Last Thursday, I got to see GTB’s band play for the first time. Not THEIR first time, MY first time. I was a little nervous about it because, as one of my friends at work asked me, what if they sucked? I was pretty sure they didn’t because I have their EP. And even though GTB says it’s “So 2003,” I could tell that, at the very least, they all knew how to play their instruments. But yeah, would I be able to play it off if I didn’t like them?

I was also nervous because, as many of you know, I’m a total sucker for guys in bands. As GTB’s band was warming up, the lead singer’s ex-girlfriend was telling me about how much fun GTB is to watch. “He’s so cute! He hops around and totally IS the lead guitarist when he’s on stage.” At that point, I knew it was gonna be bad. I knew I was going to be be all giddy and groupie-ish. So I got another drink.

Turns out, it was worse. He’s a fucking rock star. I mean, he’s my boyfriend up there–he looks the same, the mannerisms are still there, his hair is still floppy and cute. But he’s holding a guitar, and playing it well, and his hair gets sweaty, and he DOES hop around. And even though he sings backing vocals, he’s mostly just quiet, which adds to the mystique (not that there is a lot of mystique left between us, but still).

A few songs into their set, he signalled to me that he needed another beer. I practically skipped to the bar to get him one, came back to the stage, and set it where I knew he’d find it at the end of the song. As it sat there waiting for him, I, as designated band photographer for the evening, actually took a picture of it. I was basking so deeply in the “I’m with the band” glow that I just knew I had to commemorate the first beer I got for GTB at the first of his shows I attended. Yep, I’m THAT cool.

The next night, when someone was asking him how the show went and how many people were there, he turned to me and said, “I don’t know. What do you think?” I thought to myself, “There were other people there?” But, because I’m sometimes capable of maintaining some semblance of cool, I said, “Oh, I don’t know. I was standing right in the front of the stage, pumping my fists and screaming, so I didn’t get a chance to count how many people were standing behind me.”

I’ve seen many bands play, and had my share of crushes on guitarists and bass players. But never, in all the years I’ve been staying out way too late in smoky clubs watching artistic, passionate, young boys play their hearts out would I have guessed at the one drawback of dating the lead guitarist. When you’re watching the guy you’re in love with on stage, and you’re amped up and turned on and all you can think about is taking him home and doing things with him in the dark, he still has to clean up, load the van, collect the door money, distribute it to the other band members, say his goodbyes to fans and friends, and then drive one of his bandmates home before you even get to tell him how much hotter he suddenly is.

Once you get him in the dark though, it’s totally worth the wait.

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