My memory of the first time I heard her is very clear. I was 14 years old and was on vacation with my sister and our parents in Acapulco, Mexico. I could not be bothered to do any touristy activities as I was at the height of pubescent angst and self-glorification so I parked myself on a lounge chair on the beach, lathered up with Hawaiian Tropic oil (with no SPF, thank you very much) and plugged into my totally radical Sony Walkman. My musical library at the time consisted of Duran Duran, The Police, Huey Lewis and the News and The Gogo's.
My sister was parked on the lounge next to me. She was equally as unenthusiastic about the thought of tromping through ruins and sight seeing as I was. So there we sat. And baked.
As if out of no where she tapped me on the arm and sent me flailing into orbit, swatting at what I was certain was a Mexican grande-sized bee. I managed to collect myself and was then transfixed by my sister's unapologetic stare.
"Here." she said. "Listen to this. She's new. Everyone at Northwestern is listening to her."
She handed me a cassette tape (it's a real thing, youngsters...look it up) with a black and white photo of a semi-dirty looking and rebellious girl on the cover. Her name was Madonna. Or was that the name of the band? I didn't know. Surely that wasn't her real name? Weird. But, okay. I'm in.
"Listen to this song, 'Borderline'. It's pretty good."
So, I obediently popped in the tape. And listened. My pulse quickened and my view was instantly tunneled. What IS THIS? You could actually see my brows rise over the top of my white plastic wayfarer sunglasses. I think I may have even felt a little faint.
Good??? Good you say? No. No no no. It was literally life changing.
Little did my uberconservative sister realize that she had just offered unto this world one of the very first Madonna-wanna-be's. Well, at least I'd like to think so.
Over the course of the next 28 years I spent many an hour studying, watching, listening to and imitating the Material Girl. Much to my mother's dismay.
When I was 16, I managed to "trick" my mom into letting me get a kinky perm. Mom was a bit of a perm connoisseur so it was like music to her ears when I said I wanted one. Her enthusiasm went down in flames when I unveiled my newly disheveled and highly coveted look to her. She told me I looked like a tramp, which was, in turn, music to my ears. That was, after all, what I had sought. Not the tramp part. The look. I've told you all before, I am not a whore. I am a whore wanna-be.
So. In a matter of days, 19 to be exact, I will for the very first time in my enduring career as a fan/worshipper of the iconic Boy Toy, bare witness to the very Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone herself. In concert. I will lose my Madonna virginity.
Even as I say this, I am, in fact, breathless. Twitterpated. I....I....I can't believe it. After all of these years, I will see her, from the FLOOR, mind you! I make absolutely no promises about my state of mind or my behavior that evening. As for my 2 girlfriends who will be accompanying me, I say only this: I am so sorry. For whatever it is that I do, or say. All I ask is for a bit of patience. And understanding.
A Xanax may be in order.
This is definitely one of those life events that you always say you're going to do, but, sometimes just don't get around to it. I am getting around to it. And, I am thrilled to say the least!
So, I will leave you with this....what am I going to wear???