Yes Man and the Bucketlist

In 2012, I decided to become a "yes man."  When I told my mom this, she looked at me funny and said, you've always been a yes man.  You always figure out a way to make what you want to happen, happen.  In a way, I guess she's right.  But I've also been thinking a lot lately that you only get one shot at life...and saying no really makes no sense for me at this point.  Why not move somewhere fantastic?  Why not indulge a little?  Why not do the things that make you happy-whatever they may be.  I'm in my 20's, I'm not married, I have no children-so it's time to be selfish and not feel guilty.  Its time to have the once in a lifetimes that you can't have when there are big obligations keeping you grounded.  

It's baby steps.  I work in tv, and February is sweeps.  February is also the longest and most abysmal month that there has ever been (I know this, now).  When I was approached by a friend about Mardi Gras in Mobile, old me may have said, can't it's during sweeps and there is no way that I can get that day off.  New me started to get a little more crafty.  Maybe it's just the fact that a Mardi Gra Krew Ball is probably once in a lifetime for this gal.  A long dress, men in white-tie tuxes with tails, and a night of eating drinking and dancing--that sounds like the best prom ever.  I wanted to go.  No.  I had to go.  It took some money (ouch) and it's going to take a pretty exhausting week, but yes man came through and I will be in Mobile.  

*Yes Man and the Bucket List*

This wasn't originally on my bucket list...but after it happened, I just couldn't help but feel like I had accomplished something big.

I was at a Michael Jackson Tribute Band show.  Their name (I kid you not) was  Who's Bad?  I was there for one of best friend's birthdays.  There was moonwalking, drinking, and a pretty decent impression of the King of Pop.  There was also a sole white jewish-looking boy in the band.  He was exactly the kind of guy my birthday girl friend had been attracted to in the past.  The fact that he was slapping the bass and keeping up with the background dancers was also incredibly impressive to all of her drunk friends.

And so when the show ended and the lights came up, like a true concert going hussy, a small group of us clicked over to the curtain and asked the security guard to allow us backstage.  He was unfazed.  Obviously, Who's Bad? often had drunk sorority girls come knocking at their door.  Luckily, a husky background dancer had popped his head around the corner while sipping on his Jim Bean.  He waved the security guard off and our small posse pushed into a new world.

I had never been backstage at a concert before.  I had performed my entire life growing up, so I wasn't blown away by what was behind the curtain or the dressing rooms, but I had never worked my way to where the "famous performers" were having the after party.  Visions of sexual favors, drugs, and liquor almost slowed me down.  Would Who's Bad? try to take advantage of their groupees?  Ah hell no.  We were in control.  

I don't exactly know why we wanted to get backstage.  It just seemed like a Yes Man thing to do.  Spontaneous.  Fun.  Michael Jackson came out and posed for a couple of pictures.  Friendly (or were they?) back up dancers offered us alcohol.  They must have known how lame we all were when we each turned it down.  One of the girls, a very loud and fun girl named Tiff suddenly seemed to understand our reasoning for coming backstage.

"Where's the bass player?"she asked.  The bass player appeared after about 10 minutes of awkward standing and continued praise of their performance.  He showed up, shoved some bills into the hands of the back-up dancers, nodded at us, and mumbled something about having to go do something.  Well that summed it up, he was just an asshole.  Thought he was pretty special with his curly brown afro.   I chalked it up to a possible girlfriend, but I still thought it was pretty lame that he didn't even come over and wish my friend a happy birthday or pose for a harmless picture.

Tiff, being the most not-shy person I may have ever met, was not rattled.  At the time that she grabbed the marker, it was a funny joke.  Maybe the majority of us weren't even aware of what was going on.  But Tiff grabbed a piece of paper and wrote:

After Party!  

(My friend's name and address)

ALL OUT LIVE!!

As to what "all out live" even means, I'm not sure.  But the larger group of girls came looking for our smaller groupee posse and we high-tailed it out of Michael Jackson's lounge.  Tiff, the birthday girl, and I went back to my friend's apartment.  I was pretty exhausted and was starting to consider taking her up on her offer of spending the night--but I decided to head on for home.

The next day I got an interesting phone call from the birthday girl, herself. 

Apparently, about an hour after I had left, the door bell started ringing.  The birthday girl had fallen asleep, Tiff was up watching something on tv.  They both assumed the door bell ringer was me.  Maybe I had forgotten something?  But when they swung the door open, who should be standing there?

The bass player, of course.  He had been dropped off at her house, and he was ready to go "all out live."  He came inside and took off his shoes like he lived there.  He sat down on the couch and began the casual, patient conversation that leads up to groupee sex (I guess).  To turn up the heat a little, he even took the feet of my birthday girl friend into his lap and began to massage them.

To be fair, my birthday girl friend is about the sweetest and nicest girl you could ever hope to marry some day.  In no way is she the kind of girl who would be getting turned on by a complete bass-playing stranger at four in the morning with an erotic foot rub.  Its just gross.  When he started to go a little beyond the ankle, it became clear: it was time to get Who's Bad?, home.

Unfortunately a cab wouldn't come back to pick him up.  Tiff and birthday gal got into a car and proceded to drive Bass Boy all over town in a search for his hotel.  Apparently, since he was a touring artist and all, he didn't know his way around Birmingham--and he didn't know where he was staying.  After hours on the road, they finally dropped the guy off at the right spot.  My friend tells me the entire time they were driving he kept asking, "What changed your mind?"  

Finally Tiff yelled at him, "She never wanted to sleep with you!"

I both hate it and am so glad that I missed all of that while safe and warm and unknowning in my own bed.  That's one of those party stories you'll tell for years.  But at least I did get backstage with "Michael Jackson".  That's gotta count for something.