So the other weekend… I met Aaron Carter. Not only that, but I got his number, too. Yeah, that is right. The dreamy adolescent pop KING that we all once wanted to fondle at his big house party gave me his number at his after party… or rather, that is what he called his nation wide tour, Aaron Carter: The After Party.
He got on stage, swallowed his pride and began singing to the crowd about beating Shaq and wanting candy and everything else that used to make my little girl self swoon. He was prowlin’ on stage; really giving the pretty girls in the audience eye contact (I think in the hopes that they might faint by the sight of him so he could just drag them around back while they’re still unconscious and … yeah.. but that’s here nor there). Any who, he finishes the concert and the meet and greet begins.
We stand in line for about an hour when… oh wait, I have to tell you about a story within this story first.
My underage friend, who has had a mad crush on Mr. Carter since day one and could sing you any song that the rest of us would say what the f*ck is this crap to, couldn’t get into the concert. Something about not knowing her own birthday when asked by the bouncer really hinders the possibilities of making your life dreams come true.
So, we took her back home, left her with my mom and then returned back to the babe magnet (oh yeah, AC was definitely in the house).
We get up to the front of the line at the meet and greet and I’m up next! Holy crap, it’s Aaron Carter. I’m about to touch Aaron Carter. Then, boom! Eye contact with this girl right here (two thumbs pointing my way). I’m freaking out right now so what else would I do but call my friend who is stranded with my mom.
“Holy shit. It’s about to happen. Are you ready?”
My friend was on the phone… who by the way was trashed with my mother at this point… and I hand it to Aaron (yes, we’re on a first name basis). He is still looking straight into my retina when he says, “Hello?” The rest of the phone call was a blur to me (as it was to him too, I’m sure) because we had obviously had a moment that captivated our attention and the world stopped. He hung up on her, kept eyes with me and then said, “Hey, can I put my number in your phone?”
Being super suave, I looked down and up again then blurted out (or rather screamed), “What kind of question is that!?” Smooth. I know. This is obviously how I get all of the gentlemen. I’m joking, but he took the bait.
“Wow, you are forward. I like that.” At this point, I’m thinking, “Wait, what the f*ck?” but I kept it cool and tried to pull it off as if I meant to spit on him with my word vomit. A few other words were exchanged and then picture time.
Now, I have to tell you, when I take a picture with someone I am really excited about, I look like a chinchilla on crack cocaine that hugs like a pillow pet around your neck. Basically, the picture was rough, but I walked away like a champ.
The girl I was with also got his digits, so don’t get too jealous. (The question became, who didn’t get his number?) We tried to text him, but no response. Ouch. Then we tweeted a few [hundred] times to make him remember the glory of his Louisville concert, but nothing. Bummed, we gave up until the unthinkable happened: THEY LOST OUR PICTURES FROM THE CONCERT AND ARE LETTING US GO TO ANOTHER ONE FOR FREE.
I shouldn’t be so excited about this, but I am. Next time we meet, I have five ways I am choosing from to meet him again:
- Act like we never met before.
- Say, “WTF why didn’t you text me back?” Just like a crazy girlfriend would… because that is obviously what I am.
- Jump on him and take a picture on his back and then run away before he can see my face.
- Say, “Hey, baby. Remember me?” and then rekindle some flames.
- Ask him if his backup dancers are single (they were on Americas Best Dance Crew) and they are more my type (Because AC’s not my type…)
When this all goes down, I’ll be sure to let you know about it. The Birmingham concert is June 9th. You will know about it when you see a mass inflation of inappropriate tweets coming from my public (aka professional) twitter handle. Other than that, you can support the cause of making Aaron Carter notice my friends and me by tweeting at him in my name. The people can make the difference – we just have to ban together! Until then, AC’s outie.
Note: If you did not read this true story as a complete joke, you need to reread it and laugh with me. Please and thank you. Peace, love and Aaron Carter.