...so good, that I even willing suffered sleep deprivation for it.  Why go to bed early when there was Conan to watched?

I love this guy.  He's single-handedly responsible for giving me something to work towards in my professional life.  That, and he's *damn* funny.  And a really great guy. And cute as a button. But that's another page altogether.

Now where was I...?

Right. Anyway, I was where I can usually be found at 20 after one in the morning - watching Conan.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome BIG BAD VOODOO DADDY!"

Any band with a name like that *must* be worth watching, says I.  By the way, what's 'Swingers'?

The rock I sometimes live under is quite comfortable.  But the cable bill is huge.

Those first notes...that first verse...flu be damned...

...a Voodoo fan was born.  I was hooked.  Ta-da.
 

Fast forward a few months to *the show*.  And me, a girl without a ticket.  It was NYU's annual mystery concert.  It's always a big deal, and always sells out right away.  Quite a hot commodity, those tickets are.

Normally, I wouldn't care.  Why should I spend my hard earned $3.00 to go to an unknown show?

Except that, in the grand tradition of the *great* New York University, someone screwed up.  The posters.  Big letters - Special Guest - BIG BAD VOODOO DADDY.

35,000 clams a year for this kind of attention to detail. My parents just *love* that.

Anyway, I ran my little booty down to the student center, 3 bills clutched in my hand, pushing little old ladies out of the way, dodging taxis, jumping over freshman, finally to arrive out of breath and near the brink of collapse and...

...the show was SOLD OUT.

And I drag my now sad little booty home.  ::sniffle::

September 10th comes, and word comes down that the show has been postponed - the boys HAVE to be in SoCal for the MTV video awards.  Oh sure, prolong the suffering.  Just *twist* that knife. Now I'm going to have to wallow in this misery until September 30. ::sniffle::

So, now it's September 30th, and I'm handling the situation.  So well, I even go to the center for some food.  But hey, let's just ask that ticket guy *one more time*...

"Oh yeah, someone just returned two.  You want 'em?"

::coff, koff, gasp, wheeze::

So I buy 'em.  6 bucks well spent, methinks.

My little booty ruuuuuuns home, showers, changes, grabs a friend and the rest is history...

The show was amazing.

The meet and greet was amazing.

The autographed poster was amazing.

The hug from Scotty was amazing.

My cynical little soul had been stirred and fun-loving, carefree spirit that was in danger of being crushed by the cold, cruel world had been rekindled.  Even now, a year later, I still get butterflies when I think about how much fun I had that night.
 

That, and the next day, I had a excuse to buy some funky black and white wingtips.
 
 

 okay, so what's next?