This is how the brainwashing started: "Fly to Dulles and we'll pick you up for the show in Virginia Beach, free concert on the beach." Then it intensified: "The next day we'll drive you to the show in Chapel Hill, in a college town, tiny venue." Then, V says, if you go I'll go. "I can't spend $1000 to fly from Russia for David Cook shows. That's insane." Then I remembered these vouchers we got last year that are about to expire. What if I could fly to the east coast for FREE? Hotel and all other details totally taken care of by MJ, the cruise director. Oh. em. gee. I'm only human. I can only resist for so long. Peter didn't seem to think it too outrageous an adventure for me to pull off.
Drove to the airport with one of the biggest, stupidest smiles on my face ever. Spent a couple days running in the sand at Virginia Beach and hanging out with friends. My friend V spotted a guitar tech from David Cook's crew at the hotel. (She realizes her level of insanity revealed in that statement, you don't need to point it out to her.) After dinner on the beach with my friends, we ran into David Cook in the bar on our way out and got to say hi. My friend only had to buzz my shock collar a few times.
Then V stayed up all night to get us tickets for seats for the next day.
The tickets said the gates opened at five, but at four, a friend called to say the doors were open and people with ticket numbers higher than ours were going in. We threw down our mascara wands and ran from the hotel. The venue is two miles away and I'm ready to sprint, the shuttle bus that takes you there is mind-bendingly slow. I flag down a car and ask the driver if he'll drive five women down the street. He's amenable and we fall into the car. "I was on my way to pay my bar tab," he tells us. "Why did you chose me?" he said, sort of fishing for a compliment. "Because the car in front of you was a Volkswagon Bug?" I said. He was so adorable V almost forgot about David Cook there for a minute.
A friend had saved us amazing seats, and from the sixth row it was an easy walk to the bottom of the stage.
The Virginia Beach show had been terrific. But the second show, in a teeny college-town bar, outside Chapel Hill, North Carolina, was beyond wow. We were at the stage. I was behind V and she said she could see the lead guitarist's individual chest hairs. It was the last night of the tour, David was drinking beer on stage and to me, he was in a better mood than the night before, looser, more talkative, more relaxed. He was deeply into each song and he was…transportive.
I am proud to say I am not the one that fainted, but someone did, which just proves that he can kill people with his singing.
After the show, I asked the guitar tech for a guitar pick and he gave me two. I gave one to V. Now I'd know that guitar tech anywhere.
It was only a few hours of David Cook, and days with my friends; I'm not sure which was more fun. Really. Walking on the beach, watching an interview that took place two doors down, making fun of David Cook's psychotic fans (not me! I flew from another country to see the show but at least I didn't make a glittery sign about it to hold up during the show), taking a ton of pictures and watching cloud to cloud lightening, and the shows, it was the best, craziest time.
It would be a nutty thing to ever do again, and I can't wait.
twenty-something years of "what have you been up to?" 
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