|You you have to admit . . . nice.|
*sigh* I know. Josh Groban. Again. But, ya'll (suddenly I'm from the south) he's ramping up for a tour. A tour! (Now I'm a hormone excreting adolescent girl) I haven't been this excited about a tour since . . . since . . . New Kids On The Block. Or maybe New Edition. Or Michael Jackson. Chicago. Menudo. El Debarge, Garth Brooks. Oh . . My . . . Gawd. I just totally dated myself. And to be fair, I didn't get to see New Edition or Michael Jackson (although my mom and brother did . . . that's another story). Anyway, back to Josh. He's going to be in concert. As in on stage. Right there. Singing! Live! Can you hear me squealing like a pimple faced Justin Beiber fan?? Ugh.
The most embarrassing part? My husband. He's been to one concert. One. It was the reunion tour of The Police, which if you're only going to be at one concert in your life, that's the one to be at. But he hated it. Yeah, you read that right. Hated it. Called me to complain during the show that he was too close to the stage, the "guy singing, what's his name?" (uhh, freaking STING!!) was too close, and he, my husband, had eaten too much at the catered dinner before hand. *I'll wait while you pick your head up off the desk. Take your time.*
Also? I have yet to tell my husband that I want to dance and scream my way from city to city from Boston to Philly with a group of women. Screaming for another man. A much younger man. A man with piano hands (for you, Linda), long thighs (for you, Karen), shows a little chest hair (but not like 70's chest hair, right Mal?) and a nice neck (for you, Keren.) Oh, and nice forearms. (Those would be for me.) And really? That's all pretty darn innocent!!
Back to the humiliating part. So, I'm prepping to attend multiple Josh Groban concerts and dance, sing and yell like a fool. All while enjoying myself with a wonderful group of women that I've already told you about here. My husband totally gets the women part, how they have supported me etc. But the Josh part . . . uh, no. He is not going to understand my desire to dance and scream, repeatedly, to the same songs, by the same person, in different cities. Songs I'll have heard on a CD, seen on the 'making of' DVD. Honestly? I kind of don't get it! But just the thought of getting to do it makes me happy!!
Maybe that is part of the draw of it? That it makes me happy. The dancing, laughing, singing, it all takes me back to my youth. The giggling, the sheer ridiculousness of it. It takes me back to a simpler, more innocent time of life. I'll just be enjoying myself, loosing myself in the silliness of it, the fun of it. And you know what? I'm fine with that. So bring on the dancing, the screaming, the singing. Bring on me reverting to 16. How many times in your life do you get to do that? I'm in!
Have you ever reverted back to a 'younger' age? Or are you simply crazy about someone? Share!
As usual, comment, comment! They thrill me!