Every once in a while, an opportunity comes along that you just can’t pass up, no matter how far out of your comfort zone it is. One such opportunity found me a few weeks ago via a text message from one of my closest friends informing me, “You’re my date to the Billboard Music Awards in Vegas!”
SAY WHAT!?!?!?
Yes, my dear friend Erin Gershik won full access to the BMA’s at a charity auction, and invited me – you read that correctly – ME – to be her guest.
Now you’re probably thinking what I was when she asked – all her young, fun, attractive friends must not be available. However, she claims I was her first choice after her husband Matt, who, unfortunately, had to work and missed out on the festivities. #thankyoumatt
That very important text immediately set off a chain reaction of emotions from within – excitement, gratitude, enthusiasm, curiosity and…panic.
As in deep, intense, insecure panic that prompted the following questions:
- Am I going to be the oldest person there?
- Am I cool enough to be in the room with a bunch of glamourous A-Listers?
- What the HELL am I going to wear???
Obviously that last question haunted me more than the others.
Soon, I was online Googling the 2019 BMAs, where I discovered:
- This year’s ICON Award was going to Mariah Carey, meaning I WOULD NOT be the oldest person in the room (assuming she actually shows up).
- I didn’t recognize more than half the nominees, meaning I WAS NOT cool enough to actually be in the room.
For every Drake, Lady Gaga and Ariana Grande I recognized, there was a Bazzi, Juice WRLD and Dua Lipa listed.
Uh, come again?
I didn’t know a BTS from an XXXTENTACION, but I quickly reminded myself that this was a chance of a lifetime, so I continued on to my next crisis, which was obviously my outfit.
Anyone who knows me knows how seriously I take my wardrobe. I don’t mess around when it comes to a special event. I give it a lot of thought. A LOT…to the point of obsession.
And for this event especially, I was completely out of my wheelhouse. Not only was it an awards show and in Las Vegas, but there was an actual red carpet involved. Nothing in my over-sized wardrobe fit all three categories. In fact, none of the categories were met. I was informed it was cocktail attire with an edge, which was a problem, as the most edgy things about me are my fingernails.
So, what was a girl to do? I went shopping. And scoured the internet.
And then I went shopping again. And scoured the internet some more.
After trying on countless outfits, my opinion of myself became quite contrived. NOTHING looked good. Nothing FELT good. Nothing was me. And now, at 45, who am I? The days of skimpy and sexy were long gone. And to make matters worse, half the outfits I tried on wouldn’t zip and the other half just made me want to cry and/or vomit.
But as they say in show business, the show must go on. So the search continued.
I finally found a dress that I could, A) zip up, and B) did not induce dry heaving. AND, here’s the kicker, it was actually on sale! Woot! Woot! (This rarely ever happens to me. I’m unintentionally the queen of full-priced.)
Yet there were two problems with this dress that instilled self-doubt. The color was extremely light, which blended right in to my ultra-pale skin, and the front of the dress had a deep V, which ran all the way down to the top of my belly button.
The horror!!! The horror!!!
So, more searching ensued, but I still came up short, which ultimately lead to the conclusion that the pale-boobilicious-sale dress would have to do.
Luckily, the combo of my teeny-tiny chest and the tan-colored mesh sewn into the V dismissed the dress from complete inappropriateness. And, I figured a spray tan and the fabulous jeweled jacket I found at Macy’s would solve the other problems.
SIDEBAR: It was extremely hard to find a tanning salon open on a Monday, which was the only day I had to get my tan on since the show was on a Wednesday. Nearly ALL tanning salons are closed on Mondays. Something needs to be done about this, people! What happens if you have a mid-week event? You’re just supposed to attend it pasty and pale? Unacceptable!!! However, since we’ve yet to even make it to Vegas in this story, I digress…
And so, the day finally arrived to leave for Sin City. I got up that morning, rinsed off my spray tan, soaped down my privates, tossed the several pairs of silicone boobs I ordered on Amazon as bra alternatives into my suitcase, and headed to the airport.
On the flight over, I nervously nibbled on what could only be described as a lunch of champions – Fritos and Twizzlers. I am pretty sure this is what all the celebrities eat the day before a red carpet.
Once I arrived, I met Erin at the airport and we headed over to the MGM Grand. This was not only where we were staying, but also where the BMA’s were to take place the next day.
Couple of things I want to mention here about Erin. First of all, she’s super low maintenance, which is great – eases some of my own personal anxiety. Second, she’s a ton of fun, but not scary fun, which also eases my anxiety. Plus, just like me, she loves to play dress up.
Therefore, night one, we got our glam on and headed over to Caesars for a drink at Lisa Vanderpump’s Cocktail Garden, and then dinner at the renowned Mr. Chow.
SIDEBAR: For those who don’t know, Lisa Vanderpump is on the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and a restaurateur. I don’t care what you think of the Housewives. If you ever get the chance to go to one of her restaurants, (there are also three in LA), GO! They are well worth the visit, as they are impeccably decorated and the cocktails are out of this world!
By the time we started making our way over to dinner, the total Vegas experience was settling in. The smoke. The noise. The casinos. The people. Oh, the people. So many outfits to see; so little time.
And so, so much hanging out. Boobs and legs for miles!
After a scrumptious dinner while enjoying (and only enjoying) the view of the champagne cart – one glass of bubbles was 80 bucks-a-roos – we were off to the Cosmopolitan to pose in the king-sized stilettos and then finished the night with some gambling.
And just like that, it was the day of the Billboard Music Awards.
The day I’d been stressing over for the last three weeks. The day I had cursed myself out about – time and time again – for not being good enough. Thin enough. Pretty enough. Young enough.
To my relief, the MGM salon had openings to get both my hair and makeup done, which I figured would be two less things to worry about, leaving only the task of zipping up my dress and adjusting my boobs left to tackle.
After two full hours in the salon chair, my hair looked a million times better than it would have if I had done it myself, and my make up was airbrushed on, just like the A-Listers.
Back in our room, there were some silicone antics, which are purposely being edited out of this blog, allowing me to skip straight to the part where we put on our dresses, (holy crap – mine zipped!), accessorized, draped our All Access passes around our necks, and headed down to the show.
Once inside the MGM Garden Arena, we found our seats, which were on the floor, about eleven rows back from the stage. It was right around this time that we discovered we had missed the red carpet due to how long it took to get our hair and makeup done. Sacrifices, I guess. I still think my impromptu makeover was well worth the time and money, and I will take that any day, even if it means having to miss out on seeing T Swift or Cardi B, (which, for a longest time I thought was a running shoe), walk the red carpet.
And so, the real people watching began. And it was spectacular. And horrifying. And glorifying. And surprisingly grounding.
To my relief, I wasn’t the oldest person in the room – not in the least! I was surrounded by people of all ages and all sizes. Some were dressed to the nines, while others were in shorts and flip flops. And some were barely in anything at all. (Not to be offensive, but I’m pretty sure I saw some vaginas being exposed, and that’s just a fact.)
Now, I don’t mean to be judgmental, (actually, I do), but more than three-thirds of that room could have been on the night’s worst dressed list. In a sea of sequins and exposed boobs and peeking who-ha’s, most ladies outfits could be categorized as too short, too tight, too inappropriate or…just plain wrong.
As I glanced around the room and, on more than one occasion, winced in horror, I started to feel better about myself. Maybe I didn’t look so bad. Maybe all my stress and negativity was in my head…
PSYCH! You know I kid!
SIDEBAR: But seriously, I’ve come to the determination that I have been in an abusive relationship for most of my natural life. The culprit? Myself. I am awful to myself. The way I talk to myself, put myself down…it’s cruel. If I ever spoke to another person the way I speak to myself, I would be locked up! Why am I so hard on myself? Am I really that bad? I’m independent and talented and in fairly good shape for someone over forty, and yet I lash out at myself as if I were a dog that just took a dump on the sofa.
But again, I digress…
READER’S NOTE: Please excuse that significant moment of clarity as we return back to the shit show, which is known as the BMA’s, or the PBB’s…People Behaving Badly.
And they were. The “looky-loos” and the “attention grabbers” and the “all eyes on me” …they were all there. As well as the celebrities, who some I recognized and others…I had no clue. They all seemed like, well, people. They didn’t seem quite as impressive close up. In fact, the behind the scenes was much like real life – not as it appears on TV. The glitz and glamour came in spurts of Instagrammable moments – they were short lived and contrived for the camera.
Doing some research, I discovered that the MGM Garden Arena seats 16,800. Knowing this, and according to my best calculation, I believe the breakdown of attendees was something like this:
20 Celebrities
500 Celebrity Wannabes
500 Industry Folk
2,500 “Real People”
13,280 BTS Fans
Okay…another sidebar:
BTS – WTF???
If you’re like me, you’re probably asking yourself, what the hell is BTS? Some sort of venereal disease?
BTS is actually a seven-member South Korean “k-pop” boy band, with the band’s initials standing for “Beyond the Scene”. Apparently, this group is sweeping the nation, and the BMA’s was their first appearance in the United States. And…lucky for me, I was there…along with 10,000 screaming, shrieking, crying, pushing, hovering, hyperventilating, beyond obnoxious groupies. Apparently, the group’s lyrics often focus on personal and social commentary. However, since they weren’t singing in English, I can’t say for sure. And even if they were singing in English, the deafening squawks out of the crazed fan’s mouths made the decimal level in the room so high while they were performing, days later my ears are still ringing. And days later…I still don’t get it. But moving on…
Ironically, at one end of the spectrum, there was a list of nominees as long as my arm, and the Beatle-like hysteria of BTS that made me shake my head and feel as if I am a hundred years old. Yet, on the other end, three of the most celebrated women at the 2019 Billboard Music Awards were well beyond forty.
First, there was a performance by Madonna, who is 60 years old and still at it! Did anyone else watch her performance and wonder, what the hell was that?
The 2019 Icon Award went to 49-year-old Mariah Carey, who not only showed up, but looked great and was coherent! I’m not going to lie, I was secretly hoping for a train wreck of an acceptance speech, but sadly she did not deliver. Cardi B on the other hand…
Finally, the show ended with a performance from one of my former music idols – none other than 56-year-old Paula Abdul! My first concert! And after watching the BMA’s…possibly my last. Sure she was lip-synching her way around the auditorium, but man, she looked amazing and still dances as if she were in her twenties. I loved every minute of it! And when MC Skat Kat appeared…I was in heaven. (Am I dating myself?)
Beyond the show, this got me to thinking – here are three ladies that have been around for decades and through all the highs and lows, they have survived and thrived. Here they are, passed middle-age, and they are still singing, still dancing and still making waves – good and bad. They continue to reinvent themselves and all I can say about that is, more power to them! (Well, except for you, Madonna. Maybe we should just stick with the oldies and not try so hard. Just slap on a coned-shaped bra and sing a few bars of Material Girl and your BMA performance will be forgiven, as it’s already forgotten. I’m sorry, I don’t meant to be harsh, but the pirate, Latin, flamenco, hologram song was a bit out there for me.)
Who would have thought I’d go to the BMA’s and get a second wind on life? While I’ve been eagerly ready to throw in the towel at 45, I now realize that maybe I still have a few good years to come…maybe more than a few. (OK, let’s not get crazy.) Maybe my own freakish pirate, Latin, flamenco hologram song is just on the horizon and ready to bust out!
To finish out the evening, we had all access to the after party at the Encore Beach Club, which didn’t start until 10 pm – usually my bedtime! And I’m proud to say, I rallied until 1:30 am! 1:30 AM! Me, the girl who took a flyer for Menopause the Musical starring Cindy Williams from Lavern & Shirley in the cab ride over.
More amazing people watching ensued, plus, free drinks at the bar and a 1 am performance by Diplo…uh, okay. Not entirely sure who or what that is, but Erin and I were given access to the private room behind the DJ booth. And then we were quickly kicked out of the room for having the wrong color bracelet. Yep, me, 45-year-old Tracy Dietlein was kicked out of an exclusive room at an after party at a night club! Plus, I used a restroom that cautioned “only one person per stall”. Who am I????
Not sure I want to know what prompted this warning…
All and all, it was an amazing night and an eye-opening trip. I finally realized, I’m at the point where I can actually enjoy myself while being outside my comfort zone. I am passed the insecure stress and anxiety that would have stuck to me like glue in my twenties and thirties. Sure, I didn’t realize it until half way through the awards, but ultimately, I came away learning a valuable lesson. And, I also came away learning no one wears Spanx in Vegas…or bras.
So, thank you Erin for giving me the opportunity to receive this unexpected gift; having two fantastic days of pure enjoyment where nothing else seemed to matter; and introducing me to my 2019 personal anthem and the new Forty Tales theme song, Panic! at the Disco’s High Hopes. The lyrics just seemed oddly appropriate for this blog, because after all…
Had to have high, high hopes for a living
Shooting for the stars when I couldn’t make a killing
Didn’t have a dime but I always had a vision
Always had high, high hopes
Had to have high, high hopes for a living
Didn’t know how but I always had a feeling
I was gonna be that one in a million
Always had high, high hopes
And she lived high, high hope-fully ever after.
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