Sweet and precious friends,
It never occurred to me the one source of backlash about this blog that would make me pause. Oh, I was ready for some random person to get irked at me about something. I had witty comebacks rehearsed in the bathroom mirror. Bring it, general public, the Diva can handle your lack of humor! She cannot, however, handle her Daddy telling her to back off.
All Divas have a weakness. All southern Divas can confirm that for them , it is their Daddy. One look from the man and I will hush. As you can imagine, I hush, for NO ONE.
I grew up in Lubbock. I have a love for that flat, dusty vacuum of a town that I will never apologize for. It made me what I am. To be flamboyant there, you have to be tough. I learned from my relatives that humor and storytelling were truth-optional. Do what you have to do to make getting to "The End" Awesome-ite.
For example, I was running the registration booth at the American College Theatre Fest at that fine bastion of elegance known as the Holiday Inn in Lubbock. All Texas Tech theatre students enjoyed that week, as we got out of class and got to drive the university vans around and pretend we were in Wayne's World. This was also the year I got to pick up Barry Corbin at the airport, but I digress. Out of the elevator, came a little blond-haired toddler, all by himself. The baby-loving Diva that I am, I began to bond with the little punkinhead until attached parentage should show up. Oh, it did. I heard a man's voice calling "Devon!!" a few minutes later I looked up to see Phil Collin, the guitarist for Def Leppard looking for his tot. He and I chatted for a while. I pretended not to pee in my pants and care nothing for his Awesome-iteness. College theatre students tend to want to appear cool, which they never are, around celebrity.
Then, out of the elevator HE came. My once and future husband, Joe Elliot, the lead singer of Def flippin' Leppard. I popped back over to the festival's registration desk to watch him check out at the hotel's reception desk. Yes, the one-armed drummer was there as well, epic moment. My undying love for him was a bit tainted, for he had much more makeup on than me, a West Texas girl. Also, the cow patterned chaps were a bit of a turn off. They left without incident, and Phil and Devon gave me a polite wave.
When I have told this story since, as I was the only one from my department sitting there, it usually goes a bit different. It has involved pyrotechnics, me jumping on the flimsy card table and Joe asking me, "What do you want!?!?!" I complete the litany by informing him that, indeed, "I want rock and roll!" Appropriately, he amens, "You betcha."
Obviously, it was not that cool. He never even looked at me as edgy as I tried to appear in my Laura Ashley dress. But I craved flair and drama, so I created it unapologetically, very much aware that everybody knew that the plants in the lobby DID NOT in fact blow up. They were kind and let me have my made-up moment. For a while at least, for crap's sake, we were actors. That self centered Olympics shifts quickly.
I will pause while my mother, The Vicki, Googles all of the people I have just mentioned. Keep a window open, Vicki, you will need it for the next part.
4 years ago, my friend Katie was going through her divorce and hitting her, "Weeeee" period. For those of you who do not know what I mean, it is when the person who leaves, is totally pumped about getting out of the dysfunction and goes hog wild. I was her, still-pretending-to-be-happily-married wingman. We found ourselves at one of my favorite watering holes in the warehouse district, Fado Irish Pub. She was busy bonding with the doorman. Nothing like hitting on the guy who HAS to stand there. But he did have some sort of accent that seemed somewhat legit, so "Go Girl". A friend of his asked me to join them at their table. I took my seat as the U2 tribute band did that voodoo that they do so well on the little stage. He told me to talk to his friend, who "was in a band." Darlings, you cannot fling a dead cat (not that I condone such an act) without hitting someone in Austin who is in a band. For crap's sake I am in a band. Shout out for Temple Harlotte!!!!
I took my perch next to this quite swarthy good-looking gentleman and started the usual awkward exchange, cue loud over the music shouting, " Hey! your friend says you are in a band, which one?" The cute man with arms folded looks over his shoulder and shouts back, "Coldplay." To quote Carrie Bradshaw. "I couldn't help but wonder, what the hell is a member of (allegedly) freakin' COLDPLAY doing in a fake Irish bar in Austin, watching a fake Irish Band. Allegedly, I looked him in the eye and said, "Man you listen to a lot of Radiohead!!" and stormed off indignantly at his sell-out uncoolness.You can imagine my shock at turning on Austin City Limits the next week to see that yes, it WAS him. I had been confused, he didn't look like MR. Gwyneth. It was the bass player.
Pause as Vicki Wikipedia's.............
Do you actually want to hear the way it really happened? Boring, he wouldn't talk to me and I slithered away. I wouldn't have wanted to hurt his feelings, anyway. Seriously. You see, I enjoy changing some endings to things I wish I had done. Not that I haven't said and done some witty things, I have had my moments, by golly. I just love to add a little hot sauce to stories.
So, to honor my Pastor father, I ask you to help me write my disclaimer. I have so much more highly inappropriate things to say. Some of the stories are true. Some happened to other people. Some haven't happened at all. Join me, Sisters and brothers on the B.S. train. ( NO, that does not mean Bible Study, Vicki) I have opened up the comments below. What should my warning be? Maybe even a slogan, to warn off the gentle of Spirit, protecting them from the emotional exfoliation they are likely to receive.
Bring it, Love Ones. I will be waiting.
