30ish Going on 13

Last night, I went to the Bon Jovi concert and this is how close I got:

Not really. That would be my fellow monster ballad loving friend Yvonne, who scored front row pit, but she totally deserves it because her email address begins with the letters "rockstarmommy" and there's got to be some perks with daily signage like that. Anyway, our view was more like this:

But that's okay, he still looks good from behind.

And from the side, sporting some Jazzercise dance moves. Here are some of the hot mamas I went with. I have to give a shout out to Rochelle, who is my faithful reader/rock star friend and who knows EVERYONE who's anyone because her husband has all these cool companies and gives all the IT's free stuff. So here's to my hopes that next time she meets her facebook friend Natasha backstage, I'll be at her side. Woo-woo!

This picture made it on the OC Daily's! (OC Register)

So of course Michael is my only true fluffy-haired love, and I know Jon Bon is Mr. Faithful to his wife (making it a safe crush), so it's not like I had any backstage fantasies. I was there for one reason: to hear him sing "Bed of Roses."

I admit that during that song I had... a moment. I stood up and wailed along with Jono to the Jumbo Tron of the Honda Center, arms flung wide. I may have busted out the air guitar. I may have caused the six girl friends I was sitting with to plan an early exit strategy--without me. But for 5 minutes and 54 seconds, I was back in the ninth grade.

I was hovering over my stereo player, waiting for the DJ's voice to taper down so I could press "record" as Richie Sambora's guitar solo pierced my heart.

I was at a field party--i.e. "slumber party" stalking my first major crush- S.B.- and trying to figure out how I was going to get a ride home when dawn cracked.

I was standing at my locker outside of gym revving up to say my first swear word so S.B. wouldn't think I was quite so innocent.

I was signing up for track and running miles upon miserable miles because S.B. also ran track.

I was driving my friend Anna's parents' car while they were out of town (because I looked the oldest) to the store to get some supplies for the party S.B. was supposed to come to.

I was standing in the middle of Anna's cul-de-sac painfully colliding with S.B.'s braces during my long awaited first kiss. It was horrible.

I was utterly depressed on Monday morning sitting in home ec with bruised lips as I heard S.B. had kissed two other girls that night.

I was rewinding and rewinding and rewinding my little tape recorder and writing pathetic poetry and lamenting that I was alone and lonely and yet I'd die to defend my S.B., knowing all the while it was never meant to be. (Because really, I was a little too innocent, and he really was a bit of an S.o.B.).

I was facing the trauma and drama and tension and turmoil and butterflies and knots and torture and exhilaration of a first love. And "Bed of Roses" was my soundtrack, Bon Jovi was my witness. And sometimes it just feels good to go back for a visit.