So on Monday Sugar Daddy and I saw RHAPSODY OF FIRE at the Hawthorne. You may or may not remember a conversation I recounted here, wherein SD planned to use the money he won in the weight-loss challenge to purchase VIP tickets for RHAPSODY OF FIRE. He did purchase the VIP tickets, and we did indeed get backstage passes and met the band and all that stuff. It might have been the best night of my husband’s life. I remember thinking that he would probably like to die this happy. Anyway. I actually had a camera with me–a real camera, not my cell phone–because you don’t get backstage passes to meet RHAPSODY OF FIRE and not bring a camera. So I have many pictures of the evening, and if I were a better person I would upload them and write a detailed blog about the awesomeness of RHAPSODY OF FIRE and make you all wish you could have been there–but you know I’m not that good a person, right? I mean, I’m just way too lazy to do that right now.
It was a very good show, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t want to talk about it right now.
I was very happy that my husband could meet Rhapsody of Fire (I’m no longer in the mood to emphasize their awesomeness with all caps). My husband thinks I just indulge him with this crap, and I guess I do. I mean, why shouldn’t he spend money for backstage passes if he wants to? He’s generally responsible with his money and is very deliberate in his frivolity. (By contrast, I am more capricious in my frivolity. But that is not the point–it is just a bonus piece of information for you. Enjoy.) So I have no complaints on that count. And I enjoy going to concerts. As I was telling him on Monday, this is not how I expected to spend my golden years, but I like the metal concerts. They’re fun. As you know, I’m usually a hater of fun, but some fun things even I like. I could probably have gone my entire life without meeting Rhapsody of Fire and not felt deprived in any way, but it’s nice to have a story. “Let me tell you about the time I met Rhapsody of Fire.” That’s what I’ll do someday, when I’m feeling like it.
But back to my story. Disclaimers and boilerplate aside, it was very awkward for me to meet Rhapsody of Fire. Not because they’re famous (or, you know, moderately famous in certain circles) but because it is always awkward for me to meet anybody. I never know what to say. And Monday night was no different. There just aren’t that many areas of common interest for me and the guys from Rhapsody of Fire. I like their music, but you can only say, “You guys are awesome!” so many times. Actually, I didn’t even tell them they were awesome. I just said it was nice to meet them. They were very polite. But, you know, there’s no getting around the fact that a) they’re talking to us because we paid them to (essentially) and b) I’m just not a people person. I do not feel any cooler for having met Rhapsody of Fire. I can think of few experiences that have left me feeling dorkier, actually.
It probably didn’t help that I didn’t get much sleep the night before and I’m sort of in the middle of an identity crisis and I’m not sure where my life is headed, except I know there is laundry in it. And I will need to decide what to make for dinner. The future is dim enough that sunglasses will not be necessary. (My apologies to those of you too young to get that reference.) So, you know, I was bound to feel very let down and anxious when it was over. Not to mention extremely awkward and vaguely unhappy while it was occurring. I just don’t like feeling socially awkward. I’ve accepted my social awkwardness, but I don’t like having it thrown in my face–or more to the point, I don’t like having my face shoved into it. It’s humiliating. You know what I mean?
Anyway. There was that. That was a really long day. That lasted into the night. Then the next day I was extra, extra tired and I still had to get the house ready for the housekeepers. Also, I was set to volunteer for Mister Bubby’s fifth grade party the following day, so I really needed to have everything done on Tuesday night, but I didn’t get everything done Tuesday night. I had extremely difficult time getting anything done. I’ve had trouble getting anything done for a while now. I start doing something, and then I get distracted and then I get distracted by something else and then I remember that I was doing this one thing to begin with but it isn’t finished because I let myself get distracted and now it’s too late to start again because I have to get the kids from school or I have to make food for somebody–I’m just not an effectual person these days. It hasn’t helped the self-esteem. Tuesday is a blur, really. I remember not accomplishing enough. That’s it.
Wednesday was weird because it was the last day of school, and I had to leave at 8:10 a.m. to make MB’s “graduation” ceremony–which, as it turned out, was very sweet, but immediately after that I had to report for party-volunteering duty, and guess what. Guess what! I was completely superfluous. THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS. Why do I not volunteer more at school? BECAUSE I AM SUPERFLUOUS. Here’s a recipe for making a socially awkward person feel even more awkward: put her in a situation where she is allegedly being useful but is in fact superfluous. Very awkward. Not to mention somewhat frustrating because how I would have liked to spend the last day of school was taking myself to lunch and enjoying some time to myself for the last time (for three months). Or at least get some last-minute grocery shopping done. But whatever. MB was pleased that I had volunteered, and that is the memory he will take with him throughout his life: His mother cared enough to volunteer at his fifth-grade party.
Then I went home and tried to decide what to make for dinner, which involved me also having to go to the store at 4:30 p.m., which is a terrible time to go grocery shopping. Really the worst. Only morons do it. Morons and people in crisis. I guess I was technically both. Not only was I grocery shopping at 4:30 p.m., but I was grocery shopping at 4:30 p.m. with Elvis. No offense to Elvis, at least not specifically–I enjoy all grocery shopping companions equally; that is, not at all. But that’s what happens when you leave grocery shopping for the last minute and also schedule to volunteer for a fifth-grade party at the last minute. You should never schedule more than one thing for the last minute. So I only have myself to blame. My mother-in-law (who has finally moved out of her California house and is up here for good now) kindly offered to take the kids out for fast food, but between their father and I taking off for a concert Monday night and me freaking out about the housekeepers Tuesday night and all the end-of-the-school-year partying going on both at school and at Boy Scouts and everywhere, my kids had managed to eat nothing but pizza and hamburgers for two straight days, and I really felt the need to cook them some actual food. (Mister Bubby actually had pizza four times between Tuesday and Wednesday. It was a serious problem. Not just me being a martyr.)
And now it’s the first day of summer. It’s a beautiful day, as it happens. If I were a better person, I would take everyone to the park or something. But I haven’t done that. I’ve let them go in and out of the house at their will. I’ve let Princess Zurg be on the computer too much. PZ is not about to jump up and down at the prospect of going to the park anyway. If I were a better person, I would invite PZ’s friend to come with us to the park so she would have someone her age to interact with while she was enjoying the great outdoors. But if I invite PZ’s friend to the park, I will have to invite her back to the house to stay for dinner and possibly spend the night because that’s how it goes with PZ’s friend unless I have a really good excuse for saying, “No, we can’t have you over right now.” And she is already scheduled to be over Friday night, and I just don’t think I can start that party early. I have a dream that PZ makes friends with someone whose house she can spend more time at instead of ours. It’s kind of a crazy dream, but I can’t seem to let it go.
All of this reminds me that Elvis never, ever has play dates and that is also my fault because I can’t expect other people to invite him over. That’s just unrealistic.
EVERYTHING IS MY FAULT.
Remind me to tell you later about the time I met Rhapsody of Fire.