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My sisters would be there, we would go to dinner, I could be charming and ask lots of questions, feeling genuinely happy that my mother would now not be alone. That moment, yelling like a crazy person into the Christmas air, was when the screaming, pouty little 10-year-old girl crawled her way out of my stomach and I have been struggling to get rid of her ever since.I would be able to compartmentalize the fact that he was not my dad, and appreciate him a person. It has been almost four years since we lost my dad, and the pain never goes away, but you do learn to live with it.You can hear top artists sharing their stories with news outlets any day of the week, but it's far more rare that you get a glimpse into the lives of those more running the show.We decided to follow Cuesta's example and talk to some of the behind-the-scenes crew that make your favorite tours tick.
I got on the road for one reason and one reason only: pussy."Sure, the love of music is what initially attracted me to the bright stage lights, but the moment I discovered the magical, almost hypnotic power that a laminated backstage pass swinging from a lanyard had on wide-eyed, high-heeled, short-skirted women, the love of the spectacle suddenly dissipated."When I was firmly planted on the road, I made it my mission to see, do, taste, visit, experience, and, above all, fuck everything I had only heard about in lyrics and read about in books."I started my long journey on the road one month after losing my virginity, so touristy shit was cool, but what I really wanted to do was what any young lad let loose night after night in a room full of girls would: fuck as many of them as I could get away with.
The difficulties of owning a home and having to mow the lawn yourself, or pay someone to do it. It’s something I can’t help – that the presence of another man in the house I grew up in just makes me miss my dad again in a very fresh way.
Her not feeling like a priority to her own children, although she always has been. As an adult, I’ve loved seeing my mom as a real person instead of my parent, and I feel like I am constantly learning new things about how delightful she is.
When my mom told me she had started dating a roadie for a country western band, my very first gut reaction was sheer giddiness.
It’s strange to think of your parent as “cute,” but her cadence and almost-girlish tone was so dead-on to my single friends’ that I couldn’t stop smiling. He helped us decorate the tree, and glued together a broken ornament, and ate Christmas cookies and kissed my mom in front of me and she was super happy but somehow I was unable to see that as much anymore. I offered to go buy eggs on the one day a year where every single store is closed, and I drove to this park where my high school boyfriend and I sat and he gave me a mix CD and cried before I left for college.
Filling time with charity work and volunteering and French classes and art classes and home improvement projects. Like what she’s like tipsy on Limoncello in a café on Capri, she hiccups.