I really don’t know how rockstars do it. And more importantly, why they need cocaine.
Seriously, I was SO ridiculously adrenalin filled Saturday night, that I could not sleep more than a total of 4 hours over the next two days, no matter how hard my mind begged me to “do the sensible thing.”
“Why?” you ask. “Why were you so chockers with adrenalin, young gelfling?”
Well, dear darling, isn’t it obvious? Because for the first time in my life…
I CROWD SURFED.
There I was, super pumped, competely done up in some bizarre “Kiss meets David Bowie at a circus” facepaint (only cos I wanted to: duh) ready to close the show at the late night All-Star Comedy Rock Band Thang in the Garden of Unearthly Delights, when it struck me how very envious I am of musos who get to enjoy the whole experience of an adoring crowd moshing their hearts out.
So…when I finally graced the stage, I urged the crowd to come forward and to my complete delight, three people took me up on it. Yes. Three.
Hey. Even the Beatles had to start somewhere.
The song began. More people descended. And more. And more. Until there were, I am not kidding you, at least EIGHT people moshing.
Yes, oh yes. Such is the thrill that I inspire.
Around halfway through the song, I asked them to stand closer and get ready to catch me, then ran madly towards them only to chicken out at the last minute. I was the Baby to their Johnny. (If you get that, Ding, Ding, Ding! We are officially friends) only to look at my lovely Eight, the crazy Eight, the magical Eight, who kept their hands outstretched, smiled up at me nodding and called out “Come on! Come on!”
“Really?” I said.
They nodded eagerly.
“What the heck?” I thought and off I floated into their wonderful arms, all sixteen of them, all the while still holding the mic and somehow still singing “Whoa!!!! Whoa!!!!”
I have never felt so elated in my entire life.
And so in need of a physiotherapist.
Seriously: up there in the top 5 HIGHLIGHTS OF MY LIFE.
Now of course, my kids can never complain again about me. Ever.
Upon arriving home, my son told me about a boy in his class that had yelled at him.
“Well,” I said. “You just tell him that your mum jumped on a moshpit.”
My daughter told me that a teacher had pulled her up on having a hole in her tights and told her she looked scruffy.
“Well,” I said. “You just tell her that your mum jumped on a moshpit.”
“Mum,” she said, looking mortified. “You shouldn’t jump on your audience. Now promise me you’ll never ever do that again!”
As if I have a choice.
Bless.
*Note: this was video recorded!! AGH! My copy of it sees me drop out of frame at the pivotal moment, though apparently somebody else was recording it, is gonna upload it to youtube and send me the link. If and when this happens, will let you know so you can enjoy this particular brand of awesome.
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