Luck O'the Irish

Dork: according to the Webster-Miriam Dictionary, it means, in part, one who is a social misfit, or indulging in ridiculous antics.
If this be so, I am most certainly a dork.
Case in point – I attended a concert this weekend for Celtic Thunder, a collection of five gorgeous Irish men who can sing to melt the hardest of hearts. Josh Groban still is and forever will remain my number one Homeboy, but let it be said these men with incredibly sexy brogues run a close second.
Ashley and I were able to snag two of the only ten tickets left at the box office two hours before the show. We had a bit of time to kill, so - as always - we had to explore, pretending we had the guts to break through security, even if we didn’t actually do it. We found the forbidden backstage entrance and posted ourselves as inconspicuously as possible, casting furtive glances at the lone security guard. Could we take him down? I’d certainly love to spend an hour alone with Keith Harkin on his incredible tour bus. I’m sure I could eliminate any “performance anxiety” the beautiful lad might have had. >:-)
Suddenly we heard a commotion behind us and turned to see a flock of middle-aged women walking towards us, laden with gifts and coffee, Celtic Thunder paraphernalia galore adorning their clothes. Now, let me clarify for you non-dorks out there who wouldn’t know Celtic Thunder from Celtic Dragons. These men are barely men – in fact, the youngest is just fourteen! My glorious Keith has – thank goodness – crossed the legality barrier at nineteen, and Paul and Ryan, the “good” and “bad” boys of the group have recently traversed the thirty threshold. The only member who qualified in age for these homely groupies was George, coming in at the ripe old age of mid-forties. However, was his bald head the one plastered on their chests, hats and scarves? Nope, it was, sadly, the young pups…ones young enough to be their children.
I tried to be friendly and strike up a conversation but was quickly put off by her terse replies. I decided to glean what info on potential sightings of my future husband I could by eavesdropping, disguising my nosiness by “talking” to Ashley. A man nearby asked us if it was our first time to see the group in concert. I proceeded to tell him yes, and that we had first seen Celtic Thunder on a PBS Special one Saturday night as we sat home alone and wished we had hot dates – by the way, that last part I only said in my head. *Keith can’t know how desperate I am.* I was rudely interrupted by the Mother-Of-Celtic-Thunder’s-Children wannabe who said she’d seen them last month in Indiana, and three weeks ago in Virginia, and the week after that in New York. Last week brought her to South Carolina, and finally, she was stalking – er, I mean supporting – them in Atlanta. Ashley and I widened our eyes in disbelief at the same moment, completely dumbfounded and slightly disturbed at this woman’s behavior.
“I bring them a gift every time,” her voice floated over to me. I couldn’t hold it in any longer…I had to walk away as suppressed laughter came sputtering from my lips at this poor woman’s creepy obsession.
I mean. SERIOUSLY.
We made our way inside and as we waited for the doors to open, I spotted an older man sporting a skunk-striped mullet, his Iron Man t-shirt visible beneath his faded denim jacket. Hey dude, this is CELTIC Con - Comic Con was last week. Sorry.
Finally, we took our seats to wait out the next few minutes before show time. I had left my baby – my beautiful Nikon D80 camera – in the car, afraid of its confiscation and a potential bereavement period for me. I realized, though, that there were no bag checks here at the Civic Center, much unlike the near strip-searches performed at the Fox Theatre down the road. Pictures during the show were a possibility! Could I go out of the theatre once I’d already come in? And then I got an idea. Ashley held down the fort while I searched for the cutest male usher I could find. Ah, there he was, by the front doors, tall, dark, and handsome. I hurried up to him, a worried expression gracing my visage.
“Please, sir? Are we allowed out once we’ve come in? I’ve um…I left something that I really, really need in the car.”
“Oh, uh, you need it?”
I nodded profusely. I think he got my drift. Nothing like alluding to female problems to get a guy off your back – pun intended.
“Just come find me at this door when you come back.”
I assured him I would. Getting to the car, I buried the camera deep in my bag, just in case someone decided to amend the rules when I got back. I found my friend and he let me in. Just to ensure the ruse was infallible, I asked almost frantically, “Is there a bathroom close by?” As he pointed the way, I smiled to myself as I darted from his view and back into the theatre to take my seat.
Safe!

We soaked up the next hour an a half with vigor, screaming at the top of our lungs as we begged for an encore. They placated us with a gleeful indulgence of kilts - when Paul and Ryan showed off their hairy gams and shook those tight tushes, well, it's a wonder Ashley didn't have to scrape me of the floor of the building.
After the concert was - sadly - at an end, we hurried to the back stage entrance once again, determined to get an autograph or at least a decent picture. My endeavors to capture snapshots inside the building had been a disappointment due to a lack of good lighting.
The security guard informed us, though, that he had just been told there would be no autographs or pictures tonight - the group had to get a move on to the next city.

Although we didn't get an upclose encounter, the concert was well worth the money spent...even if we DID feel like we attended the concert with nursing home tenants. Lol