Summer is supposed to be a time of romance. Well, summer's over, and mine was not. Now that I'm over being a moody bitch, I have come to this conclusion: I need a rock star boyfriend. Why, you ask?
Let me count the ways -
Who is not happy to have vomit and other bodily excretions on the floor of their hotel room?
Throwing elbows at slutty fans trying to bag your boy in the band is good exercise, and keeps you from developing old-lady waddles under your arms.
If you've no artistic abilities of your own, you can fulfill creative ambitions simply by being a muse. If you aren't his muse, then you can content yourself with riding on the coattails of his glory. Whee!
He has money. Lots of money.
Who needs eardrums?
Sure, the risk of STDs is extra high. Hell, they should offer you hazard pay for the risks you're taking, but an immune system doesn't get stronger without challenges!
Eventually you'll get knocked up, a fact which could cause a separation, but will entitle you to naming your progeny something like 29 Palms, Spaceship Daydream, Jelly Bean, Iggy or Hagar.
Screaming fights and hysterical crying may run your mascara, but that's even more punk rock.
You hang out long enough and you just might learn to play a few chords.
The clothes. The swag. The parties. The travel.
Poolside.
Room service and minibar. Comped. Trashing the place just boosts his image, so throw something! Break the bathroom mirror!
You can be famous just because you were fucking him. This fame will be secured and augmented should any of the following occur -
He puts you in a music video.
He writes a hit song in your honor.
The FBI has a file on him.
The Queen knights him.
Parents of the last underage girl he bagged press charges.
In the event of an untimely death via overdose, suicide pact or small airplane crash in the Rockies, such a demise seals you to the legend for all time, even if he goes down without you.
Sanctioned inebriation, 24/7.
You are now the heroin.
You get to sleep in.
There is a strong likelihood you will find yourself in an open relationship. Don't waste this opportunity. There are just as many cute guys in the audience, road crew, and warm up bands as there are hot slags. Make hay!
Living fast and dying young means you neither have to invest in nor worry about your future.
Bailing your man out of the slammer means heaps of mileage points on your Visa.
However, you are essentially above the law.
You are cooler than everyone else.
If it doesn't work out, you'll always be able to sell the book.
Also, who says you have to content yourself with one rockstar relationship? Patti "Layla" Boyd married a Beatle and Eric Clapton, and the latter wrote five songs about her.
There is, unhappily, at least one tragic flaw in my plan - I cannot think of a single recent rock star I'd want to hang out with like that. The really good ones are of a bygone era. Except maybe one of these blokes (well, they're not famous yet). Hope they're treating my home town right tonight.
14 comments:
A+ for sarcasm. Excuse me while I wipe the sprayed beer off my keyboard.
Only a B+ for spelling, though. There's a 't' missing in 'event.' But the dropped 'e' in, "You are now the heroin" is so double entendre happy accident you should prob just leave it be. Or did you do that on purpose, you clever one?
I propose that this be published and become required reading in all home economics classes across this land.
Sgt. - send my man's tour manager the bill. How are your sinuses?
Erstwhile Laura - Heroin was not (sic), it is sick. Of course it's intentional.
You get a B for proofreading; you missed the missing "s" in "least."
Blue - When you become musically, I will of course except you from the throng of "Rockstar Manqué,"
Bluvi -
Oops, there I go again. I meant to say was "musically prominent," but I must amend that further. You already are beyond the pack. You are a superstar.
Happy early Birthday.
i want a rocker boyfriend now.
we live in la...why did i end up with the actor?
yum.
I have wondered how a well spoken homespun girl as yourself has managed to keep it together out there in Tinseltown. I begin to see it now. Very smartly done.
Steve -
Well, thank you, but what makes you say "homespun"?
Let's see- it seems the building trades are not beyond you whatsoever... you have a certain sophisticated Cracker Barrel wisdom going on and in your own words "I wish I were a guy so I could pee anywhere I wanted while standing up". There is also some mention of a Porch Swing and Glycerin...lets hope it doesn't come to that. Need I say more?lol
Steve - but I love porch swings! Excuse me now, I have to go get my corns cut...
Anonymous hipster?
Grant Miller -
You talkin' to me?
Or do you mean the band photo at the end?
If the former, I ain't hip. If the latter, they have a record coming out on Geffen in late October. They are Scots. They were my neighbors until just recently. Good lads.
ha! poor spelling; i love it. :P
jt "stitch" -
schadenfreude, pure schadenfreude. that's something Grant Miller knows about.
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