Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Let's Go Back... WAY Back: A Series - Part 48

Blog Originally Published: June 29, 2007 - 6:56 PM

Please Excuse me While I Cry Hysterically

In case all (any) of you were wondering, I did not (repeat: DID NOT) go to Los Angeles for the Macca show.        (You feel SO sorry for me, I know.  Pity me, won't you?)
Oh... I just couldn't. 
Even after all your advice and encouragement, I just decided it was too much of a risk and I'd rather save my money for a sure thing... or you know... just to have.  I've taken the risk before and it paid off ROYALLY and like a friend said, this would have been like winning the lottery and I kinda already won the "lottery" once, so what were the odds of me winning again?  (Turns out pretty EFFING good, actually.  I saw on the Macca website that at 9:30 AM Tuesday morning there were only about 170 people in line outside of Amoeba Music.  I could've been one of them!  The flight to LA would've gotten me there on time!  Waaaaaaaaaah!)  But, my brother was in town visiting, so that was another reason I didn't go.  Blah.
I was watching Access Hollywood yesterday because I just KNEW they would say something about his show.  (It IS celebrity gossip, right?)  And of course they showed footage of all the happy people, and Paul up on a stage, in an outdoor-setting playing "Drive My Car."  And who was in the audience?  None other than fricking RINGO!!!!!!!!
This was me, my friends:
*cries hysterically*
*throws shoe at television screen*
*screams like someone with Tourettes Syndrome*
*runs around the room like a maniac, smashing things*
Okay, none of that happened, but that's what was going on in my mind.  Actually, now that I think about it... I think I DID scream.  Yep.  Pretty sure about that one, actually.  Well... wouldn't you have?!  I mean, I missed HALF THE MOTHER-EFFING BEATLES... together...in the same place, for the love of God!!!  That never happens.  (Okay, it happened the night before in Vegas at the LOVE anniversary show.  Quit being so technical.  I'm trying to make a point, people!)
So to sum up...
I pretty much wanna die.
Thank you.
Come again.
p.s. - I just keep telling myself over and over, "It's okay, Erica.  You met the man.  You touched him.  That's better than seeing him play in a small venue." 
But it doesn't really work.

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