I'm having a record year

I got a pretty cool email a couple weeks ago congratulating me for winning the lottery, and now I probably need to explain that.

I entered into a chance to attend a fan club party during CMA Fest in Nashville in June for my favorite country singer. I've never won a meet and greet before this, so I had little hopes of actually winning. In fact, after I put my name into the hat, in true Monica fashion, I forgot all about the hat and moved on with my life. 

I checked my email one Friday morning a couple weeks ago, and I had an email from that country singer's headquarters (I love those emails!) saying that I had won the lottery. If I can get to Nashville that day and want to, I'm invited to attend the fan club party. 

If you even have to ask me whose fan club party it is, I mean, do you really even know me at this point?

I'll give you a brief overview about my favorite things to write about, talk about, and my favorite things ever — music, traveling and Eric Church.

I became a fan of Eric's music after I listened to the song Record Year in the context of a break up. When I was 30, pretty much on my 30th birthday, I was ghosted by the guy I was dating. He eventually married the girl he cheated on me with. 

Who says chivalry is dead?

I had just bought a house, a house that was too big for just me, and I had nothing better to do than to sit in it at night, cry, and listen to music.

I was not a fan of Eric's music before that. But for whatever reason one night, in the midst of my first real heart break, I remember searching for the song Record Year on Spotify. I sat down and actually heard the words to it. 

I think music finds you when you need it. At that moment, I needed that song to get over my break up. I needed an album with no love songs on it. I wanted to listen to music, but I didn't want mushy songs about love. 

It turns out I needed the Mr. Misunderstood album. I needed a song about killing someone in New Orleans (I did what I had, I have no regrets/when you cross the line, you get what you get), I needed Mixed Drinks About Feelings (self explanatory), and I needed Holdin' My Own (also self explanatory). 

Also, I had a couple of three year olds in my life at the time (they're nine now), so the song Three Year Old was pretty fun to listen to.

I listened to Mr. Misunderstood over and over in my house that year, as loud as I could get my speakers. I ended up seeing the guy a couple of times over the summer that year at various events, once I was expecting and once I was not expecting. 

I walked back to my house after, locked my doors, and turned Mr. Misunderstood up as loud as I could. 

The whole neighborhood listened to Eric Church that afternoon. 

My parents came to my house afterward to check and see if I was okay (they were at the same event where the guy and his replacement for me were seated near us). To this day, I still remember the text message my mom sent me when I didn't hear the doorbell ring. 

"I hear Eric Church music playing, so I'm going to assume you're okay. Let us know if you need anything. Love you."

That's kind of been a theme of my life since. As long as there's Church music playing, I'm all right. 

The fact that my love for this man — Eric Church, not the other guy — started out of heart break is not lost on me. I've done some pretty cool things in the past few years since then, all because some dude I don't think about anymore broke my heart in to a million little pieces. 

I went to a concert in downtown Nashville, by myself, and was front row. I flew halfway across the country in December, my favorite month, where I fell in love with life all over again and went to two more concerts. 

I cried during Record Year while standing front row while holding hands with a stranger in Denver. I danced and sang and drank and had a great time with newfound friends in Washington D.C. 

I've traveled on planes, trains, and automobiles, sat in airports in big amazing cities and even sat in some mediocre cities. I've fallen in and out of love several times. 

I've learned just how capable I am at being alone and how capable I am at life. 

I'm doing fine.  

I can hold my own with the best of them. 

Concerts #17 and #18 are next month for me. I might not be an original fan who was there since day one, but I will remain loyal to that man (Eric Church, not the guy who cheated on me) for a very long time. 

Sometimes fans ask me if I wish I had been there at the start of his career. Do I regret missing it, they ask? 

My answer is always no. I think I found his music when I needed it most. 

One of my favorite blog posts I've ever written is called 'Damn it baby, dammit.' It's written with song lyrics to Eric Church's song It's Over When It's Over intertwined in it. It was written in September 2016, the night that I bought concert tickets for the first Eric Church concert I went to. 

I was heartbroken. I needed a break up song, I needed a musical leader and I needed a heartbreak anthem. 

I found it, and so much more.

Damn it baby, dammit. 

That first concert was the best concert I'd ever been to. I didn't think about the guy who broke my heart once. The next day I woke up and thought, I need another concert and I need it RIGHT NOW. One is not going to suffice. 

Can I get some more of that sweet happiness in my life? 

These Boots in Wichita, Kansas, in April 2017.

--

So I'm going to go to this party in Nashville because a boy broke my heart years ago. 

I don't think I'd have it any other way. 

In the words of someone I've seen in concert 16 times since then: If you find your way back, I owe you a beer for my record year. 

Wing and a prayer.

I’m all about talking about the not so pretty side of life. Let’s talk about how life doesn’t always go as planned and how you end up in interesting situations sometimes.

Last year, I was worried about selling my house, moving across the state and starting a new job. Last night, my major life problem was trying not to moon the good people of Kansas City.

I’ll take this year’s problems over last year’s problems, hands down, no contest, please and thank you.

—

The first Wednesday of the month is always my favorite day of the month. I go to Nearby Big City to attend a poetry competition. I've only read at said competition once, but I like going every month to see what everyone else is writing. (Hint: They're all better than I am, and I like that.)

I got there a bit early and ate at one of my favorite restaurants. I had 1.5 waters and a mango lassi. (Please remember this part of the story and take notes. It's important. There will be a quiz later.)

I got to the poetry competition place and I forgot something in my car. I walked back to get it, and as I sat down in my car, I felt and heard a very loud rip.

Oh noes.

I know what that sound is — it’s the sound of my pants peacing out for the night and for the rest of their life. There will officially be a funeral for those pants, because they are not coming back to life.

I split my pants in Kansas City, guys.

I was initially really happy about this, because introverts love excuses to skip social events.

Once I drove away, I realized I had a major problem on my hands. I had 2.5 drinks at dinner (non-alcoholic, mind you) and now I have to figure out a way to stop at a gas station without getting charged with indecent exposure.

I never thought I would write a sentence like that, but here we are. It's time to put my adult pants on, which are so ripped that I can't even explain how ripped they are, and figure this problem out on my own. (Calling Mom and Dad about this problem is not acceptable, I decided. They are 300+ miles away and probably playing Scrabble and don't care.)

It’s June. Although it’s been cool out, I did not bring a winter coat or an extra pair of clothes, which are things that I usually keep in my car in the winter.

And my giant purse, which would cover my backside, was in my trunk.

I ran through a few scenarios in my head:

• Find a secluded back road, which is not my style.
• Wait 1.5 hours until I got home, which was not possible.
• Pull over at a gas station and just figure something out when I got there. Wing and a prayer it, if you will.
• Rip up a reusable grocery bag, with no scissors, and wrap that around my waist —not the most feasible of options.
• Call someone I know in Kansas City and ask for help. I don’t know anyone in Kansas City. 🤦‍♂️
• Call a clothing store and beg an employee to bring me a jacket outside so I could go inside, which would likely land me in a psych ward. Who begs for a jacket in June?

I went with the third option, the pulling over at the nearest gas station and just figuring it out. I parked at the back of the gas station, found an old coat that did not fit in my trunk, held it around my waist and then strolled into the building like I owned the place.

When your biggest life problem is trying to not moon Kansas City, I think that means life turned out all right.

I usually do pretty good in stressful situations, and then freak out when everything is nice and normal afterwards. I also feel the need to say that I don’t wear those pants that often because they’re baggy on me, and very distressed.

Well, they’re a little more distressed now, I guess.

🤷

I'm having a record year.

The Gather Again Tour ended last night in New York City.

After every tour, I set a goal for the next one. In 2017, I wanted to go to Nashville. In 2019, I went. In 2019, I wanted Washington D.C., after talking to fans and having many, many of them tell me that I should go check out The Anthem if I was ever able to get there.

In December 2021, I went, by myself. 

I drove to the Kansas City airport, and almost chickened out when I hit the parking lot. I figured I could go back to my little town, hide out for a few days, and just lie and tell people I went.

I did not chicken out, though. 

I planned that trip pretty carefully, more carefully than I've planned any trip before. Flying across the country alone requires some advance thought, like not drinking much and being able to keep yourself alive through it.

I did drink, and I do not regret it.

I loved D.C. I love that I went by myself, I love that I walked around the listened to music, and I love that I saw that beautiful city in December, my favorite month of the year. 

--

The first show post-pandemic was in Durant, Oklahoma, in June 2021. 

I was supposed to buy a house that morning. I arranged dog care, and figured I'd sign the paperwork and be out of town at noon.

Life did not work out that way. 

I got to Durant at 8:25 p.m., and the first show in 18 months started at 8:30 p.m.

What followed that day was probably one of the worst things that happened to me, but what also followed those days were eight more concerts, seven of which were Eric Church shows. 

There's good and bad in life, and sometimes, you get to experience both of those things at the same time.

Wyoming was next on the concert list, two weeks after I injured my knee and could barely walk.

I stood in the pit line, in excruciating pain, all right, and then hobbled back to my car afterward. There was a new statue at Cheyenne Frontier Days of Chris LeDoux, a man I loved since my childhood.

I did not go see it, because I couldn't walk that far. 

I bought these tickets before my knee injury and before I got really sick. I wasn't even sure going to the rest of the shows was doable for me.

We worked through it, my body and I, along with doctors and a surgeon and other people, too. 

Not traveling is not an option in my world.

--

And then there's Denver, where Monica from Kansas and Ashley from Church happened.

All I wanted at that show was someone to share this with. A friend, family member, lover, whatever. I would have been happy if anyone had been by my side.

It turns out that you can let new people in to experience that.

Denver was the first time that I experienced the front row and waiting outside in the pit line. They were my people. 

And then there's D.C. 

Do we even need to talk about how much I loved D.C.? No, I think my love for that city speaks for itself. 

And then there's Kansas City, the best show of the tour, and Tulsa and then St. Louis. 

It was a record year.

--

Traveling sometimes comes with perils.

I hit a pothole in Missouri that led to two new tires. I smoked my brakes in Colorado and had to get them replaced, which was the first time that's ever happened to me — usually I get them replace a couple of weeks after I return to Kansas.

Oops.

It turns out that what I spent the last year doing now has a name — revenge travel.

From this website: "With these travel thoughts come extensive price tags as well as stacked vacations, as 2021 might just be the year where travelers extend their time away from home by one, two, or even three weeks or more as they get 'revenge' on all the ways that 2020 stripped them of a normal vacation."

Not only did 2020 strip me of a normal vacation, it stripped me of everything, ever. Don't even get me started of everything I lost because of 2020. 

(I lost everything I didn't need.)

Revenge travel is a thing, and I did it eight times in the past 11 months.

So here we are, halfway through 2022. We're starting over. Why am I starting over at 37 years old?

Because shit happens and sometimes you have to move, change, start over and move on, all at once.

Change is hard, but it's easier and better than staying where you're at.

--

Jojo deserves her own photo. 💛

The Gather Again Tour was about healing. It was also about letting go, moving on, meeting new people and experiencing new places. 

It was early morning airport visits, prioritizing myself, drinking with newfound friends, seeing new things and sitting on a rooftop bar in a huge city drinking with those newfound friends.

And sitting on a park bench in D.C., listening to the 10 minute version of All Too Well and deleting the past.

It's gone.

In a word, the Gather Again Tour was perfect.

Perfect.

--

My goal for the next tour is New York City. 

Washington, D.C. was a test to see if I could do a big city by myself. 

I nailed it.

Eventually, I'll get to NYC, a place I dreamed about my whole life and wanted to live in very much when I was younger. 

I know it's possible, and I'll get there, eventually. 

I always do.

I'm having a record year.

Irritated, but not worried.

I think my favorite part of this weekend is always going to be this: Dad and daughter are walking down the street in the Power & Light District in Kansas City. 

There’s snow and ice on the ground, and they’ve just witnessed one of the greatest concerts ever (I’m biased, though).

To top off that feeling, a few paramedics walk by, wheeling a guy on a gurney who’s obviously had too much to drink.

I asked my Dad if he thought the guy was alive.

My Dad’s response: Look at the paramedics and the expression on their faces. They look irritated, but not worried. 

That means the guy is alive, but just drunk and passed out, my Dad said. Like, passed out cold, not moving an inch.

Dead drunk.

Damn, dude. You did not plan your drinking out well. 

When my Dad and I were recapping our trip, I declared the drunk guy getting escorted to an ambulance after the show as my favorite part.

I’ve never seen that before at a show.

Also, I hope he’s okay. I thought about him today, and that huge ER bill he’s going to get for getting drunk.

That’s a bad day.

—

This weekend I attended my 14th and 15th Eric Church concerts, and I can honestly say it’s the first time the scene above has played out in front of me.

Kansas City likes to party. 

My Denver and Colorado loving soul hates this, but now that I live near Kansas City (kind of), it’s time that I need to start…embracing it. 

Tolerating it.

Liking it.

Maybe?

Kansas City gave me one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to. It gave me time with my Dad, which is muy bueno.

My Dad has never been to Church. At one point, he told me that he would never go with me, because he “likes rock, not country.”

Well, Dad, I have a secret to tell you.

After the show, my Dad and I talked in Power & Light.

That’s not country, my Dad said. What is that? What do you call that? Rock?

Also, from my Dad: “No wonder he doesn’t win any awards. He doesn’t fit in anywhere.”

🤣

One more Dad comment: He liked two songs that had screaming guitars. Dueling guitars. 

Me: That’s literally every song. 🤷‍♀️

We are the champions

I am not a Chiefs fan, but I am a fan of the Chief.

I brought this up to my Mom the other day.

At the Kansas City concert, Chief sang We Are the Champions. Right after the song he said something like, "Next year, you will be."

It looks like the Chief might be right.

:)

How beautiful that blue looks

(This has written a while ago and has been sitting in my blogosphere since. It's about time I publish it.)

I can't say that I'm a baseball fan. I'm not, and I'm not going to pretend to be.

But something special is happening in Kansas. For the first time since 1985 (the year I was born) the Kansas City Royals are in the World Series.

I was watching the Denver Broncos game tonight (this is related, I promise) and Peyton Manning just made his 509th touchdown pass, which surpasses Brett Favre's record.

The announcer said something about this, and I wish I would have written the quote down. He said it's a special time to be a Broncos fan and that people are going to remember this moment for a very long time.

I thought about the Royals when I heard that. Walking around Kansas City, all you see is people in Royals gear. I bought a Kansas City Star, and I have to say, I'm pretty proud of my little fly-over state.

Plus, The Star had some amazing photography, breath-taking layout, and I have to say, that Royal blue looks pretty damn good in print.

I've been to Kansas City a handful of times over the past few years. I never really had a reason to visit before, and instead of going east I always went west instead to Denver.

But, I'll give Kansas City some love. It's a pretty cool place.

Did I mention how beautiful that blue looks in print?

That's how you get Ebola.

There are a few things I like about traveling. I love keeping track of interesting quotes people say and I like to people watch, especially in bigger cities.

I spent a wonderful weekend traveling to the other side of the state. I smiled a lot. I laughed a lot. I bought lactose pills so I could eat cheesecake.

I would call that a winning weekend.

Let me tell you about the people watching. I'm of the belief that tights aren't pants, but I gave many mental kudos to the woman who thought glittery tights were pants in Kansas City.

Those tights were cute!

Moving on to the quotes I wrote down on my phone over the weekend:

• That's how you get Ebola.
• Would you put your Ebola baby in an Ebola bag?
• Person 1: I'm the a-hole who Instagrams my food. Me: Um, I already did that. Person 3: Monica's a journalist. She has to be the first one to do everything.
• This is like Costco on crack. (Re: Ikea)
• I just paper cutted myself.
• Can somebody be cheatsydoodles?
• Person 1: Do you wanna be cheatsydoodles? Person 2: I don't think so. Person 3: Guys, did you see this cat?
• Person 1: I don't know what that is. Person 2: It's a barf bag. Person 3: It better not be. I paid $1 for that.
• While walking down the Plaza, seeing a woman wear what appeared to be a flannel shirt and nothing else: "I think she forgot to wear pants." 

And then there's the obligatory "this has to go on your blog" quote.

As always, ask and you shall receive, dudes.

Mountains and mountains of crap at Ikea.

My delicious cheesecake.