Rock Star Cool
Here’s a newsflash: I am not cool.
That may come as a surprise to some of you, but I am really not cool. In fact, I am like the black hole of cool: coolness approaches me and then gets sucked in, never to be seen again.
Given that, it is quite amusing that I was on-stage last night at a rock concert. I got to stand behind the drummer for two different acts: the one we were there to see and one that my husband totally loved in high school. We know a member of one of the bands, and he gave us a behind-the-scenes tour, including “bus land” (where all the tour buses park), the inside of their tour bus, and back-stage passes. My goal for the night was not to get in the way and not to out myself as a huge dork.
I had to laugh because standing on stage is surreal. All these kids were here to see these bands and were in complete and total awe of the performers. Instead of one of them being on stage and having what I am sure would be a life-changing experience, there stood my husband and I. I was impressed with the music (the volume itself was just amazing) but the whole time I couldn’t help but fixate on how much I really wanted a diet Coke. It was really hot and dusty (mosh pits will do that, apparently) and while the music was good (and loud, did I mention it was loud? what? did you say something?), I was so totally out of my element and felt so awkward that it made me feel like I was in high school again.
The good news is that alternative rock-star musicians and their wannabe teenage fans think about many things, but pregnancy/miscarriage do not typically make their radar. It was a blissful evening where I got to do something I had never done before (and will probably never do again) and I was not constantly reminded that I can’t stay pregnant.
Actually, pregnancy came up only once. We took our friend out to dinner and my husband asked him what he was reading. Without even blinking, he replied Prenatal Parenting. He and his wife are trying to get pregnant, which is difficult because he is on tour, and she wanted him to read it. (I guess even cool rock-star musicians and their wives have to worry about timing like the rest of us.) I just nodded my head. Sharing the intimate details of your pregnancies and/or miscarriages is definitely not cool, especially with unsuspecting rock-star musicians while dining over inexpensive road-side burgers.
So instead I blog, because, let’s face it, can only pretend not to be a huge dork for one night.
p.s. Has anyone read that book? It looks, well, quite awful. I can’t wait to read it.