Groupies are Good Enough

So last night I went back to my groupie roots. It reminded me of college, and wearing my "Eddie, You're the Garbage and I'm the Fly" t-shirt to the Ed McBand shows. Yes, the one I had "help" making, when I asked the girl to center it and the picture of me with Eddie ended up on my stomach. Oh dear. I kind of got away from going to friend's shows/hosting them at my house after Eddie's percussionist, Seth, made some crack about me onstage, suggesting I was in love with some band member or other. As if. Everyone knows my celebrity crushes tend more toward the news anchors (I love you, Matt Lauer!). And if I were to act like a nincompoop around a musician, it would probably be Michael Stipe, who I still dream about yearly. The dream is always the same-- sitting amicably on an old couch in a green room (waiting room, not the color green) and then we make out. I've had this dream since I was about 14, and it never gets old. But I digress.

Anyway, last night I hit up the Launchpad to visit my dear little friends as they magically entertained a crowd of 30 or so people. I heart you, Avenge Apollo! The picture above (still dark, sorry!) features my cousin Sarah's beau, Eli, filling in for Cole (which he did for one song). Does anyone realize I've never even been introduced to Cole? I thought about wearing a shirt with HIS name on it, but I didn't think he'd think it was cool, so much as it would make me look like a stalker. Also, I regretted forgetting my sledge hammer, yet again. I wanted to dance and dance, but without the hammer, I just couldn't do it.

In some ways, I'm a terrible groupie. Unlike the girls there to see the headlining band (whose name I forget, but I'm not super-impressed with-- I think it has something to do with the way Mr. California Lead Singer sings the word "different"-- broken up into "diff-rent" in the most obnoxious way possible), I was not wearing my Ugg Boots or my minuscule vest. I hadn't even given myself the de rigueur emo-pompadour (which I do actually sport in real life on about a weekly basis). I'm too shy to get particularly close to the stage, and as I said before, I just can't dance around without the hammer. I also am not good at giggling, and I felt like a complete dork with my camera out. When I was at Morrissey, I was in a huge crowd of people, and everyone was using their cell phones as lighters, so I couldn't feel dumb. But dumb is ok, when you get a shot like this:

Isn't Brennan the hottest boy you've ever seen in orange girl pants? I love these. They remind me of so many good memories of yore. If we only go as far back as my first trip to London, age 17, they remind me of the orange tights I bought at Harrod's. I knew I couldn't afford much else there, but they were popular all over London. Funny that it only took us 10 years and a season of "Gossip Girl" to get on the trend here in the U.S. Anyway, B's pants run circles around my tights anyway. They also are a bit reminiscent of Big Bird's legs in "Big Bird in Tokyo" or whatever that show was called. This is why the girls line up to get next to him. Nice guy+ Orange pants+ Mad Drumming Skills= Sexy Man with Big Hair.

Not that B has the monopoly on sexy legs in the Divett family. Here's little Jacob, rockin' out in the free world:

You can see why KB Toys doesn't want me near her celebrity crush! I'd like to think I'm deeper than someone fainting at the feet of a rock-star in training, and I'd justify my Jacob-as-a-heart-throb-love mostly because of his field of study (social work) or the fact that he cleaned up the mess at my house after I spilled roasted tomato soup all over myself and my kitchen. Y'all know I like boys who do dishes and have social causes. He's literate, he's considerate, and he's too legit to quit. Oops. That was stupid. I think the point of this rambling mess, though, is the happy coincidence that he's also surprisingly handsome. I love when my friends have an outside that matches their good inside. Most of us are only "sweet spirits" with faces like fists full of worms. But Jacob's goodness has been rewarded with a very cute face (and I especially like it when he sticks his tongue out whilst concentrating-- he reminds me of Zoey) and, now that he is following his brother's example of wearing girl pants, the world is aware of how nice his legs are. Sorry to embarrass you, Jacob, but I couldn't help noticing. I'm more of a nose girl, but his legs caught my attention.

All in all, a very good night. Sarah and I had a blast. She supported her man, I pretended to be a paparazzo, and all to a soundtrack of mild punk goodness. No sweaty articles of clothing were launched my way, but truthfully, I'm past that stage of my life now. Besides, there's only so much room in my hope chest to house memorabilia after my Johnny Cash and Osmonds 2nd Generation autographs.