A tear-filled breakfast. Let me explain.
I went to Rick’s show in
We ate dinner in town then off to the show we went. This show was my first in many years, and to my sheer delight, Rick came out into the audience! Please don’t ask me how quickly I left my husband at our seats on the side so that I could sprint and leap down stairs towards the middle seats. I did not have a camera at this show, but I did touch his butt. Hey, it was during Human Touch and he was RIGHT THERE, as in, Holy Freakin’ Crap, Rick Springfield is standing in front of me. He was having some trouble walking on the chairs, and I didn’t want the man to fall and hurt himself. I think I learned in First Aid that if someone looks like they are about to fall, if you hold said person by the buttocks, all will be well. All was well, at least with me.
I was on Cloud 9 from that point on. The concert ended, and I chattered like a butt-touching school girl about, “Did you see me touch him? I touched him! I think he dripped sweat on me!” My husband deserves some kind of medal. Or at least to touch Jessica Alba’s butt.
We got back to our hotel at about 11 p.m. I got ready for bed and then we just relaxed and watched TV. Somehow, the TV landed on the History Channel and we got sucked into a documentary about Jeffrey Dahmer. Just what you want to watch before drifting into slumber. As we watched, I heard some noise down the hall. I’m usually nosy about these things and would’ve popped my head out to see what was going on. However, I was too lazy and enjoyed the fact that I had potentially 12 hours of sleep ahead of me and wouldn’t have to get up before the sun rose with our 9 month-old Monkey Man the next morning.
I awoke the next morning refreshed and giddy and happily remembering my evening and did I mention the butt touching? I laughed and joked with my husband about the concert and how much fun it was, and then off to breakfast we went down the hall. While enjoying our waffles, the owner pleasantly chatted with us. Conversation follows:
Owner: “Did you go to the show last night?”
Me: “Yes, it was great!”
Owner: “Did you meet Rick?”
Me: Thinking, what an odd question, why would I meet him? Is that usual standard concert happenings in these parts of
Owner: “Oh, he stayed here last night and after the show he hung out in the lobby until about 2 a.m. talking with guests and people that were at the concert who stopped here to see him. He was also here yesterday at about noon taking pictures with Santa in the lobby.”
Me: This is where the tears start. “You are kidding me, Really?” Because clearly this was the meanest joke anyone could play on me and there had to be cameras on me waiting to put me on some practical joke show.
Owner: “Yeah, it was great. He stays here whenever he plays at that venue. He is always so nice.”
Me: “Awesome. Want to know how Jeffrey Dahmer began his career as a serial killer? No? Neither did I.”
UNBELIEVABLE. I still get a little misty-eyed thinking about it.
The breakfast area where my heart was broken.
The lobby where everyone - EXCEPT ME - but including Santa, got to hang out with Rick. And hey, guess what's behind that fireplace and down the hall? A girl not nosy ENOUGH to poke her head out.
Ugh. And this guy? Dude, you did some really horrible, heinous, disgusting things. And because of that they made a documentary about you. And because of that, I didn't meet Rick Springfield! You're an even bigger jerk than I thought.