That Time I Multi-Tweeted Rob Thomas

As some of you may recall, I have a bit of a thing for Matchbox 20. It's not really an obsession; it's more of a one-sided relationship. I am like Helga; MB20 is like Arnold. (If you don't understand that reference, you're probably too young to be reading this blog).

[Source]

Anyway.

So, about six weeks ago, Andrew asked me to meet him for "happy hour" (quotations used because the state of Massachusetts does not, by law, allow happy hour, because the state of Massachusetts hates fun). I willingly skipped my planned date with the elliptical and instead settled on a date with my boyfriend. After a few pints, we met up with some of his friends at the kind of bar I would be embarrassed to admit going to, but since we went at 8:30 (and were home by 11), I didn't hate it.

After our first round of tequila and tonics (don't look at me; I'm not the pervert who ordered them), someone (who might or might not have been me) put "3AM" on the electronic jukebox. Because we were The Old People at the bar (ages 25-28, respectively), our motley little crew of four guys plus me started belting out the lyrics with reckless abandon, occasionally subbing out, "it's 3am I must be lonely" for, "It's 9pm, I must be tipsy." Personally, I live by the mantra, "when Rob Thomas sings, you warble along." It's just, like, the rules of feminism (and clearly, my guy friends are all feminists. Or something. Just go with it)!

A few minutes and another round later, it was brought to our attention that said bar had a live Twitter feed scrolling across the bottom of the 49,000 televisions adorning every surface. Like any good, buzzed citizens, we took it upon ourselves to then hijack the twitter feed. 

By this point, my second song ("She's So Mean") came blasting through the speakers. Somewhere along the line, my synapses kicked into overdrive, and my thought process went something like this:

She's So Mean --> Matchbox Twenty --> Mohegan Sun --> Rob Thomas --> Twitter --> Tweet Rob Thomas

All of this in the span of under two seconds (don't be alarmed; this is par for the course with me).

Like any mildly-intoxicated modern American, I sometimes don't think before I act. Unlike my previous 20 tweets, all directed towards the lame bar patrons surrounding us and imploring them to join our impromptu karaoke party, I directed my next one towards Mr. Rob Thomas himself, asking why the closest MB20 is getting to Boston is a 2-hour drive away in Connecticut.

I also addressed the next one to him, inquiring as to whether Boston was on the short list for any future tour stops.

And the next one, wondering what it was like to be the rainmaker, and what it was like to know that I made the rain (and wondering why I was naive enough to think my friends/family would listen when I told them all I wanted for Christmas was tickets to this concert).

And the next one, avowing my 10+ year love of the band and directing them all toward the I Go Back post.

You get the picture (this is where I would literally allow you to see the picture; during my next-morning shame spiral, however, I deleted all but one of these classic tweets). So, I give you this:

@thisisrobthomasWHY arent you comingto Boston? It's a major city that loves #mb20 & the closest tix for your fans are $200 in CT..#sosad
— Caitlin (@CaitieXperiment) January 27, 2013

Fast-forward a few weeks, when we're in the midst of #Blizzard2013, aka Nemo (and an impromptu kegger thrown by one of Andrew's friends, but that's another story for another day. Clearly, inclement weather brings out the best of Boston). I was, once again, browsing The Twitter. I saw this, and promptly texted Leah to tell her that we should just buy tickets through a third-party vendor, stay up all night gambling, get some McMuffins and drive home the next day. She agreed, then we both promptly forgot about this half-assed plan.

Until her coworker, who is a VIP at Mohegan Sun Player's Club, learned of our obsession and kindly offered us her two gratis tickets to tonight's concert.

To say we were thrilled is an understatement; I screamed at my desk when I got Leah's text. We spent the past three weeks giddily texting each other, planning on how to get to Uncasville, CT by 7:30 during Friday rush hour and, in the past few days, trying to figure out how to navigate the ever-changing forecast. As of Wednesday, our plan was set; our tickets were secure and our hotel room was booked. The stars were aligning perfectly in our favor.

Until, that is, the motherfluffling house of Saturn felt the need to rise on New England and not only meet, but exceed expectations. Suddenly, the woman who had so generously offered us her VIP tickets couldn't go pick them up, because her bus wasn't making the trip (and apparently Mohegan hasn't latched on to the whole"Will Call" craze that started sweeping the nation in, oh... 1985). So we didn't have tickets. Being the internet-savvy individual I am, I immediately went to StubHub and bought two, which had dropped in price from $200 to $50 in the past six weeks. Then, Leah's car needed a new battery and she ended up dropping a chunk of change into that, sapping her MB20 budget. So, I didn't have a partner to join me. Seeing how bummed out this was making me, Sir Galahad himself (aka Andrew) offered to be my date, despite making fun of my MB20 obsession for the duration of our four-and-a-half year relationship. He said that instead of spending $$ on a hotel room, we could just round-trip the drive to and from Boston.

I once again had tickets, a friend and a mode of transportation/accommodations. Everything was coming up Milhouse.

And then Saturn. 

As of right now, I'm not 100% positive that we will actually make it to the concert. Actually, I was all for throwing in the towel, eating my $100 and calling it a wash. I figured Rob Thomas would understand, given the 15+ inches of snow outside (plus, it's partly MB20's fault for not coming to Boston in the first place; after the previously mentioned kegger, our little crew ventured out in the middle of a blizzard to see a Bruce Springsteen cover band. That's right; A COVER BAND). Andrew, on the other hand, insists that we try. The snow has stopped, the roads are clearing up, and with any luck, everyone else and their mother will have already gotten out of the city, paving the road from Boston to Uncasville, CT with gold (records. Zing!).

I'll be sure to let you all know how it turns out.


Side note: I am aware that this is an incredibly petty, whiny post, epitomizing the cliche of, "privileged problems." People in towns not too far from here are afraid they will lose their homes, and there are thousands of people without power here in MA alone. My "problem" is completely vapid, insignificant and pales in comparison to those very real, heartbreaking issues. This was written somewhat to satirize my own stupidity, so take it for what it is. Carry on.