- I was under the impression that Matt Wertz was the best star to be in love with,
probably because I attended his concert 2/21/09.
However, that concert was just topped by Steve Moakler.
Staying to meet and greet your fans makes all the difference,
and telling them how awesome they are helps as well.
Oh, yeah, Steve told me I was amazing and talented.
Why would he do such a thing?
I sketched a portrait of his face.
Aparently it was amazing and took a lot of talent.
"KIRSTIE, YOU ROCK MY SOCKS." - Steve Moakler
Now for brief individual moments that I describe in too much detail,
because a bunch of other great stuff happened this week.
1. The Vehicular Device
2. Shift in the Universe
3. Steve&Me&Steve
4. The Letter 4
Thursday:: I called mom to tell her I got home safely. She makes me do this when I get a ride from a friend. I could tell there was something playing behind the words she said when we hung up, and knew the fishy thing was about to show itself when she called back. Too ecstatic to wait, she told me I had a car of my own. It's name was Frankie [Female] within five minutes.
Friday:: I was jammin' to the intermission music in the front row of the concert, trying to decide wether or not showing Steve Moakler the portrait I sketched when I see about six hands pointing at me. When I look up from my drawing to meet the eyes of Moakler, himself. As quickly as my clumsy fingers would allow, I flipped the sketchbook so he could see. The most amazing expression of glee and astonishment took over his face, and he told me he wanted to see me "after." I could hardly think of anything but that expression as his professional photographers asked to take pictures and other fans asked to see.
Still Friday:: The moment of panic when I couldn't find Briatni (soul holder of the only camera among the group) passed and faded quickly and just in time to meet Steve. "KIRSTIE, YOU ROCK MY SOCKS" he wrote and signed his name before we positioned ourselves for the photo. With his hand on my waist he was distracted by someone else and had to half-turn in order to talk. This left his hand to freely roam my exposed side, and it did so. Like the lazy feather of an angel his fingers trailed up and down as gently as any fingers had ever traveled. Had it not been Steve Moakler their presence would have gone unnoticed, but as it were, the nerve endings tickled with delight.
Saturday:: The agitation built up from lack of sleep combined with the constant dread that my piece simply was not good enough was sending me into a mental frenzie. The stack of artwork was of pieces that made top scores but did not go to state. I knew I didn't go to state, (it had already been discussed) but I still could earn my letterman if only I made a top score. The people flipping through were nearing the end of the pieces, and I just didn't know if I could take it anymore. The chances that I had made it were decipating with every piece that turned out to be someone else's. There, at the end, the final piece was enveiled, and as fate would have it (as fate has the most cruel sense of humor when dealing with my life) The bottom piece was my angel, my Cabel, the one I prided myself in and loved with every brush stroke and pencil curve. He saved me from a lettermanless seniorhood, and I have, do, and will always love him.
