Okay, okay. I lied. It wasn't as uneventful as I said. I downplayed the real events of the evening because I didn't think anyone would want to read about it.
I've tried to emulate the style of those popular bloggers, with all their readers and comments and adoring fans, but I guess I'm just not that good at it. All this writing about what I ate, what colour I painted my nails, how I'm feeling… well, that may be how these "e-lebrities" keep people interested, but I guess I just don't possess the same writing ability that they do.
So I'm not writing for you — no longer! From now on, I'm writing for me. And I'm writing about what really happens in my life, not trivial things like I have been posting.
It just so happens that after this particular Van Halen concert, for no particular reason, I decided to stick around for awhile. Van Halen had left the stage and the roadies were packing the equipment up when a series of completely uninteresting events caused me to find myself hired to sort through boxes of M&M's for the next show. It seems that the previous M&M boy had some sort of contractual disagreement with management and hadn't shown up for work, so the road manager was freaking out about not having the brown M&M's removed in time for the next show. It was just one of those things; I just happened to be at the right place at the right time, I suppose.
He didn't give exact instructions as to how I was supposed to dispose of the offending brown M&M's so I decided what better way than to eat them? Well, I don't know what it is about them brown ones, but after awhile I started tripping out and decided to go for a walk to clear my head.
Okay, okay, and just maybe I was hoping to run into someone… which is, coincidentally, exactly what happened. One thing led to another and soon enough I found myself partying it up with Van Halen in downtown Toronto. I know you must be sick of hearing about fabulous me rocking out with all the big celebrities, so I won't bore you with the details. But the night had to end eventually, as all night's do, even if it was at 6:00 the next morning.
"Oh, David, you're going back to America, I might never see you again!"
"Don't, don't talk that way, Jenny."
"But it's true! …David, is this the end?"
"Of course not, it's only the beginning."
I told him to give me a call sometime, but the next day I realized how bullshit everything he told me was and I knew that he'd forget me. Which is why a phone call at 11:30 on Friday night came as quite a shock.
"There's a call for you," my dad told me, holding out the phone, "from… Dave?"
I frowned. "I don't know anybody named 'Dave'," I thought, but took the phone anyway.
"Hello?" I asked hesitantly.
"Hey… is this Jenny?"
My eyes lit up; the voice was unmistakable. "Ohh! You mean David! Heh heh, uh, I'm just not used to him being called 'Dave', you see, and uh… heh, yeah, David! So uh, thanks, dad!" I said, abruptly slamming the door. I flopped down onto my bed. "Hiiiii Dave, what's up? I didn't think you were going to call! Tee hee hee!" I giggled, twirling my hair around my finger and grinning goofily.
"Err, yeah, well, I was in town and I thought you might like to hang out."
"Sure! I'd love to!"
"Great, I'll be by in a few."
And he was, amazingly, despite having just finished another show in Toronto. "Time and distance doesn't apply to rock stars" he says, which is a pretty nice perk to a job that doesn't have very many otherwise. Anyway, I yelled to my parents that I was leaving, but then realized I'd forgotten my trademark green hat. I hurried back to my room, grabbed it, and raced back downstairs.
"Hey, Je — " Dave started to say as he came in the door.
"Why, hello!" my mother said, entering the living room at the same time.
"Err, hi…" Dave said, then turned to me, confused.
"Oh, umm, we were just leaving — " I started to say, but was interrupted by my mother.
"Oh, you must be the father?" she asked Dave.
Dave looked horrified and held his hands up in the air. "It was Edward!"
I shook my head violently to Dave. "Ah heh heh heh… see you later, mom," I said, gritting my teeth, and motioning to her to leave.
"But wait, aren't we going to meet little David?"
"Heh heh, well, I — " Dave chuckled.
I glared at Dave. "NO! We really have to get going, mom — "
"Jenny?" my dad's voice came from the other room, "is that David kid here? I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind! Who does he think he is, calling you up in the middle of the night?"
"Uhm, dad…"
My dad stopped when he saw David. "Alright, what are you selling? We don't want any!"
"B-but, everybody wants some!" Dave protested.
"Come on, come on, get out!" my dad said, pushing him through the door.
"Wait!" my mom said, "this is David's father."
My dad stopped and peered out at the empty car on the street, "then… where's David?" All three adults looked at me. I looked down and shuffled my feet. My dad looked back at Dave and suddenly recognized him. He looked down at me, disappointed. "Now Jenny, what did I tell you about bringing rock stars into the house?"
"I know."
"So, uh," Dave said impatiently, "it's been nice meetin' you, but we oughta be going. See ya later," he smirked, "…pops."
"Uh huh huh," my dad laughed, "I don't think so… gramps."
And in that moment, I finally understood that dating men older than my own father is wrong.