OK, so this weekend I experienced a completely different, incredibly more acceptable and meaningful kind of fandom that has nothing to do with television. I imagine you are shocked that I have any real interests at all. You guys, I’m a real person, not a delirious crabfisher like you might have thought.
I was lucky enough to snag tickets (meaning I set four different alarms to make sure I was awake and on my computer the moment tickets went on sale) to see my most giant-est heartthrobs and most loved lovers, Tegan and Sara. The concert was Sunday night; I’m sure some of you were there, and if you were, then “OMG HEY!” And if you weren’t, that’s OK. I understand (I guess).
I feel kind of blasphemous writing a “humor” column about a topic that is oh-so sacred to me, but you know what, I have to write a column, and right now the only things available in my brain are their faces and their words and their hair and their leather jackets, so this is what you’re getting. And when I say “humor,” I mean me crying and clutching an empty PBR can as I scream every word to every song that has ever meant anything to me. Don’t think I can’t hear you laughing at me already. Side note: If you have any desire to pick up chicks, run out right this very moment and get your hair cut like Tegan or Sara Quin. Don’t ask, don’t Google it, just run.
I spent the whole weekend at a retreat, which was pretty exhausting (hence the word “retreat”), so by the time I got home, I was feeling like I mostly just wanted to sleep for a zillion years. I had about an hour to shower and pick out the most incredible, yet “Oh-I just-threw-this-on-and-then-dumpster-dived-in-it” outfit I could find. My room looked like a scene from a Mary-Kate and Ashley movie, which is always a good sign.
I decided to get there at least an hour early, so I could get close enough to at least see the wrinkles in Tegan’s face when she sings (OMG WHY AM I SO CREEPY? I’M SORRY, TEGAN). My plan worked, and as my bestest buddies and I struggled through the opener (you know what I’m saying), we dreamed of seeing our favorite twins—besides Tia and Tamara—sing their little Canadian hearts out and maybe, just maybe, looking deep into our souls and asking to be our BFFs and serenade us forever and always.
I could go into the details of what I might have looked like as I screamed or sang or cried or danced, but I might as quickly refer you to a picture of a pug dog waiting for a Beggin’ Strip, plus red lipstick and tights. I hope many of you know this feeling. Screaming every single word of every song of the band that you listened to on repeat for years in your car during high school, that band that told you who you were, who you wanted to be and everything you couldn’t afford to be. Yeah, I have emotional depth. Get over it.
As I write this, I sit in my bed, ruined in a coma that is so glorious I would like to sit in it forever, except then I would not be able to go to another Tegan and Sara concert, so that would be a bad idea. Also, I think this column ended up being mostly about twins.
Were you at the Tegan and Sarah concert? OMG TALK TO JACKIE ABOUT IT!!! Email her at jacklin.bolduan@gmail.com.
