Thursday, November 1st, 2007
1:50 pm EDT
Somewhere in New York
I’ve never been so excited in my whole damned life. Never. Not when I bought my first car, not when I moved into my new house, not when I got promoted at work. I’ve also never been so nervous in my whole damned life. I'm fidgeting like a two year old in church, and driving the guy next to me abso-frickin-lutely nuts. He's about ready to rip this laptop out of my hands and bean me over the head with it. OK, so now you’re asking yourself “what’s her problem?” I’ll tell you in my own way and in my own time. Just be quiet for a minute and let me take a deep breath and gather my thoughts.
* inhales deeply, holds breath, exhales slowly *
I’m writing to you from the train. I’m on my way to New Jersey to the Prudential Center to see Bon Jovi. This is the first solo trip I’ve ever taken to somewhere fun. (I’ve traveled for business but that by definition is definitely not fun.) I’m meeting some new girlfriends there for the first time, and I'm really looking forward to it!
OK, let me back up and introduce myself properly. Hi, my name is Hathor, and I’m a Jovi-holic. I’ve been a fan of the band, their music, and all that they stand for, for more years than I haven’t. I have joined several chat boards and have made tons of online friends, and have only recently begun to dabble in the genre of fan fiction. I use the name “The Goddess Hathor” as my handle both when I write and on the boards. Maybe you’ve seen me around?
So here are some personal things to know about me. I’m 37, currently unattached, of Italian/Portuguese descent (so I have beautifully tanned skin practically all year-round), and fantastic. Really. I’m 5’8” tall, have a few more pounds on me than what’s fashionable these days, but I fill out a pair of jeans and tight t-shirt well enough to make you give me a real slow, appreciative, lingering once-over. I’ve got soulful brown eyes, and thick, luxurious, wavy brown hair that falls to just below my shoulders and is streaked with red (natural) and caramel (synthetic) highlights. That just about covers it.
What’s that?
Oh – my personality. Thanks for asking. Well, I’m funny, smart, fiercely loyal to my friends, mean to my enemies, bursting with self-confidence, and above all, a smart-ass. So much so that the girls (and guys) on my most recently joined forum call me GSA, for “Goddess Smart Ass”.
OK. Let me tell you a little about this forum.
I found this neat football forum where there were actually other women posting. It’s refreshing to get another gal’s perspective on the game, you know? We really aren’t all as dumb as those “color commentators” the networks have on TV. They give female football fans a bad rep.
There were a couple of guys hanging about on the forum, too, and to their chagrin, it turns out most of the other women on the forum are Jovi fans, like me. So, when we girls are alone on the board, we chat about the Band and what they’re doing, and what they do to us when they sing this song or that. Honestly, I’m not all that surprised that we have that in common; I haven’t met too many females between the ages of 4 and dead that don’t know about them. Hell, even my 87-year-old grandmother thinks Jon is cute.
So, anyway, we girls get to chatting, and it comes out that some of us are fan fiction writers. In hindsight, I probably wouldn’t have let out that I was THAT Hathor, although, I suppose, how many Hathors can there really be?
I was flirting shamelessly with one of the guys (who, in my defense was making all sorts of suggestive remarks about his, well, vine, and I couldn’t help myself!! I’m a gutter girl at heart, which earned me another moniker, Triple-G, which makes me sound like a wrestler, but I like it) telling him how I write these deliciously raunchy and sexy stories, and he made some comment about maybe reading one. I made him a deal that if his Giants beat my Patriots, I’d share one of my stories. In return, if my team won, he’d meet me and another girl for drinks when we went to NJ for the shows. My team won. I sent him the link anyway. Shameless hussy? Yep.
Well, imagine the panic I felt when I found out that not only was he the subject of more than one of my stories, but the one I sent him the link to featured him and was the dirtiest one I’d written yet. Oh boy. I like to have died right then. I got over it though, mostly because he didn’t seem to be offended or disgusted. Whew.
In all, there are four of us ladies who know his true identity. His and Jon’s. The two of them post as Zan and Kidd on the forum. One of the ladies, Samantha, is hooked up with Jon now. It’s really sweet the way they are together. Well, what she shares with us is really sweet, anyway. The other three of us, myself, Lucy (who is hooked up with Richie, though to hear her tell it, they haven't 'sealed the deal' yet), and now Stephanie, are all going to the show together. We weren’t planning on going together, so we had to score tickets on eBay. We spent WAY more than we should have, but hot damn, we got tickets on the floor on Richie's side of the stage, a couple rows back. We are gonna have a hell of a time.
OK. So, let me FINALLY get to why I’m so excited that I can’t sit still, and I’m annoying the shit out of the guy next to me (sorry, Marcus). It is finally sinking in that tonight, I am going to meet one of my long-time idols and longer-time crushes: Richie Sambora. Holy shit. Not only that, but we found out that we're actually meeting ALL of them! Aaah! I don't know the specifics; instructions are waiting for us at the box office at the Pru, but damn, I'm just all twitchy and nervous thinking about it. I hope we meet somewhere neutral. We girls are staying at Penn Plaza, practically across the street from the Pru, and it has a gorgeous bar, so maybe there? I don't know. I frankly don't care. I am meeting Bon Jovi. I’ll say it again. Holy shit.
Well, the train is pulling into Newark now, and I’ve gotta get this last bit out. We didn’t tell Richie what we look like, although he knows Lucy -- he had lunch with her a while back and stayed with her a few days after her grandmother died. We also didn’t tell him we got seats on his side of the stage close enough to smell us. We’ve got a great way to "expose our identities" to him, though. We’ve all got black t-shirts that say “Zan’s Harem” on the front of them in white gothic lettering, and have our titles on the back. I’m Goddess, Lucy is Duchess, and Steph is Queenie. We’re gonna surprise the shit out of him.
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