Confessions of a Madonna Whore

This all started when I heard Madonna was going back on tour this summer. Since Madonna (aka Dita, Madge, Ester) is having the “Confessions Tour,” I thought this would be a great time to confess all my sins to her. I will especially need to confess what it was like to buy tickets for this upcoming tour…First off, I confess that I copied this photo from some unknown link on the Web. Madonna, I’m sorry and hope you will forgive me. For you, I’ll do three “Oh Fathers” and promise to stay away from seeking other Google Images.

Madge, you know I’ve been there through the Boy-toy phase, the Blonde Ambition Tour, the I’m-a-cowgirl-Music-Drowned-phase, the Re-Invention tour, the bad movies, the okay movies, the husbands, the babies, the albums, the Sandra Bernhart phase, the bad accents, the Truth or Dare era, the David Letterman shows, the blonde hair, the red hair, the dark hair, the disco hair. I’ve seen you four times in concert—once in Dallas and three times in Chicago. How could I stay away from you for the “Confessions Tour?” I confess that I cannot. I HAVE to have tickets to your latest concert—at any price. Any. I am truly a Madonna whore.

About that concert: I MUST get the ticket that will lead to dancing and singing and general excitement with Madonna. I MUST GET TO THAT CONCERT! I will sell my dogs. I will sell my house. I will sell my wife!

My friend, Madonna fan #2—we’ll call her MJagger (for reasons known to her)—and I decide that we will both try and secure tickets for the “Confessions Tour” coming to the United Center this summer. We’ve gone to two previous Madonna concerts together, so why stop now? We aren’t stupid—we know those tickets are going to go like hotcakes, so we need a plan. I decide I will be on line at work and she will be on line at home. We will be poised on Ticketmaster with our grubby little paws on the mouse, ready to pounce with the cursor on the BUY NOW button so we can seek the best available tickets. At 9:59 AM, I am sweating. I am in position. I am at my desk, hand on mouse, palms getting sweatier by the second. I confess: these are not cheap tickets. This is Madonna. Tickets are $350.00 or $165.00. I can’t even pay my bills and I’m going to spend money on concert tickets. The wife is horrified.

10 AM rolls around and WHAM! I’m clicking that mouse like there is no tomorrow. Only about three zillion other people are doing the same thing. MJagger and I call back and forth to each other via cell phones. Neither of us is getting anywhere very fast. We decide to start seeking single tickets instead of two tickets at a time. She gets through and swoops up a single ticket for herself.

I get through! I have a ticket in my grasp! I reach for my wallet…and, I discover I DON’T HAVE MY CREDIT CARD! (I’ve been leaving it at home so I don’t use it. Great time to remember that.) I contemplate suicide. I make the decision to use my Bank Card, praying to the banking gods that I actually have enough money in my account to cover the cost of the ticket. I point and click. TA-DA! It is mine. It’s not the greatest seat I’ve ever seen but it is mine. MJagger calls me, screaming, “SHE’S JUST ADDED ANOTHER CONCERT!” MJagger goes into overdrive. She is buying tickets left and right. I can’t keep up. In just minutes, she has tickets for both nights. I’ve lost count of what she has purchased and spend our time screaming and yelling and celebrating and sweating.

After the ticket frenzy, we have time to re-group. She has several single tickets and two floor tickets. I have my ticket. We plot and plan how we can get the best out of these tickets and sell the rest. I get confused and dizzy as she tries to explain all the options to me. I’m not sure how it will work out but I do know that I have concert tickets and that I will be dancing with Madonna in June.

By the way, I ended up having $13 to spare in my checking account after buying the ticket, so nothing bounced across the nation. It was meant to be.

I don’t know what I’ll wear to this concert. Last time, MJagger wore leather pants. I have nothing that exciting to wear. But, at least there are 60 shopping days until the concert. This time, I’ll remember to bring the charge card….