My Dear Aunt Sarah, chapter 1
I guess I should start by thanking my Aunt Sarah. If Aunt Sarah hadn't sent me a $20 gift card to Wal-Mart for my eighteenth birthday, then chances are I wouldn't have been browsing the music section the next time I happened to be there. So if I hadn't gotten the gift card, I would have never bought the CD. Since Y106, the local radio station, only ever played the one song, if I never bought the CD, I never would have fallen in love with the music.
I suppose while I'm here, I should thank Paris Hilton for being such a stupid bitch. Because if dear Paris had never been arrested for D.U.I., then Y106 wouldn't have felt so compelled to make fun of her. I don't condone drunk driving AT ALL, so don't get the wrong idea, but Y106's weekend-long contest, with the charmingly corny title "Paris! At the Disco Weekend," was their resource in making fun of Paris Hilton's lack of IQ points.
Needless to say, if I had never fallen in love with the music, I wouldn't have gotten the urge to spend every waking moment, all weekend, with a radio and a phone close at hand. If I hadn't kept the radio turned on for forty-eight hours straight, I would never have called in at EXACTLY THE RIGHT MOMENT. That is, if I had turned it off AT ALL Saturday or Sunday, I might never have heard the DJ's peppy voice in my ear, going, "Y106, you're caller 106! Who's this?" I managed to stammer out my name as a loud truck zoomed by on the freeway. Fortunately, I was able to still steer the car straight even though I was almost in shock. Also fortunately, I was eighteen; therefore, I was eligible to win my two tickets to go see Panic! At the Disco live in concert.
'So?' you say. 'I've been to shows before. It's no big deal.' Well, listen to me. It gets even better. Because, being one of the winners, I was automatically entered to win Y106's Grand Prize. I'm sure you're not stupid, but because I feel like it, I'll explain further: If I had never won the tickets, I never would have won the Grand Prize, which happened to be two tickets in the front row, AND a chance to meet the band backstage afterwards.
The date of the concert finally rolled around. My best friend accompanied me, of course, to sit in the front row at a Panic! at the Disco concert. After the show ended, the two of us scurried over to the stage door. Flaunting our passes at Tiny, the burly security guard, we burst in a grand entrance through the heavy metal doors to find... Panic! at the Disco. Then, I saw HIM: Brendon Urie, only the hottest musician ever, sitting calmly wearing a green hoodie and eating an apple. He stood up to greet my friend and me, and my friend immediately became absorbed in a conversation with Ryan Ross.
"Hey," Brendon said to me.
"Hi," I said back, turning a rather unladylike shade of red.
"So..." he trailed off awkwardly. "I guess I should... introduce you all."
I laughed a bit. "I think Logan's already met Ryan," I said this on account of how the two were flirting madly and seemed moments away from kissing.
"I guess," He smiled. "But I don't think I caught your name."
My face, which had cooled off a few degrees, inflamed again. I stammered out my name as a loud cart rumbled by.
Brendon looked at me. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't really get that."
I told him again, with more dignity this time.
"That's a pretty name," he told me.
"Thanks." I smiled sheepishly.
"You're kinda cute," he said in a joking voice. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Eighteen," I answered.
He raised an eyebrow. "Thank God!" he joked.
We both laughed. After a while, my cheeks stopped going up in flames every time he spoke. We talked a little while about life, until Tiny looked ready to forcibly eject us from the backstage area.
"So..." Brendon said to me as Spencer and Brent made an attempt to untwine Logan and Ryan, "Are you a HUGE, huge fan?"
I hastily assured him that I was.
"Usually fans ask for my autograph," he said cheekily.
"You're being a little cocky," I laughed.
"Only a little." He paused. "But... I want to ask you, can I have YOUR autograph? In the form of, say, ten digits?"
I stared at him, narrowing my eyes. "That," I said slowly, "has to be... the CORNIEST line I have ever heard in my entire life." We both burst out laughing.
I gave him my number. "Call me," I mouthed, making an invisible phone with my thumb and pinkie, doing my best impersonation of a ho as Logan and I were being "shown out," more like thrown out, if you ask me, by Tiny. Looking over my shoulder I saw Brendon cracking up at my little joke, then he smiled and winked at me as the door swung shut.
Note to self: send Aunt Sarah a LONG thank you note!
And maybe one to Paris Hilton while I'm at it. Well, why not? I'm in a REALLY GOOD mood right now.
THE END
I suppose while I'm here, I should thank Paris Hilton for being such a stupid bitch. Because if dear Paris had never been arrested for D.U.I., then Y106 wouldn't have felt so compelled to make fun of her. I don't condone drunk driving AT ALL, so don't get the wrong idea, but Y106's weekend-long contest, with the charmingly corny title "Paris! At the Disco Weekend," was their resource in making fun of Paris Hilton's lack of IQ points.
Needless to say, if I had never fallen in love with the music, I wouldn't have gotten the urge to spend every waking moment, all weekend, with a radio and a phone close at hand. If I hadn't kept the radio turned on for forty-eight hours straight, I would never have called in at EXACTLY THE RIGHT MOMENT. That is, if I had turned it off AT ALL Saturday or Sunday, I might never have heard the DJ's peppy voice in my ear, going, "Y106, you're caller 106! Who's this?" I managed to stammer out my name as a loud truck zoomed by on the freeway. Fortunately, I was able to still steer the car straight even though I was almost in shock. Also fortunately, I was eighteen; therefore, I was eligible to win my two tickets to go see Panic! At the Disco live in concert.
'So?' you say. 'I've been to shows before. It's no big deal.' Well, listen to me. It gets even better. Because, being one of the winners, I was automatically entered to win Y106's Grand Prize. I'm sure you're not stupid, but because I feel like it, I'll explain further: If I had never won the tickets, I never would have won the Grand Prize, which happened to be two tickets in the front row, AND a chance to meet the band backstage afterwards.
The date of the concert finally rolled around. My best friend accompanied me, of course, to sit in the front row at a Panic! at the Disco concert. After the show ended, the two of us scurried over to the stage door. Flaunting our passes at Tiny, the burly security guard, we burst in a grand entrance through the heavy metal doors to find... Panic! at the Disco. Then, I saw HIM: Brendon Urie, only the hottest musician ever, sitting calmly wearing a green hoodie and eating an apple. He stood up to greet my friend and me, and my friend immediately became absorbed in a conversation with Ryan Ross.
"Hey," Brendon said to me.
"Hi," I said back, turning a rather unladylike shade of red.
"So..." he trailed off awkwardly. "I guess I should... introduce you all."
I laughed a bit. "I think Logan's already met Ryan," I said this on account of how the two were flirting madly and seemed moments away from kissing.
"I guess," He smiled. "But I don't think I caught your name."
My face, which had cooled off a few degrees, inflamed again. I stammered out my name as a loud cart rumbled by.
Brendon looked at me. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't really get that."
I told him again, with more dignity this time.
"That's a pretty name," he told me.
"Thanks." I smiled sheepishly.
"You're kinda cute," he said in a joking voice. "How old are you, anyway?"
"Eighteen," I answered.
He raised an eyebrow. "Thank God!" he joked.
We both laughed. After a while, my cheeks stopped going up in flames every time he spoke. We talked a little while about life, until Tiny looked ready to forcibly eject us from the backstage area.
"So..." Brendon said to me as Spencer and Brent made an attempt to untwine Logan and Ryan, "Are you a HUGE, huge fan?"
I hastily assured him that I was.
"Usually fans ask for my autograph," he said cheekily.
"You're being a little cocky," I laughed.
"Only a little." He paused. "But... I want to ask you, can I have YOUR autograph? In the form of, say, ten digits?"
I stared at him, narrowing my eyes. "That," I said slowly, "has to be... the CORNIEST line I have ever heard in my entire life." We both burst out laughing.
I gave him my number. "Call me," I mouthed, making an invisible phone with my thumb and pinkie, doing my best impersonation of a ho as Logan and I were being "shown out," more like thrown out, if you ask me, by Tiny. Looking over my shoulder I saw Brendon cracking up at my little joke, then he smiled and winked at me as the door swung shut.
Note to self: send Aunt Sarah a LONG thank you note!
And maybe one to Paris Hilton while I'm at it. Well, why not? I'm in a REALLY GOOD mood right now.
THE END
