Hungover

Here’s a visual for you … A menopausal mother in a mosh pit? I spent 12 hours yesterday at a music festival with around 50,000 Generation Y’ers in the sweltering Queensland heat. It’s a jungle out there!

My sons played the first gig on their forthcoming national tour yesterday. I stood gob smacked as I watched them both own that stage. My babies. Now Rock Stars, oops, I mean Indy (Independent) Rock Stars. Don’t ask me what that really means, I haven’t a clue.

For those of you that are following my regular blogs you will be aware that I am at the ripe old age of 47 going through reverse puberty. Yes, let’s say the word aloud, I must get used to it. Menopause.

My apologies for not blogging on Friday as I was quite frankly too teary and tragic. Why? No reason, just hormones. My life is beautiful. Mr. Delicious my darling third husband is all I have ever dreamed I would find in a man. A true partner who knows how to emotionally waltz, not war, with a complex and sensitive woman like myself. Hallelujah!

My sons Big Chicken (drummer in their band) who is almost 23 and Little Chicken (lead singer and guitarist) is 21.  They are living the life of their dreams playing music to thousands, both have great health, divine girlfriends and happy hearts.

My career is above and beyond what I ever dreamed it could be. I have a privileged circle of intimate and loyal friends. If I reach October 12th, 2010 I will have clocked up 15 years of consistent recovery living clean and sober, one day at a time.

So no-one was more surprised than me when on Friday last week when I had a serious case of the teary and tragics. I was in a shopping centre picking up a few things on my way home to blog to you, when my bottom lip started to quiver. I knew I needed to cry. A feeling of melancholy swept through me bringing along with it, a hot flush. Air conditioning doesn’t really help hot flushes as the heat comes from inside of you, like a fire.

I was most grateful when my beautiful friend The Glamazon (that will be her official blog name) as that is exactly what she is. A top model in her younger years she is a blonde, tall, beautiful, intelligent and superbly stylish 40 something – ish woman. She is my dear friend who makes me laugh and comforts me when I cry, whom I love with all my heart. Glamazon sashays when she walks and is a head turning woman who has amazing presence with legs to die for.

“I’m back in Brissie, what you up to Missy?” she asked with love in her voice.

Holding my Blackberry to my ear at the top of the escalator, as soon as I heard her voice, a cool wave of relief quelled my hot flush.

“Well to be totally honest, I need a cuppa, some cake, good company and a cry.” I said hoping she had some free time.

“What’s up, are you okay?” she asked with genuine and loving concern.

“Nothing’s up, that’s what’s up. I am just teary and tragic and having a hot flush and can feel the lump in my throat rising even as I tell you.” My voice started to quiver.

“I can meet you if fifteen minutes. I just walked in the door so I will get changed, do a wee, put on some lippy and check Sebastian (her gorgeous teenager) is okay, and I will be there.” She comforted.

So, that is why I didn’t blog on Friday. I had to self care with good company, coffee, some secret women’s business laughs and yumptious cake.

Back to menopausal, mother’s with hangovers.

I must say I knew better than to inflict myself on the hip, slick and cool, jumping up and down crowd and even venture near the moshpit at the concert. I was grateful, so very grateful to be given a VIP pass so I could sit in the cool, in a secure place, with toilets that were civilized and watch the passing parade.

My ex-husband Pete (first hubby) and Mr. Delicious (my current, third husband) were also given VIP passes along with the boys’ girlfriends so we all felt a bit special. Once arm banded up we could escape the masses and queues into this VIP sanctuary. Whilst sitting at our table, Pete, who is far cooler than I ever have been, you know with his music knowledge and laid back disposition, commented on what I found a very interesting observation.

“You know the girls outnumber the guys with the tattoos” he said with genuine amazement.

Mr. Delicious, Pete (the father of my two sons) and I had been noting the fashion statement many of the girls were making with “tramp stamps” (you know those tattoos girls have above their bums on their backs) and the micro denim shorts over the backless tops so that the tramp stamp is in full view.

“And they don’t leave much to the imagination these days do they?” he commented almost with parental concern.

Mr. Delicious smiled at Pete in agreement. Big and Little Chicken and their gorgeous girlfriends would come back from the crowded jungle to our quiet table in the VIP area throughout the day. They shared stories about whom they had chatted with that was famous back stage as they held the AAA passes (access all areas) for the whole tour. They were overwhelmed with gratitude at the attention they were given not to mention the free food and booze.

Just being there for them to watch their dream being realized was such a privilege. One of the treasured mother memories that comes back to me now as I type to you today, was being able to offer Little Chicken antiseptic wash and a band aid to put on his blistered thumb after he had just played and sang his beautiful heart out. I still carry band aids as I did when they were babies in my purse for any unforeseen emergencies. Thought these days the band aids don’t have Ninja Turtles on them. To be able to mother him even though he is now a mega Rock God was a real treat for me.

I did venture into the crowded jungle later in the evening when it was a little cooler, with Mr. Delicious to see some of the bands that interested us. I didn’t last long. The crowded blanket of people for as far as they eye could see was unsettling for this introvert that craves her own space.

What I did find visually amazing though whilst out in the jungle was the overall disposition of the crowd, the respect and manners I heard as we weaved our way through them was touching. I was also moved by the way music had what seemed to me like a primal unifying effect on mass crowds like that. The last time I had been to a concert like this was 25 or so years ago and I was off my face like the majority of others present. I recalled punch ups and lots of disrespect amongst the crowd of my generation.

This was refreshingly different. To see thousands of Generation Y all jumping in time, swaying or punching the air as the music changed tempo was deeply moving. They were all as one. The bands on stage with the screens either side that seemed like they were twenty stories high made them sound and look like the voice of Gods. There was lots of rock, but some beautifully moving almost operatic voices as well. The music didn’t seem as angry as the music played at the festivals I went to in my youth.

“So how are you this morning Missy?” The Glamazon asked as I picked up the phone around 11am this morning.

“Hungover” I replied.

“I feel hungover, and I used to think that the major part of a hangover was drugs and alcohol, but lack of sleep is a huge component, more than I ever realized.” I explained.

“My God, I am impressed you were still awake at that time of morning, you are normally in your jarmies by 9.30pm.” She teased.

“Well, we drove both the girls home as only the bands on tour were allowed at the After Party, and Mr. Delicious also wanted to see some bands that were on later.” But I never understood how lack of sleep knocks me around. I drank probably eight bottles of water yesterday, nothing else of course, and I still feel like shit. “I shared.

But it was a quality problem, and a quality hangover. I was just physically tired and to be honest emotionally exhausted. I was anxious for my boys before they went on stage. They had a new guitarist who had never played with them before to an audience and I so hoped it would all be okay for them all. And it was more than okay, they were all amazing!

I know many men and women my age go to these concerts regularly, but I don’t know how they do it. If they are straight and sober and can stand in that sun and those crowds for 12 hours they deserve a medal.

Hmmm ….. Menopause and moshpits definitely don’t go together for this mother. I did see a pocket of women my age in the VIP section throughout the day. As I watched them slowly get smashed on booze as the evening hours moved in, and dance and smoke with the young ones, I remembered one of the many reasons why I used to drink. For chemically educed energy … and to keep up with extroverts that unlike me, find partying and crowds easy.

It was an amazing day though looking back. Mr. Delicious commented at around 10.30pm on how the crowd was so well behaved, even though most of them had been there drinking and partying for hours. We did not see one fight or any aggression the whole day. The music seemed to have a unifying power and love was most definitely in the air. This generation seemed more at peace with each other and I felt privileged to get such a close peek into their world.

Before I leave you today I did just want to offer some wonderful Word Vitamins that reflect the unity I saw yesterday in the mass of thousands of this wonderful new Generation Y.

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.” Jimi Hendrix