I was about 16-years-old the first time I saw Fall Out Boy in “concert.” They preformed at a small music festival at the rec center within walking distance from my house. There were, to my memory, a handful of kids there. I jumped and sang along to Take This to Your Grave whilst making eye contact with Pete Wentz [who was so hot, prior to the whole dick pic thing] and Patrick Stump.
Months ago, my cousin Amy and I decided that we’d go see them [and Paramore!] when they came to Amy’s town of Charlotte, North Cackalacky. Thankfully, I have two uncles in radio, and one was able to get us passes to meet Fall Out Boy.
When we arrived, the radio intern who was tasked with taking us “backstage,” told us there were several very important rules:
1. No autographs [wtf, fall out boy?!]
2. No kissing [fiiiine.]
3. NO TOUCHING.
I wanted to be like: Patrick, I liked you when you were fat and had a minimal fan base. I’m not new here.
We could be together. But, life happened.
Remember – no autographs, no kissing, NO TOUCHING.
So, what’s the first thing I do when I walk up to take the picture?
I put my arm around Patrick Stump. Like, an enthusiastic Duggar side hug.
In a moment of panic, I turned to him and said, “OH MY GOD! No touching! I’m so sorry!” He laughed at me and told me it was fine.
But, so much was left unsaid.
A missed opportunity.
Welcome to my awkward life, ladies and gentlemen.