Never going to know what fate is going to blow your way…

feature8just hope that it feels right.

But then again… what exactly does right feel like?


I thought I felt right up until I went to bed last night and I’m told I kept the hubby up with my teeth grinding and snoring. He tried to wake me, told me to stop grinding.. ‘I’m chewing’ was my reply. He had to roll me over a couple times before I finally settled in enough for him to fall asleep. Before I even woke or opened my eyes this morning, he whispered in my ear ‘no more sleeps!’ I closed my eyes tighter and answered in my groggy morning voice ‘I know.’

Now I am awake, and have already run through my setlist in my head a dozen times, have an alarm set to take my shower in case I forget, and am really just killing time until we leave for the venue. What I feel is tension, anxiety… I’m short of breath at moments, with the occasional heart palpitation to accent the mix. I’m not sweaty [yet] but I’m like a tiger on the prowl, and can’t sit still. I can literally feel a buzz in the air around me.

I breathe deeply, I stretch, I refocus, and rehearse… again… the setlist, the notes, the motions, the plan for each interval, the cues, the lyrics, the accents, the tricky parts, and hope that all that is let go once I hit the stage because when I’ve done it right…. I know I won’t feel anything at all… nothing, just a blissful place where I don’t have to think or plan or anticipate… just play.
Our last number looms over me like a tall building that I’m going to have to leap. My only real comfort is that I am doing so on the backs of 5 men who believe in my ability to fly… as long as they stay solid. The chemistry we’re building has been so much fun to watch unfold. From week 1 where I was afraid to swear in front of them, fast forward to last rehearsal, where I had the nut to challenge one of my bandmates to out-diva me. Ha.

You’re talking to a girl who has gone through 10 years of trouble to create an occasion worthy of a dress. No mistaking what I am.

It is now later and I have napped [while running through my setlist another time], eaten, made my tea for later, am bathed, scented, shaved, and my hair is now in stage one of two to being done. My face is clean, my teeth are brushed, and now I have a little over half an hour to wait before I start doing my makeup, which still feels a little too early, but maybe I’ll do that in stages too.

It’s hard to describe what this experience will be like, I haven’t had it yet, though I know I will revel in every minute of it. I have worked hard for it.

And thus was it written.
That was probably the fastest 15 minutes of my life. I can count on one hand the number of actual thoughts I had while on stage, once the music started, I stopped thinking altogether… a foreign experience for someone who thinks herself down to the hair strand while obsessing about the symmetry of her face. Performing in a stone cold sober state.
I don’t’ know if it felt right, cause I didn’t feel anything at all. I’m told I’m a natural frontwoman.
I sure felt it the next day, and am still feeling it, and it feels nice... I’m looking forward to sharing the first Anterockstar moment to feature me as the frontwoman. I have been bursting with nothing but gratitude since, and take a moment here to express how very grateful I am to be surrounded by such a professional group of men, my band, Wally-Bill-Barry-Dyl, the coaches who have taken the time to encourage us and share their expert advice with us, my fellow Leaguers for the privilege of opening for them, I admire their courage and skill, and I certainly enjoyed the privilege of performing for them, and appreciated their applause.

Most of all, I owe deep thanks to the folks who run League of Rock for setting the stage for me to complete a scene I’ve been working 10 years to make. Their professionalism, honesty, openness, sincerity, dare I say devotion... to duty and creating a safe and productive atmosphere to experiment and create; gives this girl cause to do silly things like wear a skintight sequin blue dress and French seamed stockings on a Wednesday night.
You’re welcome.

Bows, exit stage.... right?

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