I am not a people person. I know. You are shocked. Heh. Let me clarify. I love people. All people. Just not when you stick more than three of them in a room with me all at once.

Crowds freak me out. I start to sweat and twitch and my left eye develops a nervous tic. I generally end up standing alone in a dark corner, with my eyes squeezed shut and my arms hugging my body while rocking back and forth humming soothing lullabies to myself in order to block out the chaos.

I tend to be a LOT of fun at weddings and parties. Ask my husband. Heh. That’s me, the life of the party.

For this reason, I do my damndest to avoid large crowds. I don’t go to fairs, I don’t enjoy public sporting venues and parades? Well, they just freak me right the fack out with all the partying people and blow up balloons dancing in the streets.

There is one thing that can draw me out of my private little sanctuary and entice me to brave the crushing throng of a crowd and ignore the hordes of people around me.

That one thing is a good concert. Which is now only slightly ironic, since I’m technically half deaf and can’t hear the actual music over the din of roaring fans.

Still, music is a passion of mine and it’s the one thing guaranteed to pull me off my arse, off the couch and into a stadium.

Not that I’ve been to a lot of concerts. I have to be really enticed to get off said arse, shower, slap on the ole war paint and elbow my way through a packed stadium to pay disgusting amounts of money for the pleasure of being jostled, stepped on and hollered at to attend a concert.

There have been some memorable concerts though. The very first concert I ever attended was with my mother. It was a folk/country artist playing at a small venue. There was no screaming fans, no tossed panties. But the intimacy of being able to reach out and touch a live performer while he wove his magic with song and music for the audience charmed me and forever cemented my love for live music.

My first real rock concert didn’t happen until I was 14. My best friend and I twisted our parents arms into buying us tickets to watch Janet Jackson thrust her pelvis all over center stage. I don’t remember much about the actual concert, I just remember the intoxicating feeling of feeling grown up enough to sit in a packed stadium without our parents and watch this famous chick shake her little booty around the stage.

There have been other equally memorable concerts I had the pleasure of attending. Each one magical in their own way, each one knitting their magic into my subconscious and leaving behind sweet memories after the lights are turned up and the crowd slowly exits from the building.

One concert will always mean more to me than all the rest, one concert alone will always captivate and enthrall my memory. I had been waiting more than half my life to see this person live and in person and I began to despair that it would never happen.

Just when I was about to give up hope, life nudged me, winked and tossed me a bone.

Elton John was coming to town. I tend to be a laid back type of gal, but let me tell you, when I managed to get a hold of two tickets to his concert in a nearby city, I squealed like the young school girl I once was, discovering the magic of Tiny Dancer.

My parents were equal parts amused, ashamed and slightly horrified by my teenage crush on a flamboyant 70′s piano man. While other kids my age were rocking out to New Kids on the Block, I was sitting alone in my room belting out the chorus of Bennie and the Jets.

What can I say? Sequins, big glasses, small hands and a piano do it for me.

Dear Elton. I love you. In a totally inappropriate and probably slightly creepy way.

Since my discovery of Sir Elton, no other musician has been able to hold a Candle in the Wind next to him. (Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.)

His music has coloured the tapestry of my life like no other artist. So the excitement to see him perform just mere meters in front of me was well worth the annoyance of fighting the throng of traffic, getting raped for parking, having my feet stepped on, enduring the people behind me kicking my seat repeatedly and smelling the manly odour emanating from a rather large man sitting next to me who very obviously was unconcerned with the length of his ear and nose hairs.

It was a sweet moment in my life, those two hours and forty minutes I caterwauled along with the crowd while trying not to spill my beer. While it may not have been the flashiest concert I’ve attended, it will always be the best concert I had the privilege to attend.

The only thing that could have made the evening more enjoyable, other than Sir Elton gazing out into the audience, locking eyes with me and dedicating his entire play list to his number one fan Tanis, while beckoning for me to sprawl out on his piano as he pounded out the tunes, was if I had remembered to bring my damn camera.

(Hey. Everyone has a fantasy. Don’t knock mine.)

I own four freaking cameras. All very expensive cameras, including one highly coveted and worth more than my life, DSLR. Yet, did I remember to bring even my tiniest point and shoot?

No. Did I remember to even bring my damn camera cell phone along? No. I blame this on the panic attack I had shortly before leaving for the concert and realizing it wouldn’t just be me alone listening to the sweet crooning of my favourite piano man. Damn you other Elton fans for not allowing me the luxury of a private serenade. Daaaaammmmmn.

But because I am thoughtful, and I know people who know people, I want to make sure my blog readers never experience the same crushing disappoint from realizing they forgot to smuggle a camera past concert security thugs and come up empty handed when reaching for a camera to immortalize a magic moment for themselves.

While I can’t guarantee you will remember to bring the damn thing, I can provide you with one. Drop me a comment, tell me about your favorite concert moment or simply just say hi and you will be entered to win one brand spanking new, never been out of the box, Canon PowerShot SD1100 IS digital camera. Retail value approx. $199.00 USD.

*Accessories, battery and memory stick not included. Sorry folks. You’re on your own for that.*

Drop me a comment and this could be yours!

The contest will remain open until Midnight, mountain standard time, Sunday, September 21, 2008. After such time I will randomly draw a name out of a hat and ship the camera, which has been sitting on my coffee table for a week now, off to the lucky winner and out of my damn house.

Please note, I will not be held responsible for any dirty photos or badly angled shots exposing double chins or nose hairs taken with said camera.

But I wouldn’t mind if you showed them to me. Wink.

Good luck! And don’t forget to include your email address so I can contact the lucky winner!