Guilty pleasure concerts: I love Kelly Clarkson

One of my friends told me about an upcoming concert that he wanted me to go to with him. It's one of these guilty pleasure artists that I vow I would never see again, but time and time again, there I am.

What I am talking about are concerts, where one finds that the main demographics that are drawn to these events are apparently, not tall, married, pale, Asian Shrek like characters but rather screaming, pre-pubescent girls and their dads. It was the same with Justin Timberlake, the Avril Lavigne, Hillary Duff and Kelly Clarkson concerts (those events, I kind of knew what I was getting into) and now, an upcoming Taylor Swift show.

Like the other concerts, I expect to go to the men's room only to find it desolate (tumble weeds passing through) while the ladies' room has lines out the door.

I remember the shame I wore when watching Kelly Clarkson the last time she was in town. The tickets somehow worked out such that Babyboo and friends were all in one mezzanine section and I got a single ticket all by myself in the orchestra section. It was a great seat but when I looked to my right, it was teeny boppers and/or couples and to my left was the aisle.

Clearly, to my neighbors around me, including the suspicious dads and boyfriends, I was by myself and gave off indications that I was either a loser, a pedi-pervert, or really, all of the above.

Despite the awkwardness, the show was good, the music was catchy and I may have gotten lost in the inner teenage princess in me and really let loose at the expense, disgust and gagging of those around me because no one ever wants to see me raising the roof or gyrating anything, or screaming in surprisingly high decibels (well, maybe some of you sickies).

Anyways, I'm going. I am so weak.