The Worst Travel Day Ever!

Yesterday, July 18, 2016, I experienced the worst travel day of my entire life.  It was so epically bad, I have to blog about it.  I know you're all waiting for a blog or ten about our incredible time in Belgium and Western Europe, and that is coming.  I promise.  But I seriously need therapy.  The thing is, I travel A LOT.  And I'm good at it.  I usually have bad luck in terms of flight delays, but never to the level of trouble I had yesterday.  I can say with some authority that I will definitely be thinking twice before traveling on IcelandAir ever again.  But I'm ahead of myself.

So for two weeks, we went to Western Europe, primarily Belgium, to visit our former exchange student, Ine, and her family, and get to know them and their country and culture.  It was an absolutely incredible trip, we saw and did so much.  I don't know how her family crammed all that into a mere two weeks.  It was literally the trip of a lifetime.  Yesterday was departure day.

Now, you may have heard that Europe has been under threat of terrorist attack, and in fact Belgium was attacked in March and France was attacked while we were there.  Tensions are high, which is understandable, and while we hear in the US that there is a flood of Muslim immigrants and refugees coming into Europe, until you are there, you don't really understand how big the situation is.  We saw many, many more Muslims in Europe than I have probably ever seen in my life.  And with extremists attacking, the situation is a bit "delicate".

Ok, so Monday morning, Ine and her mom drop us off at the Brussels Airport, which is back to normal, looks great, you'd never know anything happened there.  To even get into the airport, you have to go through a large tent and in the tent, the soldiers tell you go either to the left or to the right.  If you get sent to the left, you're scot-free, you go right into the airport.  If you get sent to the right, you and your bags go through metal detectors and screening.  As if you're not going to have to do that once you're inside.  But they're taking no chances because the bombing of the Brussels airport took place near the international ticketing, where there are no security measures.  Guess which line Leah and I got sent through?  You guessed it.  The right.  Not only do you have to hoist your suitcase into the X-ray machines (and we had 2 suitcases, each of which weighed 50 pounds), but if you have backpacks with any sort of electronic anything, you have to unpack it.  So my carefully packed backpack had to be completely ripped apart to get the electronics out.

That really set me off.  Because you don't have time to repack everything neatly, so we had to just cram everything back in the bags and proceed.

Once inside, you have to locate where your particular airline has its window.  There are 10 zones in Brussels, and each of those 10 zones has 12 windows.  That's 120 potential ticket windows from which you have to find your particular airline.  That doesn't count the windows along the back wall of the departures area.  We checked a sign and it said IcelandAir was in Zone 9.  We go, and as far as you can see, the area is literally PACKED with primarily Muslim people (or so I'm guessing based on their dress), and all the airlines are Turkish Air, Saudi Air, all Middle Eastern airlines.

And one thing I have learned in the course of my travels in South America and Europe, as well as from hosting students from Asia is that concepts of personal space and good manners vary widely from country and culture to country and culture.  For instance, when Leah and I were riding on the Metro in Paris recently, we were nearing our stop, so we moved to stand in front of the door.  I asked her, "Are you ready? This is our stop" and she said yes.  A young Caucasian man who had been riding next to us and speaking English with a friend (I say this so that you know he spoke English) stepped in front of us into the maybe 6 inches between us and the door, stepped on my foot, and without an "excuse me" or a backwards glance made sure he was the first one out the door.  We were banged into mercilessly while we were in Europe and it finally got to a point where Leah stomped on one person's foot and I refused to correct her--a grown man on the Tube in London literally shoved her out of the way so he could have the one seat on the train before she got to it, men and women constantly banged into us, walked in front of us and stopped, stood way too close to us for comfort in situations where it was most definitely not required (ie NOT on a crowded train but in a museum), it was exhausting.

So to know that we had to go through this massive crowd of people was daunting to say the least, but we HAD to find our ticketing window.  So Leah, me, two huge suitcases, and two backpacks put our heads down and started working our way through.  Our repeated cries of "Excuse me!"  "Excusez-moi!"  "Pardonne!" were totally ignored, and meanwhile we were getting banged into on all sides by Muslim men, women, and children who were packed into Zone 9, so we finally had to skip being polite and just get on in there and do battle.  Only to discover there was no IcelandAir counter in Zone 9.Which meant we had to battle our way back out.  It had been a mere 15 minutes and I was already totally exhausted.

So we found an electronic departures board, and that said that IcelandAir's window would be in Zone 3.  We walked down to Zone 3, and not only wasn't IcelandAir there, there wasn't a single solitary ticket window open in Zone 3.  We started walking up and down all the zones looking for help, but there wasn't an information desk, there were no airport employees to ask for help, nothing.We were on our own.  Finally we decided that we were just going to camp out in Zone 3 and wait for something to happen.  When we had arrived at Dulles 2 weeks prior, IcelandAir's window was closed until 4:45, so we figured it might just open later than when we were there.  Eventually we noticed other people milling around, and finally a young woman came out and flipped up an IcelandAir sign.

And then, as she was the only employee there from IA, proceeded to mess with the TensaBarriers for five minutes to create as intricate a maze as possible for us all to follow, after we had all jumped into the barriers once the window was opened.

Finally she was happy with the arrangement, and we started to move through the line.  Somehow we were in the first 30 families, but I think due to the fact that IA is a lowercost  carrier, there were a ton of backpackers and large families there, and of course, everyone is already exhausted from the effort of finding the window and even getting into the airport, so the pushing began.  I was really losing it.  And the fact that they had exactly one person working was really infuriating.

Fortunately the check in process for us was fairly smooth.  Once it was our turn, it took less than 5 minutes to drop off our bags and get our boarding passes.  Of course, by this point, Leah had to use the bathroom, so off we went to the toilet.

Now in Europe, most public toilets require a fee to enter.  In the airport, thankfully this was not the case.  But the stalls are about 2.5 feet wide and maybe 5 feet deep, and Leah is terrified of using the bathroom alone, so we were crammed into this tiny space with our backpacks.  She went to the bathroom and then it was my turn, and as I went, I discovered, to quote the IT crowd, that I had "fallen to the communists"...  Yes, Aunt Irma had chosen that moment to pay a visit, and I sat there on the toilet and moaned, "OH NO."  Because I had come prepared for this eventuality, but of course, all supplies required were now somewhere between my present location and Reykjavik, and I didn't want Leah to know what was going on, as she doesn't know all these facts of life yet.

I panicked.  Using "We haven't gotten Winston a present yet!" as my cover story, Leah and I shopped in every single store in the Brussels airport, and not a single one had feminine supplies with the exception of the duty free store which was selling a box of Tampax for 10 euros, which I resolutely was NOT going to pay.  There were no coin operated machines in any of the 6 toilets we went into, and I could not find a medical or first aid station to go in and beg supplies at.  I finally had to MacGuyver a solution, which was not only uncomfortable, but I was rather insecure about it, and Leah was going crazy with the sheer number of times I was going into a bathroom.

So we eventually got called for boarding, and onto the plane we went, only to discover we were seated across the aisle from each other, not in seats next to each other.  This really set Leah off completely.  I told her I would ask the people who were sitting with us if they would consider trading seats so we could sit together, but unfortunately, sitting next to her were a father and daughter, and sitting next to me were a pair of brothers, and no one wanted to trade.  So we were stuck.  We held hands across the aisle as much as possible, but for a child with serious separation anxiety, it was hard.

They brought her a meal (adults don't get any kind of food, not even snacks on board IA's international flights), and she ate her sandwich, raisins, and drank her juice and we watched movies (I can't say much for IA, but their inflight entertainment was excellent--I watched Eddie the Eagle on the way over, which I had wanted to see for forever and which I LOVED, and on this particular leg of the journey, I watched Spotlight which I didn't think I'd enjoy but very much did and then started the 11.22.63 series, which was awesome).  I made a quick bathroom stop and looked all through the bathroom for rogue supplies, but there were none, so I made do.  Things were going pretty well.

Then we got to Reykjavik and all holy hell broke loose.

I hadn't been real impressed when we got there on Monday July 4 because IA cuts its connections VERY close, and we initially had only 90 minutes to get to our connection, which thanks to a flight delay was cut to 30 minutes, and very nearly missed it.  IA doesn't pull up to a jetty or gangway attached to the airport's physical building--you have to climb down stairs, then get on a bus and get bused over to the terminal.  Then, because Iceland is a gateway to the EU, we had to go through customs to get into the International Departures area, and they had a guard posted at the one escalator you can go up and she only allowed 20 people at a time to go up the escalator.  Once up there, there were 4 lines to get through customs, and there were literally hundreds of people trying to make connections.  All around us, flights were being closed, and there was nothing we could do.  As we neared the front of the line, the flight to Brussels was announced as boarding, and almost immediately flipped to "Final Call".  We managed to get through customs, although the officer tried to give me some shit about traveling "without the father" ("I'm a widow" shut him down pretty quickly), and I told Leah "RUN!"  We got to the boarding area for our flight with about 30 seconds to spare, then we sat on the bus for 15 minutes with no idea what was going on--did we miss the plane?  Were they holding it for us?  Were other people coming?  Thankfully they were just waiting for any straggling passengers.

Ok, so back to 7/18.  We get to Reykjavik and I'm thinking "This will be a breeze, we have almost 2 hours and we don't have to go through customs this time!"  How wrong I was.  We had to go through customs again.  Why, I have no idea.  But we did.  It was the same rigamarole, but for some reason it went much more quickly and we were through customs in about 15 minutes.  And were immediately dumped into the Duty Free shop, which contained the one toilet in the terminal that I could find and that shop let out into the ONE restaurant in the terminal--a convenience store/bar type mock up where you could buy sandwiches and snacks.  Given that IA refuses to feed you, there were a LOT of hungry people and the line was stretching into the duty free area.  Why?  Because in its wisdom, IA decided to have literally 6 flights that were leaving within 20 minutes of each other all at one section of gates that was approximately 150 feet long and 50 feet wide.  It was total and complete chaos. The cashiers for the shop were set up the dump people into terminal area and each of the 6 flights were to major American cities like DC, Denver, Chicago, Minneapolis, etc.  Here's kind of a drawing I did.

The gate that has a star is the one we were assigned to.

Again, all these flights were scheduled at these 6 gates for within 15 minutes of each other.  They finally opened the doors for the gate next to ours (which was going to Denver) and some of those people went down a small hallway, where they got to stand around and wait.  Our doors opened, and there was no indication that any particular class should come forward, that people with children or disabilities should come forward, nothing, so people went totally NUTS pushing into that area because it was clear a riot was close to erupting in the little hallway inside the terminal.  We got up to the front, our tickets were scanned, and immediately I was told that our tickets "have a seating issue".  I was told "You chose comfort economy but you should be in economy, your seats have been changed."

Now, bear in mind, I chose the seats BEFORE I paid for the tickets, so any mistake in pricing would have been on the part of the computer, NOT on my part.  Also, on our trip between Reykjavik and Brussels two weeks prior, we were in the same seats, and it was not a problem whatsoever.  I was totally furious, but "there's nothing we can do, those seats have been sold to someone else."  NICE, right?

So we get on the stupid bus, get bused to the stupid plane, but of course at this stage, they are running 30 minutes late because of the sheer quantities of people they have, the mass confusion, and the lack of buses,  We find our new seats, and I tell Leah that if no one sits next to us, we will spread out.  Well, immediately, a burly Englishman comes and sits next to me (I was in the middle seat, Leah is in the window seat) and proceeds to manspread across his seat and half of mine.  He literally has his arm over top of mine.  And the instant, THE INSTANT, the plane takes off, the woman in front of me fully reclines her seat, which is now one hand's width away from my nose.  And that was how much room I had for the entire flight.

The crew comes around and they have food for sale. I decide I have some Euros in my pocket that I'm not going to use, I will buy myself some dinner.  I order the curry chicken, hand the lady my $13 Euros and she says they will not accept cash, only credit cards.  My bank charges a foreign transaction fee every time I use it outside the US, so I ask why they can't accept cash and she says they just can't.  I was not willing to pay an extra fee on top of the fee for the food, so I hand her the food back and that was that.

Now, the chap next to me orders two bottles of red wine, a hoagie, and a can of chips.  And he settles in, and Leah has her free meal, and suddenly Leah decides she has to go to the bathroom.  I apologize profusely to Manspread, and he picks up his glass of wine to move, and the stewardess backs into him and dumps his red wine all over his white shirt and jeans.  And he is F***ing FURIOUS.  And so the stewardess is trying to address this, and I'm like "PEOPLE!  WE ARE GOING TO HAVE AN ADDITIONAL MESS ON OUR HANDS HERE UNLESS YOU LET ME OUT"...  And between being hungry, hormonal issues, lack of supplies available, jet lag, getting pushed around by strangers, and having ZERO room on this flight, I am starting to completely and totally lose it.

So they finally get out of the way, and I can tell that I'm going to need to make some adjustments, and Leah is absolutely terrified of the airplane bathrooms in ways she has never been afraid of regular toilets, and it was all coming to a head, when we arrive at the one bathroom that is accessible and discover a 7 year old boy has locked himself in, and is having a blast in there and has no real desire to leave.  So me, Leah, and Manspread are in the aisle, he wants to clean up, she wants to pee but is scared, and I'm afraid of free-bleeding everywhere, and we can't get into the bathroom because of a 7 year old Icelandic terror.  FUN TIMES.

Eventually, we get in, Leah goes, I wait for Manspread to go and clean up, but of course, getting red wine out of a white shirt is going to take more than a well-intentioned can of tonic water, so he comes out of the bathroom wet and absolutely fuming, I go in and discover some "issues" that I do my best to resolve, and we go back to our seats.  I wedge myself into my half seat, Manspread does his thing, and I go back to watching TV.  Then Manspread calls the head stewardess, who apologizes profusely and gives him a claim form to be reimbursed for his shirt, and he lights into her about how he agreed to swap seats so some damned married couple could sit together and he hates small children and he hates the small seats and now his clothes are ruined, and I'm listening to this and just thinking "I'm in hell.  I'm trapped in hell and I cannot move."  And that's when the turbulence starts.  And if you're a nervous flyer like me, you don't handle turbulence well.  So I do the one thing I can do:  I turn on "Police Academy" and hide my tears behind some laughter.

A couple of hours later, Leah needs to use the bathroom again, but Manspread is already up, so it's no big deal.  As we come back, we discover that the second round of complimentary beverage service has come to our area, and the stewardesses are giving everyone a second drink.  They move the cart on our behalf, and then walk off, and did not serve me a second drink!!!  The people in the same row but across the aisle from us got drinks, everyone around us got drinks, but they didn't even ask if I wanted anything!  Good job I'd brought a drink with me!

We arrive in Dulles about 30 minutes late, gather up our stuff (Manspread has left a complete trail of destruction in and around his seat, so I just say "Screw it" to leaving a box of cheez-its and a chip bag under the seat--I was miffed about not getting my drink and just exhausted and off we go to face US Customs.  I know there is a citizen line and a non-citizen line, so I'm thinking "This will be a snap!"  No.  In its infinite wisdom, the US government has decided to further complicate the customs process.  Used to be you'd get in the customs line with your form filled out already, hand it to the officer, answer a few basic questions, and out you go.  Now, you have to go get what's called a 'passport receipt'.  Now, Leah had fallen asleep the last 2 hours of the flight, and was BARELY clinging to consciousness.  For this passport receipt process, you have to scan your passport, answer all the questions that you have to answer on the customs form, and then pose for a picture on the computer, which then prints out said picture and you have to hand that paper to the customs official.  Trying to hold up a half-comatose 7 year old for a picture when the computer can't find her because she is too short and get her to open her eyes for the picture, that is NOT fun.  We get our receipts and then I'm thinking, "Well, maybe this means we don't have to deal with customs because we've answered all the questions."  Oh no, you still have to go talk to the customs officer, who checks your receipt against your passport, and you still have to answer all the same questions you've already answered on the customs form and on the computer for the receipt.  So, in case you're keeping track, that's 3 times we've answered these questions in some way, shape or form.

We get done with that, and we go to baggage claim.  I get a text from my sister that they are in the cell phone waiting area.  earlier in the day, I had sent her an SOS about bringing needed supplies to the airport, so I tell her to park and come in, we should be through the arrival doors literally any minute.  We find our suitcases, I get a baggage cart, pile everything on top, and Leah collapses in a heap.  I move towards the doors to get out, only to discover that there's another layer of customs security.  so I dig back through my bag to pull out all the paperwork, and stand in line for TWENTY MINUTES trying to get to the door, to discover that at the exit, they have two customs officers whose sole job it is to collect the customs receipts from you and make sure that they match your passport.  And because everyone thinks they are done when they leave customs, everyone has put their passports away, and now everyone has to dig them back out, including a group of 30 Chinese exchange students whose passports had been collected by a chaperone who was now frantically trying to dole them back out before the students arrived at the front of the line.  The students, who didn't understand the American way of taking alternating turns (each of the two officers had two lines to process), were trying to just jump through and cut the lines, and the officers were constantly sending them back to the 'starting' line position to await their turn, but they had no idea what was going on.

I had really hoped my sister would be there waiting when we came through the arrival doors, but she was trying to find a place to park and I hadn't texted her in time to get inside, and she also had my niece and nephew with her, so we came out and no one was there to greet us, which made me kind of sad, but eventually we found them and it was all I could do not to just burst into tears.  The kids were screaming "Cioci! Cioci! Did you bring us presents!?" I had the foresight to know they'd be there and want their presents early, so I had put them in my backpack, and gave Dot her little golden Eiffel Tower ("Oh, Cioci!  I just LOVE it!  I have always wanted my own Eiffel Tower!") and William his build your own airplane kit (he was struck dumb), I grabbed my sister's backpack and ran for the bathroom, and then paid the parking and we got the hell out of there.  My sister had in mind that she would mess with Waze to see what was the fastest way home, but it wasn't cooperating and I said, "Take the stupid toll road, just get me the hell out of here." so she did.  We made it home in about an hour, which was amazing, and although she offered to stop and get me something to eat, I decided I was far more exhausted than I was hungry, so I told her to just bring me home.  We got Leah into bed and that was the end of it.  I fell into bed almost immediately and was asleep in minutes, curled up with my kitties who had apparently missed me.

This was by far the worst travel experience I've ever had in my life.  I don't' think it's one of those things I will ever even laugh about down the road.  It was almost traumatizing.  I just tell myself "Hey, I'm home!" and that's going to have to be that.  I hope future trips will be far less stressful...  It's good to be home.

Barenaked Summer

Tickets to the Last Summer on Earth Tour went on sale back in February.  Two years ago, I went on my first Barenaked Ladies concert binge, going to 3 concerts in 6 months, including one trip backstage in Kingston, Ontario with my dad and Leah, which you can read about here.  It was a pretty amazing night, and so much fun to go with my family, but I really wanted to also be able to share the experience with my sister, as BNL is about the one band that she and I can agree on.  When LSOE16 tickets went on sale, I found VIP passes to Philadelphia, and given that it's only about 3 hours away, I called Judy immediately and said "Are you in?" She was kind of waffly, because I was at work and couldn't really tell her the full details, but eventually she said yes, and I got the passes as her birthday gift.  June 18th.  The day.

Now, when we went to see them in Kingston, I had brought 2 boomerangs with me to have autographed, as "Boomerang" was one of my favorite songs off the Grinning Streak album.  I gave one to my dad, who promptly had Kevin Hearn sign one side, and had Tyler Stewart, Jim Creegan, and Ed Robertson sign the other.  When I said "DAD!  YOU MESSED IT UP!" he said, "Why does it matter?"  So I gave the boomerang to my sister and said she could either display Kevin's side (he being her favorite band member) or the other side with the other 3.  She promptly left it at my house, and it has been sitting carefully preserved in my hutch.  Since you can bring one item to have autographed when you go backstage, I knew I would bring that damned thing and have it corrected.

The morning of the 18th dawned bright and clear, and I had every intention of leaving my house by 8am, dropping Leah off with my friend Kirsten for the weekend, picking my sister up by 9, and being in Philly by noon.  Unfortunately, because I was nervous and excited, and also thanks to a passing coal train, I didn't leave town till 8:40, courtesy of two trips back to the house, one of which was to retrieve the boomerang, which I had forgotten.  Little matter though, Judy texted me to tell me she had changed clothes 6 times and I needed to get up there because she was making herself and everyone around her crazy.  Dropping Leah off was no problem, getting to Judy's was no problem, but kidnapping her from her daughter who was absolutely beside herself that Mommy was going out for a day without her was another matter entirely.  Finally at 9:30, we were on our way.

We got to Delaware before making a stop, and got the all important "Hi.  We're in Delaware" photo.  Every single time I go to Delaware, all I can think of is Wayne's World when the use the green screen to go to Delaware and it cracks me up.  So I enjoy taking these dopey pictures every time we get there.

After a quick pit stop, we were on our way and debating where to have lunch once we got to the city.  Traffic was heavy but steady, and having been in Philly a couple of weeks before with my buddy Joe for Wizard World, I knew we'd make it before were starving for lunch, so I texted my friend Jason for recommendations before Judy and I both decided we wanted to see if there was someplace in Philly we could get some decent Polish food.

Eventually we found a section of Philly called Little Poland and got there around 1:00.  Unfortunately, not one single restaurant there accepted credit cards, so we had to prowl around and find an ATM, but it was well worth the effort.  We enjoyed a delicious lunch of kielbasa and pierogies at Syrenka Restaurant (there were little mermaids everywhere!) and wandered through the Polish markets and enjoyed the sights and smells of the place.  We talked about our grandmother nad her sister, we read the Polish-American News, it was a wonderful few hours that we killed down there.

Once we were sated, we headed to the Mann Center where the concert was taking place.  I was very nervous about everything going off without a hitch, so we got to the Mann and parked under a big tree where a couple of fans had staked out a spot and were tailgating.  We talked to them a bit and then went up to the ticket office to find out the real deal with everything.  The woman at the counter couldn't have been nicer, confirmed that our tickets were there and even showed them to us but said she couldn't give them to us till 6pm, and then gave us a tip that there was a McDonald's in walking distance if we didn't want to sit around.  So we decided to take a crack at it, even though we were warned we were not exactly in the best part of town.  We made it unscathed and had a cold drink, then headed to a ShopRite in the same shopping plaza to get some tailgating supplies for ourselves before walking back to the Mann.  As we approached, we noticed that the attendants were roughing our neighbors up for money for the parking, so we got back to the car and left, parking on the street, only to discover they were going to shut down the street parking and we had no choice but to either leave the area completely or to pay $20 in cash for parking.  Of which I had $17.  Thus, we were frantically combing the seats of the car for all the change we could rustle up, which was considerable since my daughter hustles me for money when I swear now, and came up with the last little bit of change we needed.  We paid and parked and played a word game called Jotto that we've played for years.

Once 6:00 rolled around, we got out of the car, retrieved our tickets and wristbands, and met up with Marie, a fellow BNL fan we've become friendly with on Facebook.  She has zillions of pictures with the band, goes to lots of concerts every summer, and when I had my car accident a couple of years ago, she sent me cookies in the mail to cheer me up after my new car was totaled.  I was as excited to meet her as I was to meet BNL!  So when we saw her walking up the hill, I was beside myself and gave her a big hug and we chatted for a few minutes before heading our separate ways to go and find our seats.

It was such fun!  As we walked through the amphitheater, a couple of people commented on my shirt!  I had on a shirt from my office and it reads "Superman had foster parents", as we are a foster care agency and our mission is to be champions for children and families.  I got a picture with David Duchovny while I was wearing the shirt and it's now on the intranet at work, so I thought it would be fun to get a picture with BNL with the shirt.  But little did I know how much everyone would love it.  There was one usher at the Mann who was literally yelling "That is such a great shirt!" while laughing and nearly crying.  He just kept saying what a great shirt it was. I hope it makes people think a little anyway.  (David D said, "That's a great point.  I hadn't thought about that."  So I guess it does!)

BNL had 2 opening acts, the first being Howard Jones of Everlasting Love fame.  We had been on the lawn at the Wolf Trap show on Wednesday the 15th, but couldn't see anything, so it was kind of fun to see Howard performing up close and personal.  He has a lot of energy and played for about 45 minutes.  I only know a couple of his songs, but it was really fun to have the sounds of the 80's ringing in my ears anyway and I loved his little keyboard guitar thingy.  But the real star of the set was his synthesizer man.  He was a perfect punk--crazy hair, dark clothes and a perfect look of total and complete disinterest and ennui.  I said to my sister "He probably has some dickhead name like Brantley" but it turned out his name was Robbie, which I told my sister "only makes him more perfect".  She got the most amazing picture of him which sums up his entire vibe perfectly.

I really don't think I could have loved him more.  This is how he looked for the entire set, even when Howard went over and tried rocking it out with him.  It was both hilarious and endearing.  Fan for life, Robbie.  Call me. haha :-D

After Howard was done, it was time for another blast from the past with OMD, who probably most famously sang a song at the end of the movie Pretty In Pink ("If You Leave"). They went on for about 45 minutes as well.  Another electronic music band, which was big in the 80's of course, and I don't mind it so much, but it's definitely not my favorite kind of music.  Still, I've sat through far worse opening acts, and the ladies in front of us were mad fans so we took pictures of them with the band and that was a lot of fun!

Finally at 9:15, it was BNL's turn.  And if they didn't sing "Maybe Katie"... I thought I would die of happiness right on the spot.  I don't think I've ever heard them perform it live before, and if I had to make up a fantasy play list for my own personal BNL concert, that would most certainly be on there.  So to hear them sing it, it just started the night off on the right note for me.  Even as I write this, I'm still smiling just thinking about it.  Thank you, BNL! :-D

There's not much to say about the concert other than it was totally and completely amazing.  We had second row seats, and we were up and dancing most of the night, having a ball.  I could see at one point that Ed was kind of looking at me, but I didn't think much of it, just figuring it was all part of the experience.  The songs were great, the music was amazing, it was just a great night of music.  My sister cried during "Odds Are"--she says she really believes that everyone's going to be OK when Ed sings that song.  It was great.

So when the concert was sadly over, those of us with the pretty pink wristbands gathered to go backstage.  When we got to the area where we were going to meet the band, OMD and Howard Jones were back there doing a little impromptu meet and greet, but we didn't go back there with them, and just waited till the crowd in the Mann died out and everyone got checked for the proper credentials.  We fortunately passed the test, they kicked one girl out, and then BNL came out.  The new M&G procedure is that we got our picture taken with the band as a group, then we kind of stood around and they came through individually to sign autographs and talk, but you couldn't take selfies with the individual band members, which was a bummer, as I REALLY wanted a picture of Judy and Kevin together as the finishing touch on her birthday gift.  But alas, it was not meant to be.

So we got up to the front and the people in front of us asked if we could use their phone to take a picture when it was their turn.  We all swapped phones and I got a picture of them and vice versa.  The professional pictures went up on the website very quickly, though, so it was no big deal.  But it was a nice shared fan experience.

When it was our turn to go up, Ed said, "What's the deal with the shirt?  I saw you from the show!"  So I told him that I worked for a foster care agency and such and he said, "Oh great,  right on!"  which of course only made me love him more.

Then it was time to get back into the line and wait to meet each band member individually.  I got out the boomerang and I was ready for action.  And wasn't our first band member Kevin Hearn!  I was SO excited for my sister, who I don't think managed to say much of anything.  She hadned him the little baseball card they had given us when we arrived and he signed that.  Then  I handed Kevin the boomerang and he said, "Oh, a boomerang" and I said, "Well, actually, you've signed it before." and I flipped it over and showed him the back.  Like an idiot, I continued "I came to another show with my dad and he had you sign the wrong side."  Kevin signed it, handed it back, and said, "A great wrong has been righted in the universe" and walked off.  Hahahaha  It was adorable.

Next up was Ed, I think.  Judy said to him, "So you made it to Philadelphia alright!"  Ed looked kind of confused and she said, "We were at the show Wednesday and heard about your transportation woes."  He said, "I didn't even get to tell Chapter 3!"

So to backtrack to Wednesday, Ed had his son's Grade 8 graduation Wednesday morning, so he went home for that and then was going to fly to DC for the Wolf Trap concert.  His flight was due to leave at 4:30pm, so he figured he had plenty of time to get to DC.  Unfortunately, as the plane was about to take off, a suspicious package was discovered on the plane (it later turned out to be part of the actual plane, but it was a newer plane and the crew wasn't familiar with it) and the flight was delayed by almost 2 hours.  That was Chapter 1.  Then he got to DC, called his driver, waited and waited for the car to arrive, called the guy back, and the guy was on 95, driving away from the airport with another guy named Ed in the backseat!  That was Chapter 2!  Poor Ed, thankfully he made it to Wolf Trap safe and sound though.

So then he starts telling us Chapter 3 while we are there and he signs the other side of the boomerang and Judy's card.  But I kind of like the fact that I know this story and not many other people do, so I don't know if I should publish this on my blog or not. Maybe not, I'll torture you with my top secret BNL story knowledge.

Next up was Jim Creegan, who took the boomerang and proceeded to show us how to throw it, plus gave us some information about the way indigenous peoples hunted with it, and how he used to know how to throw one and what it was for (killing small birds), etc.  He's a very interesting guy and I was glad he was talking so I didn't say something stupid like about how much I enjoy watching him perform, which is definitely true, but I didn't want to sound like an idiot.  Thanks for saving me from myself, Jim!

Finally, Tyler came through and signed the boomerang and even sang "I come on back" as he walked away. Which made me happy.  I didn't have much to say to him either, I was just kind of feeling dazed and happy and awestruck to be in the presence of my favorite band and all.

So that was that.  We saw Marie hanging around in the back and I wanted to say goodbye to her, and then my brain shifted into overdrive.  A few years ago, I read on the blog (I think) of a friend that he was talking with someone who had the chance to meet their idol and totally flubbed it, didn't say what they wanted to say, and they had regretted it ever since.  He then wrote that he was always grateful he had been able to say what he wanted when he met his music idol and he never regretted it for a minute that he took the time to say what was on his mind.  I knew time was short, and if I was going to do it, I needed to go do it.  So I told my sister to wait a minute and I went up to Ed and said, "Excuse me, Ed, can I bother you for one more minute?"  Because as much as I was really happy and excited to have had the Chapter 3 conversation, I really wanted to tell him how much the music meant to me, and how healing it had been especially in the past few years.

I won't go into all the details, but when he said "Sure!" I said, "Can I give you a hug?" and he said "Sure!" So I gave him a hug and then I told him everything I had wanted to tell him in Kingston and didn't, and everything I wanted to tell him that night but hadn't had the chance.  It wasn't eloquent, it wasn't well put together, I was definitely nervous, but I think I got out the right sentiment, because when I was done, he said some nice things and then he said, "I'm grateful you told me!" and then HE gave ME a hug!

I was dying of joy.  Honestly. I could have floated home.  I kept poking my sister in the car, like a I needed some physical reassurance that the whole thing was real.  And when I woke up later that morning (I didn't get home till almost 4AM), I was so happy I had done it, I knew it was the right thing for me to have done!

So that was it, we got back in the car and drove home, ran out of gas at 2AM in Tysons Corner, but thankfully found a Shell station right off the highway and got some gas and were back on the road in no time.

Happy birthday to my beautiful sister and friend, Judy.  I'm glad we got to share this magical night together.  I love you!

An Open Letter to the Stanford Survivor

Dear Miss...

I've been reading about you.  I've been reading what you said.  I've been reading the court documents, the statements from various people, all the letters and blogs and news articles.  And I thought I'd add my two cents, not out of any desire to add to your pain, nor any conviction that anything I might say would prove in any way cathartic or helpful to the conversation, but I wanted you to know, if someday, somehow, you stumble upon this blog, that you are not alone.

I, like many others, am the survivor of a sexual assault while I was a college student.  It was my freshman year.  I will never forget it.  It was in December 1993 in Manhattan.  In public.  In the street.  It was freezing.  I was dressed like an eskimo.  And I was stone cold sober.  And still, it happened.  My attacker was never convicted.  He was never charged.  He was never caught.  He was never reported.  Instead, I went back to my dorm, took a shower, tried to get warm, and crawled into bed.  As soon as I did, I could still feel his hands all over me.  Touching me, violating my body.  I could see his face as clearly as if I had his picture in front of me.  I called my mother.  My family came down.  I told them what happened.  I was embarrassed.  I was told, "It doesn't sound like it was any big deal.  You were probably just scared."  Stop being dramatic.  Get on with it.

I did, eventually, get on with it.  I didn't go to counseling, even when, two years later, a member of the religious at the college I attended kissed and groped me out of the blue, leering at me, defying me to report him.  I kicked him out and told him he was no longer a 'friend'.  We never spoke again, but I heard from several other women in the dorm that he had done the same thing to them, and to others they knew.  As far as I know, nothing was done about him.  I feel a deep sense of shame and guilt that I didn't do more, I didn't do anything. I was afraid that I had overreacted, that I imagined the uncomfortableness of the feelings, that I had been too friendly, that I had in some way suggested it was ok with me that he do that.  He's a teacher now.  I wonder if he can be trusted with the kids. 

When all this dies down, you will be able to find out what normal feels like for the new you.  But you have been profoundly impacted by what has happened to you and you may find that strange things can no longer be a part of your life.

I can no longer attend street festivals.  I can't stand crowds.  I can't handle people being behind me, pressed up against me, touching me from behind.  My daughter may be the only child in our town to never attend the Christmas parade--I sheepishly explain to those who ask "Why not?" that "I just don't like crowds" without the full explanation why.  When I'm in line at the grocery store, I keep a grocery cart between me and the person behind me.  I don't want strangers close.  I'm not worried about my PIN or credit card number--I'm worried about my personal space, my body being violated.

I gained weight.  I wanted to be invisible.  Undesirable.  Unnoticed.  Even scorned was fine if it kept people away.   I dress in shapeless, shiftless clothes.  I don't wear make up, don't do my hair.  I developed trichotillomania.  I tense up whenever I pass people on the street, I don't go out at night alone, even though that had nothing to do with the circumstances of my assault.  Thankfully there have been and continue to be people who find me and love me and accept me.  But I'm always on guard. Trust no one.  He could be anywhere. 

My life since December 1993 has been nothing short of extraordinary, and ordinary, and regular, and hard and normal and wonderful and awful.  And yours can and will be too.  In time. I met and married a wonderful man, although allowing for intimacy in any way, shape, or form is still challenging for me.  I am friendly, but not too friendly.  I don't flirt.   

I have a daughter of my own.  I fear for her for so many reasons, not the least of which is that she is female.  What do I need to teach her?  When?  Why should I have to teach her those things at all?  Should she know my story?  Will she ever find this blog and learn about it or is it better to tell her myself?

And yet, I am not ashamed.  I am even proud of myself.  I've come a long way. 

Perhaps people will want to make you into the poster child for sexual assault survival.  Perhaps you will give people strength to face their own attackers.  Perhaps, like me, you will try to pretend it never happened to the people who enter your life "after".  Perhaps your feelings will be a jumble, and you'll try to fix it and nothing will ever seem right again.  Perhaps getting through your minutes and hours and days will be all you can manage.  Perhaps that "someday" when you feel alright seems like it will never come.  Perhaps the injustice of the situation, the intense scrutiny the attack, the attacker, and you are under will be too much.

I hope not.

I hope, instead, that you will find peace in your journey, kindness in every person you meet from here on, compassion from those who have and have not walked a similar path.  I hope you have the courage and fortitude to move forward from that point, that incident, in ways that make sense to you.  Forget the rest of the world.  Don't be a victim, be a survivor. And if it takes you a while to get there, know that there are lots of us watching you on from down the road, and cheering your every step, understanding how hard it is and hoping you never give up.

Sincerely,
A Survivor Too

Frozen Out

A friend recently posted an article on Facebook about why young people today find it easier to just quit talking to their parents than trying to mend fences or communicate about the issues they are facing and try to work through them.  I believe it cuts both ways, parents also often just cut off their children, but also I have noticed that friends do this, and siblings, and pretty much everyone.  We have a disagreement, and suddenly, the friendship is gone.

I am certainly not innocent--generally when I get upset with someone, I just sort of let the relationship slide and don't make a big deal out of it either way.  This is because I really hate confrontation and I really hate arguing with people.  As painful as it is, though, I'm starting to believe it's better to say to the other person, "You did X, I felt Y, let's see how we can make it better."

This is on my mind because today, I took my daughter to King's Dominion, and while we were there, we passed a woman I knew 6 or 7 years ago.  We had a mutual friend with whom we spent a lot of time together, because our children were all the same age, although this woman and I were not friends, and truth be told, I thought her kids were annoying little brats.  I felt similarly about their mother.  But Leah was not even a year old, and I had recently become a stay at home mom, and a woman from a local bulletin board had reached out to me, and I had started hanging out with her and her friends.  Long story short, we had a disagreement, she rounded up her posse of women, and all 4 of them quit talking to me, including this woman from KD today.  Bang.  Without warning.  I found myself friendless and alone, and really without any support for some months until I happened upon a small book club wherein I met 3 of the most amazing women, all of whom I am proud to call my friends to this day.

Estrangement Scenario 2: A year ago, I went to wish someone I'd considered one of my best friends a happy birthday via Facebook, only to discover I'd been unfriended.  I sent a Happy Birthday text, which she replied to, but when I sent another text inquiring about the fact we weren't friends anymore, or at least not by FB standards, I was met with silence.  Not only was this difficult for me, it was really hard on my daughter, who loved her like an aunt and who has a great number of issues surrounding the people she loves suddenly disappearing from her life--as you might imaging given our history.

And finally, Estrangement Scenario 3.  This year, someone I was very close to and spent a lot of time with suddenly quit talking with me without notice.  Several people were asking me about this friend, and I had to admit I was as confused as anyone about what was happening.  After some weeks, I finally sent a message and at least received a few messages back pertaining to the nature of the disagreement that existed between us--one I honestly didn't even know about.  I apologized, but it has been met with several weeks of more silence, so I have to conclude that friendship is over in my life.

I don't know if I am perhaps the type of individual who simply it is easier to walk away from than to deal with.I think I am quite even tempered, I consider myself open to communication about things, and I am quick to apologize and accept responsibility if I've made a mistake.  I don't even tend to defend myself if I feel I've been wrongly accused--I, like my daughter, am too afraid to lose people.

Yet lose people I do.

And judging by a Google search, I am not alone.  According to an article in the Telegraph from the UK, 27% of adults are estranged from a loved one.  I have been talking at length with a co-worker whose daughter recently cut her off at Christmas.  I have friends who are estranged from aunts, cousins, siblings.  Within my family there are networks of estrangements based on years-old grudges or misunderstandings.

I take it hard.  I don't mean to.  I'd like to be one of those people who lets it roll off their back.  Part of the problem is that it takes me forever to figure out who I want to be friends with, then to trust that individual beyond a surface level and determine if I should let them in to our lives, they don't always reciprocate, and then it takes months and sometimes years to get to a point where I feel we are really the kind of friend that goes beyond surface level friendship.  I have tons of surface-level friends and acquaintances, but far fewer deep and abiding friendships with people I hope I never lose.  Of the three scenarios above, the last two fall into the latter category.

What I find hard to live with in the aftermath of these spectacular failures are the following:

1.  Not knowing what I did.  In the second scenario, I have no idea why we aren't friends any more.  I think I would sleep better knowing, but I just have to live with the idea that I don't.

2.  Knowing, trying to make the situation better, but accepting the failure  that comes when the person doesn't extend forgiveness or entertain the prospect of things being better or normal.  In the first and third scenario above, I apologized and yet wasn't extended forgiveness.  I also didn't happen to think I was wrong in either scenario.  My life moved forward without the individuals from scenario 1, but I'm continuing to deal with the aftermath of the collapse of the relationship in scenario 3.

3.  What other people might think.  In all of these scenarios, there were other people tangentially involved whose good opinion I would care to keep, whose friendships and acquaintances I would like to maintain.  Yet the devastation I feel after this happens generally leads me to completely give up on whatever it was that drew us together.  I avoid going to places where I'm likely to run into these individuals (hence why I haven't shopped in the SuperTarget in Massaponnax in years, for instance) or to people who know them.  I refuse to speak ill of the people who I am no longer friends with, but are they extending the same courtesy to me?  Communities are small, gossip is hot, people aren't blind to situations changing.  For my part, I try to only say that I don't know or think of something positive to say, as I figure the truth will always come out and engaging in gossip or slander only makes me look bad.  Besides, when I'm only guessing the causes of what has happened, is there any point going into it with people?

4.  Trusting again.  Once one of these bonds which took so long to form breaks, I generally find it very difficult to trust other people I may meet down the line.  What if the whole thing blows up?  What if they disappoint me?  What if I disappoint them? 

Ultimately, I am going to try to continue to let people in. I will continue to seek out people I think will be good friends and I will be a good friend to them.  I will draw my inner circle in tighter.  And I will wish only peace, love, light, and all good things to those who have let go.  I very much doubt I'll be able to trust and let them back in, but I'll let them go without anger or hatred, only gratitude for the time we walked our journeys together.

In Defense of My Daughter's Birthmother

It's been quite some time since I've posted here, but I've recently had some experiences that have really pissed me off and I need a place to vent.  So anyone who might still be checking in on this blog periodically is in for a treat? Or at least a surprise.

Earlier this year, my daughter's birthmother called me.  She was involved in a serious car accident, and had been transported to the hospital, where it was determined she was pregnant.  We talked a bit about how surprised she was to get the news and how her mom really wanted her to keep the baby but she was scared and not sure what to do.  I told her she had plenty of time to figure out what she wanted and that she didn't need to feel pressure for anyone--she should do exactly what was right for her and for her baby.  A month or two later, we talked again by Facebook and she told me she had decided to keep the baby.  I was totally thrilled for her.  Her baby, her first son, was born yesterday.  From his pictures, he is the cutest, sweetest little newborn--as they all are--and I am just thrilled for her, and for her whole family.

But there is a sadness too.  Not because I wanted to adopt her baby.  I assuredly did not--although I love babies, the years between 2 and 5 are not kind and I never want to go through them again.  I am a happy member of the "One and Done" Club.  I was sad because when I chose some people to share my excitement with at the fact that Leah was going to have a half brother, the reaction I got was either, "Oh, really?  How many does this make?" or "Hasn't she figured out where they come from yet?"

For the record, and I suppose not that this is anyone's business, this is Leah's birthmother's 3rd child in 7 years.  She kept custody of her daughter, who is now 7 and will be 8 in January, my late husband and I adopted Leah who is 5 and will be 6 in April, and now she has a new baby.  She suffered a miscarriage 4 years ago.  Comparatively, in 4 years, my sister had 3 children, two only 15 months apart.  I know at least 2 other women who have had 3 or more children in less than 5 years.  But somehow, my daughter's adoption seems to give people the feeling that they are entitled to suggest that her birthmother is a bad parent, lacks birth control, sleeps around, makes bad decisions, and gets pregnant a lot.  The fact that my daughter's birthmother is poor, African-American, and lives in a dangerous city apparently also gives people the right to judge.

This, to me, points to a fundamental misunderstanding of birthparents.  Birthparents are almost always trying to make a good decision come out of a mistake, accident, tragedy, or some other misfortune.  They are making the choice to give up their child because they genuinely believe that some other person out there, typically a stranger, will be better equipped to provide the life they want their child to have.  They do so knowing they might never see their child again, they will miss their child's milestones, and that there will always be a gaping hole in their heart that can never be filled, arms that will feel empty and useless, and often feelings of guilt over being unable to care for a child they might otherwise desperately want, as well as shame at being unable to do so and how they might be treated by friends and family members, and regret over a decision they cannot take back once it is legally processed.

The decision to place a child for adoption is one which requires maturity and is deeply and intensely responsible.  I once said to Leah's birthmother something about not wanting this child, and she quietly said, "I want her, but I know I can't take care of her."

I feel incredibly fortunate that we have an open adoption with Leah's birthmother.  When Leah has had questions in the past, all I have to do is pick up the phone and ask if we can come visit, and before you know it, we are in Baltimore, hugging, doing hair, enjoying a meal, playing with our half sister.  Leah's birth grandmother is there, sometimes her aunt, pictures and tears are flying, laughter fills the air, and we all rejoice in the special bond that we have created as an extended family.  Does this sound irresponsible, unloving, uncaring? 

I wanted to be a mother in the worst possible way, and this woman found the strength in her heart to put a child, her child, in my arms and walk away.  Her brave actions have given me nearly 6 years of the best years of my life.  And this woman has never asked for anything in return--has never asked us to come visit, never asked for pictures, has always gratefully and humbly accepted whatever I was able to provide.  I rejoice with her in the birth of her son, in the fact that she is back on her feet and able to care for her baby and her older daughter, that it was never a question of being able to care for this infant, and that it has never been an issue of wondering whether she loved or cared about Leah either.  I have never, ever, ever had a doubt in my mind that her decision to place Leah for adoption was one of intense love and responsibility.  And she loves me too.  She cares for me too.  When my husband died, she was one of the first people to call and cry with me and talk with me about our memories together.  She knows what it's like to be a single mom and gives me encouragement and advice not from an academic or philosophical viewpoint, but from the vantage of someone who has been there and done it for years.

So the next time you are quick to judge a birthparent for their decision to have more children after giving up one child for adoption, or to be sexually active, or make their own reproductive health choices, remember that they have already shown themselves to be entirely responsible and loving individuals who will do whatever it takes to give their children the best possible life.  Birthparents are allowed to move forward with their lives, to have other children, to be happy, to regain love and joy and family.

And if you have negative opinions about my daughter's birthmother, kindly keep them to yourself.  I think she's wonderful and will defend her to the end.  If you can't be kind, be quiet. 

Lots of Happenings!

I start every blog post with "It's been a while", but indeed, it has again been a while.  Life has been CRAZY.  So here's the latest:

1.  Leah starts kindergarten tomorrow.  I'd like to say more about that, but my heart is absolutely breaking into a million little pieces and I can't stop crying about it.  I'm trying to toughen up a bit, but this is going to take some getting used to, to say the least.

2.  I had my gastric sleeve done on August 12.  So far, I've lost 41 pounds.  I'm so proud of that fact, I can't even tell you.  I'm not going to blog about it.  There are plenty of blogs out there that do that.  I don't want to be an educator or an inspirer--if you want to do it, do it.  It is much, much harder than I ever thought it would be, and after it was done, I had a serious bout of buyer's remorse and depression.  But seeing my progress, I do have to say I'm proud of what I've done and I'm glad to keep seeing the numbers go down.  No regrets.  And I haven't had any complications to speak of, which is awesome.  The hardest part is sticking to a firm schedule.  I finally set up 15 separate alarms on my phone so I know when to do what.

3.  We are hosting an exchange student from Belgium!  Her name is Ine.  We are hosting her through AFS USA, my 8th hosting experience with them.  She arrives in the US on September 8th and I think we should be able to pick her up on September10th.  I am flying to London 24 hours later, so I will get to know her when I get back, but she's cool about it.  AFS gets its jollies when host families blog about their exchange experiences, so I'm setting up a blog at ourbelgianstudent.blogspot.com if you want to follow our experience.  Our blog about hosting Penny was a big hit, so I'm hoping that this one will be helpful too.  As a host mom, I love reading blogs from other people who have hosted students from the same country.  It's helpful in so many ways.

4.  I'm back to school as well.  I'm probably already messing up the semester--we started last week and I've had time to check in exactly once.  But hey!  Leah starts school tomorrow (sniffle) and then I can get cracking.  It's going to be a challenging and interesting semester, I can already tell.

5.  I'm going to London.  Next week.  I'm glad I was talked into it.  Even though it's not the greatest time ever for me to go, I'm excited.  Because.  England.  And even though it's 2 months late, I'll be done with my 2 year bucket list.

6.  Our garbage disposal died.  I was glad my father was here to help negotiate the price.  Plumbers are crooks.  I'm sure there are good ones, but the ones we were dealing with were crazy.  So we went to Lowe's and for 1/4 the price, I'm getting a new disposal installed either tomorrow or Wednesday.

7.  Lesley came to visit and we went to Delaware to see the Downton Abbey costume display.  It was incredible.  I hope to go back before it closes.

So I guess that's all the news that's fit to print.  Happy back to school time for everyone and we will see you on my next post!

An Evening with JT (And KW!)

Several months ago, I received an email from my friend Kyle which read, "Justin Timberlake is coming to Baltimore July 14th and we're going.  Have a nice day."  So I thought, "Well, I guess that's that then." I emailed back to say, "Ok, but I don't know anything about his music" and in short order, three CD's arrived in my mailbox. 

Here's what I know about Justin Timberlake:

1.  He used to date Britney Spears.  For some reason I remember her doing an interview and the interviewer asking her if she and Justin had split and her response was, "No, me and Justin did not split up." And I was thinking, "It's 'Justin and I', you idiot."

2.  He's married to Jessica Biel.  Their wedding looked so beautiful that I had to buy the People magazine of their wedding pictures just to look at them.  And I thought, "Oh, someday I must wear a pink wedding dress."  Yeah, she looked amazing.  And he just looked so crazy happy.  It made me happy to look at them.

3.  Nipplegate.

4.  NSYNC.

So, there you have it.  But one of my favorite things about being friends with Kyle is that he always gets me to try new things that I would never have done on my own (including, much to my Virginia friends' chagrin, shots of alcohol), so I figured this would be a fun experience if nothing else.

So the 14th arrived, bright, cheery, and hot.  Amtrak was cooperative, so Kyle and I found each other, got lost getting out of DC, and then spent the afternoon wrapped up in Marky Mark kicking some sort of robot butt (maybe) in Transformers 4, which we had gotten to see being filmed in Chicago last fall.  Then we headed north to Baltimore for the fun.

After procuring good parking, we headed to the arena and happily there was a souvenir stand and I got a concert program.  Kyle had gotten us floor seats, and as we made our way down, there was another stand and he got a JT bow tie.  In hindsight, I regret not getting one myself for my hair.  Next time...We found our seats, no problem, took a fun picture and waited for the fun to begin.

I have to be honest, I did not have high hopes for this concert.  I just thought I'd go along with it and then that would be the end of it.  I had listened to some JT tunes, and that was all well and good, but I really just thought, "Well, really, who cares?"  (Kyle knew this, so if he reads this, it'll be no surprise.)

We talked to the ladies behind us who had flown up from Orlando and Atlanta to be here, one of whom was married to Sister Hazel, which makes us now 1 degree removed from Sister Hazel if you're into that sort of thing.  The Cult of JT is different than the Cult of BNL of which I am now more firmly a part, but it was fun.  There was a DJ, Freestyle Steve, spinning records, driving everyone crazy with some contest and keeping things moving till JT started, nearly 30 minutes late I might add, but what can you do, he's a total rock star.

The first half of the show was great.  It sort of sucks to be at a concert and not be able to sing along.  But that was my own fault.  And frankly, there was enough to see and look at that it didn't really matter.  JT has kept up with the choreography from his boy band days.  And if there is something I love to see, it is a cool-dancing man.  I loved that part of the show. 

 I sang along with what I knew, danced a bit, enjoyed watching Kyle, who was completely in his element, and it's entirely possible I got carried away and screamed, "I love you, Justin!" without any conscious thought as to what I was doing.  But let's face it, there wasn't a woman in the place who didn't scream it at least once.

There was a short intermission so that everyone could catch their breath, and then back at it.  I was ready for the real excitement of the second half... First of all: Lasers.  Second of all: Giant Floating Stage.

Yes, part of the stage detaches and moves towards the back, so Justin floated over our heads like the musical angel he is, and moved to an area behind us where the VIPs were rocking it out.  Then it got real.  He did covers of both Michael Jackson AND Elvis Presley.  Amazing. 

Then he floated back over our heads to finish up, including an encore. I had to sit for only one song--my knee was in misery, leftovers from the recent car accident--but for the most part I was on my feet dancing and screaming.  It felt just as good as a New Kids on the Block concert.

The place was wild.  I couldn't hear normally again till sometime the next day.  I am looking forward to going again and having another 20/20 experience, hopefully in December sometime.  Details are being decided. 

Since coming home, I've been listening to a JT play list.  "Cry Me a River" and "Mirrors" are my top 2 songs, but JT is pretty listenable no matter what song you've got on.  It was an amazing night.  You should go!!