Yesterday was anything but Typical for Tracy. It was a once in a lifetime kind of day where things fell into place to my advantage. That never happens for me…well, I guess I can’t really say “never” now.

Bruce Springsteen, my rock n’ roll God since I was around 16, was giving an acoustic performance in support of President Obama. It was held at an outdoor venue my husband works at, so I was hoping that he’d be able to pull a few strings and get me within gawking distance of The Boss.

When doors opened he whisked me in a back entrance which secured me a spot in the front row. Two hours later, and thankful that I did not have to pee, Bruce took the stage.

I was beyond thrilled. This was the closest I’d been to him since I was 17, and even at 63 he looks really good.

After a short political speech where I shot photo after photo of him, he sang “No Surrender,” “The River,” “Promised Land,” “We Take Care of Our Own,” and “Thunder Road.” All were magnificent, and I had a hard time choosing between shooting photos/video taping and just gazing dreamily at Bruce and just listening to the music.

Of course, media whore that I am, opted to keep the camera rolling.

The event was short and sweet, and when it was over, I was a tad poutish. Hubby had thought that he may come down off the stage and shake a few hands, but he had been sorely mistaken. He had been lucky enough to meet Bruce when he first arrived, and I have to admit I was pea green with E Street envy.

Bruce was inside the venue’s offices at a meet & greet with Obama rally volunteers, so we both had the idea that I could wait outside and maybe catch a glimpse of Bruce when he left the building. I was not the only one with that idea.

There were only around 20 people there, and one woman had said that she met him when he had first arrived, and he had hugged her and signed an autograph. I jokingly said to her that my husband works at this joint and I can’t even get a break like that.

Oh, words that would so soon be eaten.

Within 90 seconds, hubby came out, took me by the hand and ushered me in. The crowd oohed and aahed as I walked towards that open door. And there he was. Right in front of me. The Boss, Bruce, but not on a stage – just a man in the crowd. A man that folks were lined up to mingle with. I’ll tell you one thing, he was beautiful. Flesh and blood beautiful.

I got at the end of the line and watched him hold a baby, and laugh with the parents. I watched as he greeted the next few people in line, all with a genuine smile and true affability – he seemed absolutely happy to be doing what he was doing.

And before I knew it, he turned to me. It was a hot day and I know my hair looked like shit. Hell, I looked like shit. But there was little time to think of that – I was face to face with a man whose music I had not just liked, but cherished and harbored as something noble and true. And here he was right in front of me.

I had thought for the past two days about what I would say and what I would do if I did get the chance to meet him. Scenarios and conversations had been playing in my head almost constantly while I drove, while I worked. However, in those scenarios I was a sane and fairly rational 47 year old. Imagining is one thing – reality is a cold, heartless witch.

I took one step forward and began to cry. Not just wet eyes and slightly shaky voice crying, but almost sobbing. I kept saying something like “I’ve been listening to you for 30 years – thank you for the music.” I have no earthly clue what he said to me other than “thanks.” Hubby told me that he was joshing and said something like “see the effect I have on women?”

I know he hugged me. I know I cried on his shoulder. And then…

He kissed me.

On the cheek, and hugged me close. And what did I do? Sobbed even harder on his shoulder. 30 years of hero worship can do that to a gal.

When they finally pried me away I ran to my husband and hugged him sobbing even harder. When his boss came over and congratulated me I sobbed all the more. We were quickly ushered out by Bruce’s “people,” and as I walked back out into the late afternoon sunlight, everyone waiting to see Bruce instead saw an overweight middle-aged numbskull in pigtails (I told you my hair looked like shit) crying her eyes out.

We walked up to the sidewalk and moments later Bruce drove away waving to the crowd. After that several people, including the woman who had met him earlier, crowded around me and congratulated me on my good fortune. I showed them the pictures my husband took and there were cheers and oohs all around.

You aint a beauty but hey you’re alright – lyrics that apply to me.

I hugged hubby over and over, thanking him profusely. I think he was tickled that he could afford me this opportunity. See, he used to work for a major NYC radio station right before we met. He had connections galore for years and spoke often of hooking dates up with backstage passes and meet and greets. I think he was always sorry he couldn’t give that to me. There’s a future blog post in that alone.

On the drive home I called my sisters to gush over my recent brush with absolute mother f-ing greatness. I could barely concentrate on the drive…I couldn’t wait to get home to download the pictures and video I took.

Life had changed. All those years, especially in my late teens and early twenties, when I worshiped Bruce – faithfully attended concerts, made dozens of mixed tapes, and memorized the lyrics to countless songs, had merged to this one point in time where the dream became a reality.

30 years in the making – and I was in pigtails.

Typical.

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