Disspelling the Groupie Myth...

I could never understand the mind of a groupie. I don't have many memories of encounters with them, except for that time I went a Little Brother show last year at the Harbourfront Centre and a 5'3, 10o lb orange-tanned, dyed blonde with split ends and the brunette roots showing tried to shove me and my friends aside so that her 10 layers of black mascara, 7 injections of botox, and 5 inch stilettos could shout 4 or 3 "hey babys" sliding her finger in and out of her mouth (for the added effect) to get the attention of Big Pooh and Phonte. I don't think they saw her. I was left wondering what would possess her to be so shameless and so obviously desperate.

I've always held the belief that any woman who agrees to meet with the artist and/or their band 'back at the hotel' is either in a drunken stupor or has had something slip into her drink rendering her mentally incapacitated and unable to make wise decisions. This is assuming that she doesn't want the same thing that I assume these men want- one night of boot knockin' body rockin lip lockin' groupie love.

Using these preconceived notions, I've often turned up my nose at stories I hear about women who just went to "chill" after the show at the artists and/or their band's hotel without the panty dropping, thinking that they were just covering up for their battered self-esteem after realizing that they were just another part of the routine that will repeat itself on the following day in another city 10000 kilometers away in another time zone. That is until I was invited back to the hotel after Dwele's show on Friday night with 5 other friends.

Originally, out of a concern from my self-proclaimed "boy crazy", Dwele-loving friend Ashley (yes, she's Black) who decided to hop on to the tour bus with the drummer as the other 4 of us decided to leave, I agreed that we should go to the hotel. We all went home, got changed (in to jeans, and out of our skirts) and prepared for the worst.

In the car on the way down, we practiced rude quips, impolite jabs and moves that showed us how to take a man out in one swift action. We prepared for the unknown. We arrived at the hotel after leaving Ashley for an hour. Worried, we made a sweat-drenching-Olympic-style-I-don't-care-if-I-sweat-out-my-perm dash down the hallway, looking for her. Room 233. We found her under the sheets (she was "just a little cold" *sigh*), while drummer boy sat in the chair next to the bed. The doors where open, which made it much easier to walk (read: barge) right in.

Dwele, with his bloodshot eyes, white doo-rag and boxers on retreated for bed in preparation for his 5:15am departure to the airport for DC. It was 2:00 am. For the next 3 hours, the 7 of us (5 ladies and two dudes) talked about everything: from the comparison of 2:30 am life in Toronto vs. Detroit, to playing music (we were with the drummer and the bass player) to Slum Village, to Platinum Pied Pipers rumors (to which they would not confirm, nor deny) and even thoughts on the upcoming DC show. I, however, was still on guard, waiting for that “groupie moment” that I had always imagined. You know, sort of like the way Tip Drill insinuates what would happen when the cameras turn off. I imagined it as a series of pre-determined coincidences like a pillow fight would commence and someone would jump on top of the other to pin them to prevent the other one from “winning”, or someone would go to the bathroom and not lock the door and the lights would mysteriously go off and someone would whisper something about how much they're feeling you and blah blah blah. Well, if it came, I was ready, and it was only a matter of time.

I had my lines prepared and knew the fastest way out of that hotel. I had a plan of action that I was ready to act on at the drop of a dime. In the meantime, everyone got lifted and decided to watch Half Baked (which I thought was a funny coincidence). Since they'd never been to Toronto before, we decided to take these guys on a tour of Toronto through the movie (it was filmed in Toronto). After 5 or 6 belly laughs, 3 bags of M&M's, 5 bottles of water, and 3 desperate cries for food, the clock read 5am and we decided to head out. Since it was Caribana weekend, the entire city was still awake and there was no shortage of people at the breakfast joint we went to. We ate, laughed, reflected on the night and were dropped home. As I walked through my front door, I let out a huge sigh of relief. I had made it through… we had made it through and all my girls were safe as we dispelled the groupie myth.