definitely his strength over mine...). We find a spot to park and enter the TD Banknorth arena, which has never in its existence seen this much estrogen at one time. Women were wearing their old buttons, ripped jeans, high tops, side pony tails - it was awesome! Some were pregnant, all were close to our age - it was thousands of grown women who left their husbands at home with the kids. This equation always makes for a good time!
When the boys finally came out, we were holding onto each other and jumping like little school girls. I was immediately transformed to 4th grade when I was in love with Mark Sarzynski. Yes, Mark, you totally blew my mind that time! For 2 1/2 hours this madness continued. We danced. We sang. We cried. It was INCREDIBLE! No other band could - or will - ever be able to make me feel the way they do. We walked out singing the songs, dancing through the streets. We treated ourselves to some good 'ole DD for the ride home, got in the car, and turned up the New Kids.
Nothing could have brought us down from that buzz. Nothing still can. We are grown groupies and proud of it! WE LOVE YOU GUYS!!!! Donnie, Danny, Jon, Jordan, and Joe - you guys definitely still have the right stuff! Thanks for making 2 women feel like giddy little school girls again. It's something that neither of us will soon forget.
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