Thank the holy lord in heaven, I'm finished with the semester.
*sigh of relief* whoooosshhhhh....
I think I actually did awesome on my American Legal System test. That was a big one. But I think I failed my Abnormal Psych, which was a big one too.
But how can I be expected to pay attention when I'm going to the Guns N Roses concert? Huh? Huh?
Thanks to all the nice people who left me messages of support. Yes, it is very exciting, but I'm driving there in my stupid car, which will take like.. a day. And then we don't really have a place to stay. My dad said he didn't want me to go, but as I think about that, it makes me want to go more. He said he didn't want me to go when I was 12 years old, too, and for the past 10 years I have thought of that as one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.
So, the point is, I don't care that we don't have a place to stay. I don't care that I'm $435 in debt. I don't care that I have drive a 2500 miles round trip. Because it's important to me! It's motherfuckin Axl Rose! Good god!
Anyway.. no more school until January 7th, when I have to go for a week of training for my NEW JOB.
Wow.. I seem to have a lot of good things going on for me right now.
SCHOOL'S OUT FOR SUMMER! SCHOOL'S OUT FOREVER!
Okay, so here's the story I read out loud to my Creative Writing class. I'm going to post it, along with a few others, over here! Hey, it's good times.
AXL COUNT: 19 DAYS!
_____________________________________________
*Rock and Roll Fantasy*
I tapped my fingers nervously on the back of chair, counting down the seconds. The audience was starting to get rowdy, but I had blocked them out hours ago. My friends tried talking to me, but I didn’t hear them. All I could see was the stage in front of me. In mere minutes, my dreams would come true.
Finally, the lights were turned off. A soft yellow spotlight came on. The loud notes of a slightly out of tune guitar could be heard backstage. I could feel my heart start to beat out of control.
And then, there he was. He came out, holding his hand out in front of his eyes to see the throngs of fans that were waiting for him.
I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t find my voice. I want to stand up, jump up and down, do anything, but I couldn’t feel my legs.
He looked a little different. He had put on about 20 pounds since the last picture I had seen of him in a magazine, and he had aged a few years. His hair, once a striking shade of red, was now dirty blonde. But it was him.
That’s when I started to scream. That’s when the tears started pouring down my face. That’s when I realized that this was my dream come true.
He didn’t introduce himself or his band; he just started into the songs I knew so well. They were the songs that had mesmerized me ever since I was 12 years old. The songs that touched me in places no one had ever been before.
I screamed along with the songs that I knew every word to. I might have looked a little peculiar, standing there crying and screaming and staring lustfully at him. People might have pointed at me. They might have giggled and whispered to their friends, “Look at that crazy woman in the first row!” But I didn’t notice, and if I had noticed, I wouldn’t have cared.
During “Ghosts in the Mirror”, one of my favorite songs, he glanced down at me and smiled. I felt my heart skip a beat, and had to gain my composure so I wouldn’t go tumbling to the hard concrete floor.
As he sang, I imagined myself running my fingers over the tattoos on his arm. I could picture myself running my hand through his long, tangled hair and stroking his leg in his trademark leather pants.
A few times, I had to wonder if I was really there. I made a promise to myself when I was 12 years old that I would someday see him live, in person. It didn’t matter how, or where, but it would happen. And here I was.
The songs continued, and he looked down at me a few more times. Each time he did, I screamed louder. I knew I probably looked like an ass, but I didn’t care. It was Charlie Stone, and I was in love with him.
****
My obsession with Charlie has started at an early age. At the tender age of 12, I heard my first song by his band, the Stone Crabs. By week’s end, I had pictures of him covering the walls of my childhood bedroom. My mom would just look at it and shake her head.
When I was 14, I won tickets to see them live, but I was not allowed to go. My father was strict, and couldn’t imagine letting his little girl go to a Stone Crabs concert. I locked myself in my room for 4 days, not even coming out for food. That’s when I promised myself that someday, I would see Charlie Stone.
That’s why I found myself traipsing to Las Vegas. I had to borrow money from everyone I knew, and I had to work double shifts for a month, but I did it. I got on a plane to the desert to see my rock and roll fantasy.
When the show was over, I lurked around the stage for a while, trying to catch a glimpse. When I realized this wasn’t going to do any good, I left the building and started my search for Charlie.
I walked over to the busses and chatted with the drivers, but they didn’t give me any information. I circled around, waiting for him to show up. I took a taxi to the hotel that I knew he was staying in, but to no avail.
I was hungry, tired, and lost, and I was about to give up. I started to walk away from the hotel when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I looked behind me, and almost melted into a puddle of my own drool.
It was Charlie.
“Looking for me?” He asked.
****
As he took my hand and led me up to his hotel room, I tried to make excuses for myself. I’m not a groupie, I would tell him. I just want to talk, really, I would say.
And as he smiled at me as I ripped off his clothes and threw him on the bed, I made more excuses. “It’s Charlie Stone. Who the hell cares if I’m a trashy slut or not!”
And as we were having wild animal sex, all the excuses slipped out of my mind.
****
I knew when I woke up in the morning that he’d be gone. I knew I would tell all my friends about it, and they wouldn’t believe me. I knew it would just be a memory, and only I could know how much it meant.
So I didn’t quite expect what I saw on the pillow when I woke up.
The note said:
“You are a rose in a field of thorns
You were an angel that was never born
You spread your wings and fly my way
You look up at me, tears in your eyes, and say..
‘The stars have formed for you and me
The clouds and moons are here to see
That we find each other in destiny.’
And so it goes
And so we flow
Into the river of misty rain
And if you want to love me, then darling don't refrain.”
I gasped. It was a quote I knew well, from my favorite song. Below the quote had his phone number. And so my relationship with my childhood hero began.
****
It was a rough life. He was always on the road and in the studio, and never really had much time for me. I didn’t care. He made all my dreams come true. He bought me a new house, a new car, a new life. I lost contact with my friends and family, but I was sure they understand. How could they not? It was Charlie Stone, after all.
He wrote songs about me, beautiful songs with orchestra accompaniment. I was his muse, and he was my hero.
****
One day, I asked him why he chose me. It had been on my mind for a while, but he was so busy that I never got to ask him.
“Because you were screaming louder than everyone else. I knew you were the one for me, since you knew the songs better than I did. Plus, you were one smoking babe.” I giggled. He always was a charmer.
One day, I was hanging out in his hotel with him, and someone knocked on the door. He was busy writing songs, so I answered it.
A young blond in a mini skirt and tank top glanced up at me with disgust.
“Is Charlie here? I need to talk to him.”
“Um no, I’m his girlfriend, can I help you?” I asked, cattily.
She stared at me for a long time, looking me up and down, and said, “You can’t be his girlfriend. I am. And I’m much better looking than you.”
“Okay, you asked for this,” I said. I closed the door and turned on the radio. A Stone Crab song was on. How ironic, I thought to myself.
I grabbed little miss tank top by the hair and threw her on the floor. I kicked her in the head and shouted “He’s mine, god damnit! You only wish he was yours!”
She grabbed my leg and pulled me down, and started punching me in the face. I felt a warm, sticky mess run down my face. I knew she made me bleed, that trashy groupie whore.
I pulled her hair and started choking her, while she tried to poke me in the eye. We were rolling around on the ground when finally Charlie emerged from his song writing shell.
When he witnessed what was happening, he started laughing. We both looked up at him, wondering what the hell he was giggling about.
“Do either of you obviously think you were the only one? I’m a rock star! Of course you aren’t the only one!”
The blonde and I looked at each other and nodded. We both jumped on top of him and beat the crap out of him. As I was about to kick him square in the crotch, I thought to myself, “Hmm, maybe he wasn’t so heroic after all.”
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