REST NOW MY CHILD

It's now 5:30AM and I've tried to sleep. Sue has been down for an hour and a half, but the Sandman is proving to be a slippery little prick. I can't seem to snag his attention. I keep having flashbacks, my knees shake, my hands reach up in the air, as if I'm at the stage again and it's like I'm there. I giggle. Over and over, until I realize I've become delirious. Excuse me, but how old am I? Oh right, I'm the most immature 40 year old I know. The grin is still wide and I swear I can hear the opening notes of Bad. Obviously no one told them I was coming (right Daniel?) or they wouldn't have played it. Maybe they just didn't get the message. Now I'm laughing out loud. Shhhh, don't wake Sue. She's mean when she's tired. Sleep..............must try.

"I'm not sleeping, oh no, no, no................"

How do you get over this experience?

D.

ETERNAL LIFE

It's 4:28AM and it seems like it never happened. Bono and Edge and Adam were mere feet away from me. I tried to burn that mental picture into my head, but these few short hours later, it's gone. It's the same as when I gave birth. I know it happened, but it's not real (my wonderful teenage daughter must have been dropped off by the stork, or perhaps an angel, because I assure you she is real). How could I not remember every minute detail of events such as these? Monumental moments in my estimation.

I really concentrated at the concert on making a permanent postcard in my head. The defining moments that should never leave you - but they're gone. I'm left with a lingering memory, a feeling, that's all. BUT WHAT A FEELING! I can't come down. I was so drained when it finally ended, but the euphoria eventually took over and I am forever scarred, in a good way of course.

I did it. I lasted in an environment that is so foreign to me. And I did it by myself, since my friend departed the insanity that is the front of the stage shortly into the evening. And I would do it again. In fact, I think I have to. There isn't a drug or a drink that can mimic that experience. What a trip! So much physical discomfort, so out of my element, such a challenge to see it through. I can't forget the feeling when it was over. Sheer and utter exhaustion, body broken and battered, pushed past it's usual limitations, dehydration that was was staggering, yet I stuck it out. I was a part of the seething masses that sang and danced and surged to the stage.

I probably only let go at that level because there was no one who knew me. I could be whatever I wanted. I crave that kind of abandonment again. That's the person that I've been trying to be. It was very uncomfortable for me, in ways that only I could know, but I did it anyway.

Damn, I may never sleep again. I declared this evening that it's time to get my tattoo. Why? Because I can do anything. One more fear to conquer.

The best part of all of this is that I'm doing it for me and not one single other soul on this planet. My typical declaration of "It's all about me" has been well documented, but this time and for the first time, it really is.

Thanks U2.

D.

TAKING FLIGHT

My first night in Vancouver and it appears that I've carried the negativity that has been skulking and scowling in all corners of my Calgary world with me. While I've been quick to blame it all on the "crazy people" around me, it seems that I'm more a part if it than I previously have taken credit for. Or I have given more power to the demons than I should.

I thought getting on a plane would shake said demons off, but they seem to have clung to the wings of that Westjet flight and with much determination, hung on to follow me to this little piece of paradise. This was unexpected. With a little thought and foresight, I wouldn't have been surprised.

I am mere hours away from the much anticipated U2 concert, yet I am discontented, angry and tortured from the ghosts that followed and the new angst that have greeted me.

I can only conclude, as a logical and wise woman should, that I am the problem.

I sit in a suite that costs waaaay too much for a room that is somewhat dumpy and nothing appears to be in good working order. I don't even want to start on the odour that greeted me when I walked into the room. I will not bother with the trivial details, it's my cross to bear. And only a true princess/diva could possibly deem these annoyances as crosses.

But Christ, could I not have a moment of peace? The answer is yes, but only I will make it so. It's now up to me to shake it off and start over, or have this nonsense swirl around me and ruin what should be a glorious respite from my real world. With that, fuck it, I'm ready, let's go Vancouver.

D.

A.D.D.

I appear to have a terrible condition, which affects my ability to function. I am suffering from distractibility, forgetfulness, inability to concentrate, poor attention span and impulsiveness, otherwise know as being seriously fucked in the head, or follow the bouncing Denise. I have been trying to write all week. I have either, in my head, or on paper, began 5 different posts, none of which will see the light of day (for the above reasons - pay attention - I'm the one with the problem).

You will have to trust me when I say that they were good - I mean absolutely brilliant. Pulitzer Prize quality. Seriously. Such words had never before been strung together in such harmony. Shakespeare himself rolled over in amazement and "Hey! How'd she do that", or something to that effect.

I wholeheartedly apologize for depriving the world of my musings.

And they wept.

DUH-HUH

Well, I met me a real, live Republican! What an eye-opener. I've now had some of the nasty rumours confirmed. Mind you, the descriptions of Republicans provided to me were all from Liberals, so a face to face was required (American Libs of course, I really try to keep my distance from Canadian ones, with my dear Marcus being the exception. It's not his fault his parents twisted his young mind and tainted it with their "the government can run your life better than you can" ideology. It's nice to see he's acknowledging the filth that dominates this party).

In some very weird, masochistic way, I want to meet more. It was a truly fascinating experience, although I did feel a little dumber afterwards. I found myself saying "really" and "you don't say" quite frequently. That was just to confirm that I had indeed heard him spout something utterly ridiculous and sometimes appalling.

Antonio/Tony is a backwards, self-serving, narrow-minded, chauvinist, blowhard. 34 years of age, chubby and balding, shit corporate job, no personality (ok - to be fair - none that I could detect). And how he looooooves his Clemson football ring! He believes in the long-gone memories that ring possesses. It's possible he clings to the singular belief that when he dons that magical ring, he is transported back in time. Back to his hey-day. Back to a time when all he had to do to get laid is show up for football practise. The rest of the year was set. Babes wanting to get close to the football player, as if their star would rise as well. A LOT of blowjobs have been given in the name of cross-promotion.

Sadly for Tony, there are no football seasons left for him. He's going to have to go after that elusive pussy the old fashioned way. Work for it. I must say, he could use a little time in skirt-chasing camp. A couple of drinks, leering at some cleavage, pulling a chair close, whew - those were some hot moves I could barely resist. He could have recovered if he'd had something to say. But, and I must emphasize but here, there wasn't a single thing that I found interesting, intelligent or moving. I waited, god I was patient. I stayed in his company in anticipation of that nugget that would peak my interest, or at least lessen my disgust. It was not to be. His idea of wooing was a feeble attempt at dominating me, using charming phrases such as "Now listen bitch" (he had it in his head that I needed a manly man to tell me what to do). Oh, how I swooned.

Now, I started this by labeling him a Republican, when he's really so much more than that, but here's why. Politics came up and I had a few disparaging remarks to say about his beloved Bush. He sputtered and stammered and turned a lovely crimson, right before he shouted out, not unlike a 5 year old, "Take that back!". That was how he handled debate. Very impressive. Since he had no ability to discuss the issues in a mature and logical manner, he resorted to tearing apart Canada. That was equally amusing, since he wasn't aware until recently that there was even anything above Montana.

So Tony, safe travels back to South Carolina. I wish for you to find an aging cheerleader, who also has the left the best part of herself on that football field, or under the stands, whichever.

GREEN, WHITE AND ORANGE

Lock up your boys and hide the key to the liquor cabinet. Denise and Sue are off to Vancouver. Five nights of what I hope is filled with grievous sin and overt debauchery. What happens on the road...........

A lovely suite at the Century Plaza will play host to the activities of two wily cougars (can you still be classified as a cougar if you're married? And I don't even own red nail polish, does that disqualify me as well?). Sue is talking about the hotel gym, running trails, aquatic centre, etc. I have told my friend to stop worrying about her cardio and start training her liver. Sue is very nervous about keeping up with me and she should be. She's telling people that I'm trying to make her live like a rock star on this vacation and she's pretty accurate with that statement. I want it all. Why not?

My best friend and I haven't traveled together since 1987. I believe there is a very real reason for this - we don't get along. After 28 years of friendship, (minus the 3 we didn't speak) you'd think we would have worked out the dynamics of this relationship. We have failed miserably. Pick a topic, situation, name it and we'll find a reason to scrap and snipe at each other. I will not go into why, (it's all her fault) but it continues to frustrate me. I get along with people. That's what I do. Call it a gift. Whatever. But I can't seem to make this work. You would think that we would know each other on a special level, shared only by lifelong best friends, and that's why we continue the relationship, but we really don't! It never ceases to astound me how little we understand each other. Things that happened when we were teenagers still get dragged out for analysis and debate, as proof that I/she has always been a (insert current insult here). But, at the end of the day, we love each other and I'm certain we'll still be verbally jousting, pecking and picking at each others souls, when we are having our afternoon prune juice on the patio of the old folk's home.

Back to the trip. U2 is the reason and highlight of this adventure. I have high hopes that the planets will line up and my 20 year dream of being up close and personal at their concert will happen. I feel a little silly about the level of hero-worhip and adoration I have for these four Irish musicians. I am a mature, grown woman who lives by a code that I am as important as everyone else, thus I refuse to star-fuck. I think that everyone, including Brad Pitt, should be grateful to meet someone as fabulous as me and should probably ask for MY autograph. However, I turn into a blushing, stammering, star-struck fool at the mere thought of an encounter with them. I don't think that it's a bad thing. We all need a little silliness in our lives.

The scalper inflated-price tickets are in hand and the general admission floor is beckoning. I WILL find my way to the stage. Early arrival, comfortable shoes and clothes, dehydration, (to avoid bathroom breaks - we are women, over 40, and we pee alot) elbow work that hasn't been seen since Gordie Howe retired, and a whole lot of determination, should be the recipe that makes this fantasy a reality. I even have my 5 foot Irish flag to entice contact with my icons. I will leave nothing to chance. 19 more sleeps.