Once upon a time I had the pleasure of seeing a band called seven seconds.  My memory tells me I saw them a lot, but I am not sure if this is fact or jumbled information.  My amazing friend with a large pink mohawk, and another fantastic boy whom I believe had a checkerboard painted onto his buzz cut at the time, headed up the road to a show in which we were not allowed for we were… I don’t know… maybe 15 or so?  We snuck in through the adjacent music venue bathroom and packed ourselves into the crowd.  I ordered what you may assume any tiny fifteen year old girl would order and stammered to the bartender to give me a fosters oil can.  Please.  We waited for the show to begin as close to the front as the scarier members of the audience would allow, the boys appearing unfazed by the whole situation, but I am sure I couldn’t hide the ecstasy I felt by accomplishing such a feat.  At some point my two knights in shining spiked collars made themselves scarce visiting with friends in another location I didn’t know, but I felt ok with being alone.  As long as I had my giant oil can and could hang off the front of the stage listening to the opening bands with names too dirty to state on this g rated blog of mine, life was fine by me.

After an hour or so I decided to turn around and take a look around for the neon tower of spiked hair I was missing, figuring he would be an easy one to spot.  And spot him I did, just as he was getting pummeled to the ground for reasons unbeknownst to me.  I was able to help him outdoors as quick as my little platformed feet could take us, and being it was the days before cell phones I had not a clue what to do next.  I knew I needed a pay phone to help my bleeding from the skull buddy but the only way to such a landline was back through the front door this time around.  And being I had no ID the fools at the front wouldn’t let me in.  Even a boy bleeding wasn’t enough to deter them in from completing their mission.

Worried, I stood desperately by my moaning friend and pondered what to do.  At this very moment the side door suddenly came swinging open, a fog of sweaty air along with it.  I looked into the misty dark tunnel and saw it was in fact a direct entrance to the stage.  The infamous seven seconds belted out a cover of “99 red balloons”,  the crowd manically dancing in front of them.  I had no choice.  The universe was indeed sending me the exact message I needed to hear.  I did what any good Samaritan would (or should) and ran up on stage taking a flying leap of faith.  It was a moment of glory and heart choking fear that I will forever remember.  The seconds following were anything but that, and I will spare you the details, but I managed to reach my destination safe and sound leaving me with this story to tell.  This, is by far the most righteous thing I have ever done.

I thought about this night while I was standing next to my wide-eyed blonde beauties looking at the floating balloons shoot past the clouds this past weekend.  I figure they too will get into some shenanigans in the future too, and truly it is a scary thought.  I have said it before and I will say it again, I would NOT have wanted to raise me.  But there is not denying it when you look at these little faces, they are trouble.  And I wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

Envision this pose but with a lighter in his hand and leather studded jacket in place of the mama made birthday shirt.  OK? Got it?  Now you see what I am saying.