Not quite 15

So I’m (not) going to be turning 15 tomorrow. Not that you’d know it given my penchant for the fictional undead (seriously, a total obsession for vampires) and the absolute anxiety I feel whenever I have to buy concert tickets.

I’ll let it be known right from the start that, yes, I did manage to buy tickets to see Muse IN DECEMBER. I mean, how the hell do I know KNOW what I’m planning to be doing on December 14? I could be in Las Vegas (in fact, there is such a plan).

So I planned to log in for the fan pre-sale and that’s where the anxiety started. JJ and I were heading up the country estate on Thursday night. Yes, we have this Virgin wireless dongle for the Internet but who knows what can happen? Can the technology be guaranteed? Will the wireless cables freeze over? (I mean, it’s really cold up there in the bush).

I have reason to be anxious, especially after the Jimmy Barnes Ticket Fiasco of 1984. My cousin Nancy and I had saved desperately. I busted open the money box and we got to Myer at Highpoint and queued outside the doors a few hours before opening. Now, I haven’t queued up for tickets for a long time thanks to the Internet so Idon’t know what the deal is these days but there used to be a roller door and you’d be all friendly-like with the others waiting for tickets but as soon as the roller door had lifted just enough, all bets were off and the nails would come out. We’d slide under that door and run up the escalator to be the first at the real ticket queue and I’d almost piss myself waiting for the slow people in front who picked tickets for some freaking Opera or something. They were ANNOYING SLOW PEOLE and in the meantime I was imagining that all of the smart people had just picked up their phones – a spare one in the shape of a hamburger that sat beside their bed – and would call and buy ALL of the tickets and they would just sell out right in front of my face.

But that’s not how it transpired that fateful year.

Nancy and I got to the counter and we counted out our coins – seriously we had busted open the money box and we had just enough money for the tickets. But not the booking fee.

NOT THE BOOKING FEE.

But I’m nothing if not determined and we trammed our asses all the way home to beg my mum for a couple of measly bucks (which is another story).

These days you just have to hit refreshand hope you don’t get kicked off the site. And you’ve always got enough money. Thank you Mr Mastercard.

But the anxiety is still there. It is. I get the sweats, that nauseous feeling that I’m going to miss out. That every single ticket is going to sell out right in front of my face.