Mom, Dad – I’m dropping out of school to become a groupie.

No, not a groupie. As Penny Lane so blatantly put it, groupies sleep with rock stars because they want to be near someone famous. I’m here because of the music – to inspire the music. I want to be a band aide.

Albeit I don’t actually know any bands well enough to jump on board the great tour bus parade. I don’t really have any skills as far as music goes either. I don’t know how to tune a guitar, I can’t sing and I can’t play any instruments (with the exception of my eight years of experience on the alto saxophone, playing things like the Jefferson-Scranton school fight song, The Star Spangled Banner and pep band staple “Louie Louie”).

But my yearning to be a part of the live music world is heightening with every show I attend. For a girl who loves music more than life itself, I’m finding this to be quite a problem. I’m usually too shy to meet my favorite artists, but I long to be around those people who have created the music I love. So, the position of band aide is brilliant. Or so I’d like to pretend.

In the past week, I was lucky enough to catch two of the greatest shows I have ever seen. These were so great they’ve been bumped up onto my “top three greatest shows of my life so far” list – legendary rockers U2, which after seeing, I was able to cross off my “bands to see before I die list,” and the Arcade Fire. Both pushing my band aide wannabe meter through the roof, I contemplated dropping out of school and squeezing my way onto their tour bus.

Just think how great it would be – I’d be able to experience live performances of some of my favorite bands, but after the show the music wouldn’t stop. I could hear it every night and be in the presence of the kings and queens who made this ethereal listening experience. I could hear their collaborative thoughts, their tiffs and happy times, their warm-up antics, and most importantly, I could be around real life, living and breathing music all the time.

I guess I could also be completely broke, cold, starving and vomiting out of the window of the shaky bus that I’ve been sitting in for 14 hours. But I’ll play naive and believe the first.

If I were a band aide, I also wouldn’t have to suffer from PSD – post-show depression. Yes, this would be a wonderful thing. I’ve spent many weeks sulking around after I saw a wonderful show I thought nothing in the world could top. It’s almost as bad as getting over a breakup – maybe worse. But if I were a band aide and did experience any slight bit of PSD, it would most likely quickly disappear after gathering up the band’s belongings backstage and taking a seat on the bus.

After the Arcade Fire show, all I could say was, “I want to be a part of them.” But after saying this rather stalker-ish comment, I realized I don’t really even want to be them. I would be completely satisfied with being the girl who set their water bottles and towels on stage before the show.

But alas, I am not. Instead, I am a fan who paid a hefty chunk of money to see these two shows and was happy to do it, too. I am the girl who left these shows completely star-struck and overly amazed by how a thrill like that could even be possible.

Maybe at the next show I attend, I’ll dodge the guards, sneak backstage and be that “mysterious, coy girl” hanging out by the appetizers.

Someone (the front man, of course) will catch my glance, and we’ll become the best of friends.

I guess I can dream, and maybe one day, when I least expect it, I’ll know somebody who knows somebody who knows the lead roadie of “that” band. Life will be good.

– Katie Piepel is a junior in journalism and mass communication from Jefferson, Iowa. She is an assistant Pulse editor.