groupies sleep with rock stars because they want to be near someone famous.

so close and yet so far away

as previously documented on this here website, some time ago, the drummer (that’s all he’s going to be known as henceforth) of St. Paul’s Only Friends Band asked for an audience with your’s truly, supergenius extrodinaire. at the time i was giddy with the possibility. it just seemed so damn cool. and being the all-time queen of the dorks, i am always in search of cool points. i thought a meet and greet with the drummer would gain me at least 3 points in the real world and about 392 points in the world of westernerdia.

so after the show that rocked me into next week (well this week i guess), the travelling companions and i met up on the stairs in front of The Rave. the tour bus was right in site and we stood there contemplating our next move.

“i’m gonna have to ask you guys to go over to the sidewalk,” the dokken-loving security guy said. “they’re about to send the big-fuckers out.”

we high-tailed it over the sidewalk across the parking lot, not so much in fear of the big fuckers, but because we really didn’t want to talk to the dokken-lover anymore. huddled about the sidewalk not far from the bus were about 20 or so other westernerds hoping to see St. Paul.

i have no idea what time it was when we hit the sidewalk. all i know is that it was damn cold and that we chatted for some time about Micky Hart (whomever that might be) and Hydra (they were playing the Rave the next night). eventually the big fuckers did come out, they were big, but midgetty. not that i was gonna mess with them, because men with no necks and heads the size of pumpkins kind of scare me.

we stood around chatting and waiting for ahwile.

then we stood around chatting and waiting some more.

then we jumped up and down to stay warm while chatting and waiting.

then we stood around while kelly (the travelling companion) made friends with other westernerds and waited.

then we started talking about jay and silent bob, while our teeth chattered and we waited.

then we waited some more.

and because we weren’t quite done yet we waited a little bit more.

this was at least 34 hours after the show. i was damn tired and cold. then the drummer came out. the nerds rushed and my cold, tired ass ambled. we got close and then i totally wussed out. I TOTALLY WUSSED OUT.

i didn’t know what to say. i couldn’t go up and introduce myself, that was just too dorky for words. what was i supposed to do? so i did what i always do, nothing. then because it was damn cold out, the drummer got into a nice heated car and the companions urged me to go knock on the window and introduce myself. because i do not cave to peer pressure, i did not. do you hear that companions? no peer pressure!

that’s when i started pleading, nearly crying, can we please go now. please please please please please please. i begged not because i couldn’t stand the wussy chants from my companions, but because i was cold. i was in danger of losing two of my very favorite parts of my body and i needed some warmth like nobody’s business.

finally, they caved to my incessant chants of hey, ho, let’s go, and we ambled off in the direction of the Executive Inn. at that point applause erupted. St. Paul had arrived.

we stopped in our tracts and the companions implored me to turn around. i figured, what the hell? so turn around we did. while kelly and i were standing around like a couple of frozen idiots, Wolf, aka the jackass, was peeking in the drummer’s window, telling him what a great show it was and blah, blah, blah before the jackass left he said, “oh and jodi says hi.”

apparently there was much interest shown by the drummer in locating jodi, er me. but i missed that, because i was too busy standing around like a dumbass.

i went over to the car, bent down and shook the drummer’s hand, introducing myself. it was so weird. i’m not sure who was more nervous, me or him.

“i can’t believe you’re still here,” he said.
“me neither,” i said. “it’s damn cold.”
“i know,” he said. “you just don’t strike me as the kind of girl who would stand around and wait.”
“THAT’S BECAUSE I’M NOT!” i shouted.

and we both laughed.

i told him how my companions had urged me to stay, even though i had been ready to leave ages.

“i left you backstage passes,” he said.
“i didn’t know,” i said. “i’m sorry.”

at that point i introduced my companions, kelly and jackass. jackass tried to insist that his name was not, in fact, jackass. but i think i won by claiming it did indeed say jackass on his birth certificate.

at that point he said he’d leave us some passes for the chicago show and we could hook up the next night.

then because i was a frozen supergenius treat, we bounced all the way home.

apparently, you would think all that waiting would pay off, but you would be quite wrong really.

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8 Comments

  1. wolfdog 20.Apr.05 at 10:12 am

    standing around in the cold makes interesting things happen. unfortunately sometimes it takes 34 hours. and it does NOT say ‘jackass’ on my birth cert. it’s two seperate words.

  2. Poppy 20.Apr.05 at 10:50 am

    Is Jack his first name, and Ass his middle name? Or is it like my daughter’s name – a double first name?

    Jodi, have I ever told you about the time I met Paul?

  3. jodi 20.Apr.05 at 10:55 am

    it is JackAss, sort of like Clara Jane, but not quite.

    no, tell me now!

  4. J. A. Wolf 20.Apr.05 at 11:06 am

    considering how widely read your blog is, I wouldnt be surprized if the kidlets come home from school today asking me if my real name is JackAss…

  5. czeltic girl 20.Apr.05 at 1:18 pm

    I still say we should have built a fire in one of the trash cans to keep warm during that 34-hour wait.

    Anyhow — that’s me up there in that pic. (Which I found while searching for Paul pix on flickr. Quite the surprise, it was.)

    Was lovely meeting you all during the long, cold wait. Wish I’d known at the time that you’re a fellow MeFite. (I’m aine42 there. Unintentional mini MeFi meetup!) Hope you got your backstage passes for Chicago.

  6. dweebie 20.Apr.05 at 1:32 pm

    Micky Hart is a drummer,was a drummer for the Grateful Dead, along with Bill Kruetzman when they had two drummers. Actually he’s a percussionist.

  7. Kelly 20.Apr.05 at 2:01 pm

    Oh yeah the fire in the garbage can was the way to go. Czeltic girl, how were the Shellac shows?

  8. zook 20.Apr.05 at 5:28 pm

    WolfJackDogAss – thanks to Jodi the song that plays in my head when I see your name is Jackass – that Bloodhound Gang song from Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back. Sure as hell beats Hungry Like the Wolf though.