This is not a story

Those of you who have been reading my ruminations for a while may have noticed that weird things happen to me. It's not coincidence. I like to put myself in situations where weird things will happen because I enjoy the adventure and the possibility of mining the event for future stories. It's why I volunteered for things. It's why I volunteered to be a seat-filler for last night's American Music Awards. Can you imagine the possibilities?

The possibility that never occurred to me was that nothing would happen.

The dress code was "hot club attire". No jeans. Cocktail dresses. It was a sea of little black ones, myself among them. But there's no coat-check so if you bring a coat you'll have to carry it all night. It was like ten degrees outside last night and we had to stand outside for an hour waiting to go in, then stand in line waiting for the shuttle on the way out.

To add insult to injury, they gave us all extra-large AMA sweatshirts we were to immediately put in our cars before hopping on the shuttle. Hey girls, here's warmth! You can't have it!

Throughout the night I wished I owned a black pashmina. After a while I developed a routine of imagining the pashmina around my shoulders, feeling the phantom wooley warmth for a few seconds before I remembered that I was freezing to death.

The men mocked me in their sport jackets.

The AMA people told me to wear comfortable shoes but my comfortable shoes made my legs look short and squatty. My nice party shoes make my legs look fantastic but cramp my toes. I opted for fantastic legs in case I sat next to Akon and he invited me to his after-party where fantastic legs would come in handy.

Yeah, that didn't happen.

Fortunately the AMA people fed us dry turkey sandwiches with chips and a cookie and an apple. They were out of water so my plan of stuffing a water bottle in my purse and sipping on it all night was foiled. I drank a Diet Coke, ate the sandwich and put everything else in my purse with my emergency bag of cookies and a granola bar. So basically I was a walking pantry. That way, if I sat next to John Mayer and he expressed a feeling of hunger I could open my purse and say, "What would you like?"

Yeah, that didn't happen.

It was a lot of hurry up and waitness. Then, as the show was about to begin, we were shoved into empty seats with wild abandon. Then it was my turn.

I was told to sit between a blond guy and a guy in a hat. Guy In Hat said his wife was sitting there. I told him I had to sit there until she showed.

She showed five seconds before the show started. Guy In Hat was super nice, as was his Blond friend, but I had to take off in a flash because the seats must be filled with no stragglers when the cameras pan over the first ten rows.

If you're up front during the commercial break you find a new seat. If you're in the back during the commercial break you wait for them to come and choose you.

I was now in the back. I never sat in the front again.

When the first award was announced - breakthrough artist - Guy In Hat and Blond Guy got up and went to the stage with the rest of the band. I had been smack in the middle of Daughtry. In case you didn't hear, they kind of had a big night last night.

So that was cool. It's all I have to hang on to really, since I sat at the back of the theater dancing with two very excited college freshmen girls the rest of the night. If it hadn't been for those girls I'd have been lonely and miserable so whoever they were, they were fantastic and I thank them.

They made me dance to Chris Brown and Alicia Keys, and I admit that Alicia Keys performance rocked the house. But then came Duran Duran and "Hungry Like the Wolf".

I jumped up and yelled, "This is my music!" And rocked out like the aging white lady that I am.

They tried to dance too, but couldn't find a way to work the Rockaway into a guitar-heavy eightees song. I glanced over and was highly amused at their complete failure to comprehend why anyone would listen to this.

They waited all night, begging the guy in charge to send them to the front. Finally, on the last commercial break he sent them up front and left me behind. I hope they sat next to Beyonce.

And that was it. I went home. I ate some chips. I watched The Simpsons. I went to sleep.

Next time I'm jumping into the first open chair I see.