What Makes a Girl a Groupie?

I got called a “groupie who doesn’t fuck” last night and I I’m pretty sure it hurt my feelings on some level.  Anyone who knows me knows that when I become a fan of a certain artist I support them fully.  I wouldn’t exactly call myself a hip-hop head.  I can’t tell you what mix tape is hot in the streets right now or name anything Meek Mill came out with before 2012, but when I hear I something I like I do my homework:  I’ll pick a Pandora channel, buy some CD’s, maybe YouTube some past interviews.  If I really get dedicated I may even buy the regular version and the deluxe version of your debut (even though I’m paying a whole extra $10.00 for two additional tracks), I’ll buy that XL that finally put them on the cover after mainstream media decided they were hot too, and I’ll shell out some cash for an orchestra section seat at a concert. But does that make me a groupie?

You know what I think a groupie is?  Someone who gets completely caught up in the life of a celebrity that they begin to lose sight of their own priorities, responsibilities and self-respect.  Let me put it this way: When Drake’s latest release #NWTS dropped this past Tuesday, folks I follow on Instagram were posting pictures of the fifty CD’s they bought so “Champagne Papi” could meet his projected sales. People camped out on the streets of NYC battling the early autumn elements just so they could get a photo op and a signed CD.   And don’t get me started on the females that take the shit to a whole ’notha level and are willing to shed their integrity just so they can get a mention on an album about the time the Toronto native had them bent over in a bathroom stall.  I’m just saying, as much as there are levels to this shit, there are limits to this shit and I have a life to return to.

Do I stan? Most definitely.  My Facebook background right now is J. Cole sleeping and I bought 3 copies of Nothing Was the Same on Tuesday.  But the bills also got paid and after getting in at 12 am from an amazing performance from J. Cole and Wale on the What Dreams May Come Tour I wasn’t trying to follow tour buses or suck my way into VIP at some after party, I went the fuck to bed.  Yeah, 7:00 am is real when you have a full-time job to get to the next morning. Personally I feel like that’s what makes all the difference: my real-life responsibilities come before my love for any artists.  Over-zealous fan? Maybe.  But I don’t think I’ve graduated to groupie just yet.  Here are some reasons a few friends gave as to why my behavior concerns them:

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