This is a story that has been told by thousands, is not millions of people all around the world. We all have one. Though this one is different from yours, it sounds the same. That’s because we all started out differently, before eventually winding up in the same place.

Each of these stories has its own beginning. And this is mine.

How It All Began

Beginnings are tricky. Why? Because they take root in so many different times and places. Life is full of beginnings, some life altering, and some not so much. Isolating one is about as easy as keeping my horse clean when there’s mud in her turnout. So I’m just going to be arbitrary, and pick one.

Let’s start…um…here. In the summer of 1995, I did several cool things. One was attend my first Kentucky Derby. Which really has no bearing on this story, but seeing as I do my best to work horse racing into everything I do, I’m mentioning it. I also moved from the dreary (though fun to visit) city of St. Louis to sunny, hot, often dried up city of San Antonio. (Yay Spurs!) The only other living soul I knew in the city other than my family at the time was my horse, who had been in the state about three weeks longer than I had. I was a dopey shy kid who was desperate to fit in, so one of the habits I picked up very quickly was country music. Before long, I completely lost any touch I really didn’t have in the first place with pop music, and shunned its very existence. Give me George Strait in a cowboy hat and Bryan White in my lap any day.

Why is this relevant? I’ll get to that, stop interrupting. This is my story and I’ll tell it the way I want to. =P.

By the time the summer before my junior year of high school had rolled around, I was doing pretty well. I was having the time of my life riding at a little place called Wild Sunday Farm. I had a circle full of friends that had become my second family. Most of them were younger than me, in some cases a year, in other cases four, or even more. My best friend, Sue, who is often mistaken for my twin, and I were for some reason unknown to me regarded as the ringleaders of our crew, whenever we had ringleaders (for the most part we were just a mob of dirty kids in funny looking pants). I rarely ever did anything outside of school that wasn’t barn related. (Nobody else understood my horsey sense of humor, or why sliding down the manure pile was fun.) Out there, if there was a radio on, it was tuned in to a country station or Tejano. I still didn’t know anything about pop music.

During the summer before my junior year I started carpooling with a girl who, come to think of it, really didn’t like me all that much, to an SAT prep class taught by Father Landwermeyer (the priest who placed bets for me at the local track). It was during that wretched period of my life when I couldn’t drive, so V’s sister would pick us up at night when class was over and take me home. On one of those trips (well, all of those trips) she had the radio on. From the three weeks I rode around in that car, there are three songs I remember. This is what they were: Some song that went something along the lines of “You put your hand up on my hip, when I dip you did we dip” or something like that, Savage Garden’s “I Want You” (dude! Country songs don’t talk about cherry cola! How cool!), and one other.

“What song it this?” I asked.

“Quit Playing Games,” Melissa, Veronica’s sister, replied.

“I like it.”

So, here you’re probably thinking, HA! Backstreet had me in their trap. She’s a goner now. Nope, you highly underestimate Whit’s ability to dodge bandwagons she actually wants to be on. Backstreet became yet another victim of Whit’s Completely Oblivious To Everything syndrome. For a little while anyway, I was still safe. Or still left out, or still completely stupid, however you choose to describe it.

The following summer I took a job at a vet clinic, and spent my free time expressing anal glands on mini chainsaws (Chihuahuas, thank you Brian) and escaping the wrath of the greatest evil force to walk the earth: diabetic cats. Among roughly 12 employees who worked the back there was one little bitty radio, and since about half of the employees were country fiends and the other half were into the (gasp!) rock scene, we usually compromised with the rock station. But on days when us ‘y’all sayers’ won The Battle Of The Radio That Never Gets Good Reception Anyway, we at least got to listen to the top 40s station. I grudgingly began to accept that pop music might not totally suck, and whenever my country stations played crap, I tended to flip to our pop station. I mean, Jewel was fun, and Johnny Reznik was hot, so maybe it wasn’t all bad. There were a few songs that really, really irked me though. One of those songs? ‘As Long As You Love Me.’

Ugh. Hated that song.

I guarantee you that if I had seen the video I would have felt quite differently. But MTV was the bane of my existence at the time, so no. I had my own mental picture of the concept behind that song, and this is what it was: “Yo, word up. I don’t care if you’s a hooker, or you done some time. You runnin’ from the law? Dat’s okay baby, as long as you love me and promise to share your crack stash. No one else loves mah ghetto ass and you’ve got big ho hos, so who the fuck cares, Tiffany? Michelle? Yo, I don’t know what yo name is, bitch. As long as you love me.”

Seriously. That’s what I thought of the song.

Ha! Backstreet is foiled again.

Sometime during the fall of my senior year, something happened to all my friends. They turned stupid on me. Who turned stupidest of all? Sue. My own best friend. All they talked about all of the sudden was MTV. They kept getting excited over songs like “Tearing Up My Heart,” and kept asking me who was hottest, Nick or Brian. Since I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about (and the very idea that someone could be hotter than Bryan White was blasphemous anyway) I ignored them and went on with my life, which was…them, so anyway.

Then New Year’s rolled around. As usual, a slew of us trooped over to Chris’s for sparkling grape juice and New Year’s Toast. Oh yeah, and Dominos Pizza (rar). I was all prepared for a night of great fun, because you can’t leave our bunch alone in a room and not expect behavior typical of those who wear little white jackets with lots of shiny buckles on them. Turns out I was very let down. Why? We ended up watching MTV all night long. I went into a corner and sulked, as I was prone to do at that stage in my life, and eventually abandoned them entirely in favor of ‘When Harry Met Sally’ in another room, still sulking and hoping everyone felt very, very bad for making me sad. (I was a sad, delusional person who thought I was much cooler than I actually was.) Before I did that though, they hounded me into watching a video on the countdown.

“It’s the Backstreet Boys,” Lauren said. “This video rocks.”

“Yeah,” Sue agreed. “You have to tell us which one you think is hottest.”

For Christ’s sake.

Now, I don’t know about y’all, but I was still a boot scootin’ rodeo going, cowboy hat loving country music girl used to videos of hot cowboys playing the guitar while they sang about beer. So, naturally, ‘hot’ is not the word I would apply to the Backstreet Boys when the first video of theirs I ever saw was entitled “Everybody.”

I raised an eyebrow at the sight of a back flipping werewolf, and looked at Sue.

“Which one is hot?”

“Not right now…ooooh… there’s Nick! Wait a sec, and they won’t be in costume.”

I waited. And remained totally unimpressed. Mostly because I was pouting, and had already made up my mind that they were all ugly as hell. Especially the werewolf.

“Which one, which one?” (Just a tip: Sue is one of the most obnoxiously persistent people I’ve ever met.)

“I don’t know, you pick for me.”

“Okay then, Brian. She likes Brian the best.”

Stupid Backstreet Boys. Ruined my New Years. Werewolf. Hrmph.

It kept getting worse. Sue and everyone else continually harassed me about ‘NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys. I started hearing “God Must Have Spent A Little More Time On You” all over the place. I honestly couldn’t tell you if I liked the song or not. I was so hell bent on not liking anything to do with either group (not that I could tell them apart) for the sole reason that everyone I knew was obsessed. I was content with Bryan White, thank you very much.

But then, in March, the unthinkable happened. Well, two unthinkable things. One, I moved my horse to a different barn, separating myself from my ‘family.’ The Wild Sunday crew was starting to split up, one by one, going to different barns or staying put. The partings were not friendly ones, and the potential for strain on our friendships was huge. In an effort to stick together, we got big groups together for movies and Fiesta Texas and other such outings (that would be movies, movies, and more movies). On one of those excursions, Lauren had some news for us.

“’NSYNC is coming to San Antonio!”

Lots of shrieking.

“So?” I asked, feeling left out. At that point I was one of only a handful of people who had switched barns, and I was jealous of the fact that they got to see each other a hell of a lot more than I did anymore. This looked like just one more occasion that I was going to sit out.

“My dad got ten tickets.”

“Really?” Sue squealed.

“Yeah! We all have to go.”

“When is it?” I asked, suspiciously.

“August.”

“I might have left for college by then,” I said, desperately hoping that I would have.

“August 16^th? It’s a Monday. First day of school, for us.” She made a face.

“We’ll be here,” Sue said devilishly. “That’s a few days before we leave. C’mon, you have to go.”

“Why the hell would I want to go to an ‘NSYNC concert?” I argued.

“Because we can all get together one last time before we leave,” Chris said.

“Oh.” Shit. Now I had to think about it. That was a good reason.

“You have to go,” Melissa agreed.

Grudgingly, I gave in. Very grudgingly.

May rolled around. I had gotten no closer to becoming a boy bad fanatic, which was fine with me. But something happened in that month. One, I got to experience my graduation present, which was a trip to the Kentucky Derby. Funny, Sue got the same present. We flew up to Louisville where we met my aunt, and proceeded to have a whirlwind experience in my favorite place in the world. During one of our rare breathers in between going to see horse farms, visiting the Kentucky Horse Park and going to Churchill Downs, we flopped on the couch in my aunt’s basement and flipped on the TV. After glancing at her watch, Sue squealed.

“TRL’s on! Quick, give me the remote.”

“Oh no,” I said. “We are not going to watch MTV. Sue! No!”

No use. She grabbed the remote and flipped channels till she found what she was looking for.

“Oh, come on. You’re going to see them in concert. You have to watch them. The new video is so awesome. J.C. leaps around in a padded room, and Lance rips up a flower. You’ve got to watch it.”

“Wonderful.”

It didn’t take long for the video to appear, and Sue began dancing around the room, swooning over these guys in straight jackets in an insane asylum, which seemed oddly appropriate. I was so amused at her crooning I pulled out my camera and snapped a couple of pictures.

Now, whenever I look through my scrapbook of that trip and come across them, I can tell you exactly what part of the video they were taken during by looking at the screen in the background. Sad, isn’t it?

Also in May, another thing happened. A CD called Millennium came out, and Sue was one of the first in line to buy it. She decided to come out to the barn with me not long after, and even offered to drive. Don’t you dare think her intentions were good. Sue doesn’t work like that. When she seems genuine and generous, always ask yourself: What does she want? And how is she going to go about tricking me into it? (I can never figure out either of those questions, hence why I pick up a new bad habit every time I’m around her. She’s the reason I have two Britney Spears CDs as opposed to the usual none.) I realized too late that she had a CD player, and was hell bent on Operation Make Whitney Like Boy Bands. (OMWLBB)

“Youhavetohearitit’ssoawesomeIcan’tbelieveitfinallycameout!” she shrieked as I got in the car.

“Huh?”

“Look at it! Just look at it! Isn’t it beautiful?” She waved the CD in my face, and I managed to catch a glimpse of the title.

“Oh my God,” I muttered. “You’re going to make me listen to this, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, horrified that there could be any doubt. “And I’m going to make you listen to ‘NSYNC, too. If you’re going to the concert, you have to know the songs.”

“Right.”

This is when I formed the counter plan to OMWLBB. Let’s call it, ‘Hell No Just Because You Want Me To.’

She shoved the CD in, and flipped to track 2.

“Hey,” I said after a second. “I know this song.”

“Uh huh. It’s on the radio.”

“Yeah, I hear it at work. You know, I like this one.”

I couldn’t really say the same for the rest of what I heard. All I caught was something about a shark attack and sexuality, which wasn’t nearly as cool as propping someone up beside the jukebox if they died. (Jo Diffie, you da man!)

“Okay, enough of that. Let’s listen to ‘NSYNC, you know more of those.”

Sure.

“Here, listen to this one. Isn’t it pretty?”

“Yeah, kinda.” (The song turned out to be ‘Sailing,’ which remains my favorite ‘NSYNC song.)

“And….this one. The intro sucks, but the rest of it’s cool. (She was talking about ‘Everything I Own,’ which eventually became another one of my favorites.)

“Oooooh… you’ll like this one.”

This is what I heard:

Ride it ride it ride it, giddy up

“Hey, I know that song,” I said, not sure if I should be horrified or laughing hysterically. “They sang that in some Disney special. They hopped all over the stage looking stupid. I remember that. Someone left the TV on upstairs and I wandered by and saw it.”

“They did! Wasn’t it great?”

“No, it was stupid. They were hopping all over the stage. Looking stupid..”

“Okay, okay. You’ve listened to this and not complained, so we’ll listen to something else now.”

She switched to Lila McCann’s CD, and I was much happier.

A couple of weeks later Sue and I graduated high school. A couple of weeks after that it occurred to us that we should get each other graduation presents. We agreed on CDs, because I didn’t want to give her a gift certificate to the Container Store because she’d laughed at me when I got all excited about one, and she didn’t want to get me a gift certificate to the Container Store because she’d laughed at me when I got all excited about one. But CD’s are good for any occasion. Try it.

“I know,” she said, looking extremely proud of herself, which should be a sign of the Apocalypse, “I’ll get you ‘NSYNC.”

I groaned. “Aren’t I supposed to like what you get me?”

“Come on! You’ve got to know some of the songs for the concert.”

I considered this.

“I tell you what. You get me Millennium. I like that new song. I’ve got a gift certificate, and I’ll use it to get ‘NSYNC. Just so I can know the songs for the concert.”

If you missed your laugh cue, I’ll give it to you now. The CDs were now in my possession, working their deadly magic in my very own room next to my Garth Brooks and Colin Raye ticket stubs.

I listened to the CDs for the first time at the ‘graduation/get out of school’ party that we had at my house not too much later. I remember standing by the pool, still totally unsure of how I was supposed to take a song that sang at me about so called friends and those damn shark attacks.

“It’s always Nick who sings sexuality,” Sue said with a happy sigh. “As it should be. Hey, Whits, you know that since you have the CDs now, you have to tell us which one is your favorite in each group.”

“Not this again. Didn’t you already pick for me?”

“Well, yeah, but you have to pick.”

I sighed. “Okay. Hand me the case.”

She handed me Millennium.

“Now, who’s who?” I asked.

“That’s Kevin…that’s Nick…you can’t have him because he’s mine…that’s Howie, he looks funny there, but he always does, so don’t pick him…and that’s Brian. He looks a lot like Bryan White, which is why I like him.”

Uh oh. She’d pulled the Bryan White card. Now she had my attention.

“He does look a little like Bryan White.” I pondered the picture a little longer, and flipped through the booklet. “He does. Okay. I pick him.”

“Excellent. Thought you would. Okay, now for ‘NSYNC.” She handed me the case.

“Okay, that guy is just scary,” I said, pointing.

“Yeah, that’s Chris. He’s pretty scary. And not cute.”

“Uh huh. That guy’s not bad.”

“That’s J.C. He’s pretty hot.”

“But he’s mine,” Melissa said, “so back off.”

“Right…That one…no.”

“Joey.”

“Oh, he’s really cute. Like, really.”

“I knew you’d say that! I so called it! That’s Lance. See? We have way too much in common.”

Scary thing was, I did think they were cute, and I really did like that confound it ‘I Want It That Way’ song.

They say if you can’t beat them, join them. Well, I’ve put my own spin on that little theory. The way I figure, if you can’t beat them, join them and beat them at their own game. I put this theory into practice that July when my family went to Hawaii. We’d never taken a trip this big before, and I was very into the idea of gawking at palm trees. Secretly, I also thought it would be the perfect time to learn the words to those damn boy band songs, so I could get Sue off my back. At least, that was the excuse I gave myself. Truthfully I just wanted to learn the words, because it irked me that I couldn’t sing along.

Our first night there, I was sitting out on the balcony of our hotel room, watching the ocean and listening to the live music going on below me. Suddenly my ears perked up, because I recognized what was being played.

Can this be true, can this be real

How can I put into words what I feel

No way. No way. The band below me was singing an ‘NSYNC cover.

It was a sign. I think I knew then I was doomed.

Sure enough, I listened to Millennium and ‘NSYNC the entire two week vacation. Every time we were in the car, I had on my headphones. The entire Road to Hanna (if anyone tells you that you should drive the Road to Hanna, smile, nod, then run away And have dinner at Roy’s) I listened to it. I started to really like Millennium. Really like it. ‘The One’ quickly became a song that I overplayed with a great deal of consistency. I started picking up the words, and you know what? That song about the shark attack wasn’t half as bad as I thought it was. In fact, quite the opposite. Yes with the sharks and the sexuality and such.

Early in the trip, when we were taking a break from the beach, I remembered seeing an ad on the Disney channel for a Backstreet Boys concert special. At this point I was curious. I wanted to know who sang what. I really did. I mean, there were five of them, right? Surely more than just one of them sang. When I realized the special would air while we were still in Hawaii, I decided I wanted to see it. So I bought a tape. And taped it.

It was right then that I not only joined them, but started down the road that would quickly make me a bigger fan than any of the people who got me started on this whole ‘boy band’ thing. Serves them right.

I watched the concert, and was fascinated.

Fascinated.

Just look at the way their voices worked!

Holy crap! Brian looks just like Bryan when he sings!

Check that out. They’re like, friends to boot.

Oh my God, Kevin rides a horse. That did it. I was hooked.

I taped TRL the next day while we were at the beach, so I could have ‘I Want It That Way’ on tape. It didn’t really occur to me that I was now taping MTV while on vacation in Hawaii, when just a couple of months before I’d refused to even turn it on.

By the beginning of August, I had the CD memorized. I had the video memorized. I was starting to be able to identify each of their voices. I had most of ‘NSYNC memorized as well, and was not only looking forward to the concert, but was fucking excited.

A friend of mine had asked me earlier in the summer to house sit for her the first two weeks of August. I had agreed, and so one afternoon when I was chilling with her dogs on the couch, I got a crazy idea in my head. I had learned that there was a Backstreet video for rent at Blockbuster, an All Access kind of thing. I found myself wanting to rent it.

No, don’t rent it. That’s insane. I mean, that’s just nuts.

Ok, I’ll drive over to Blockbuster and just rent something. Because, you know.

Well look at that. Nothing here. Oh, but look. That funny All Access thing is here.

Come on, Whits. Don’t be stupid. Put it back.

How about I just take it to the register? Show the person up there that it’s…here.

Put the wallet BACK in your purse. Do it. Dooooo it.

Oh, fuck it.

I rented it and went home.

I must have watched it at least four times over the next two days. They were so funny. Was that the same video that my friends had been trying to get me to watch over New Year’s? Look at the werewolf! How great is that?! Aw, Brian.

Brian’s from Kentucky…

Kevin’s his cousin? Cool.

Ok, yeah, I know. Brian and Kevin are cousins.

Kevin, I get it. Geez, you talk slow.

Listen to them! Listen to them live!

They are the ones who sing ‘As Long As You Love Me?’ Why didn’t I like that song, again?

The song at the end of the tape, ‘Anywhere For You,” was unfamiliar to me. I remembered then that I hadn’t heard a good deal of the songs that had been on their first album. So the next day I went out and bought it. And loved it. I listened to it over and over, and before long had that memorized.

By the time the ‘NSYNC concert rolled around I was a full-fledged manic. Sue, me, and a friend of ours named Desiree actually went down to the River Walk to try and stalk them the day of the concert. Get this, we found them. Sue was so excited that she managed to touch Lance as he walked past us at the Marriott that she spun around in mad circles and ran into a pole. The resulting bruise was a beauty, and she showed it to anyone who did and didn’t care.

By the time I left for college, I was a certified nut. I did a lot of online surfing, looking for photos and fun stuff about ‘NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys. Who needed Spanish class anyway? And 15 page research papers are easy to whip up last minute. Finding the latest photo of Brian was much more important.

Sometime during January I’d been surfing through a neat site I’d discovered, called Backstreet.net, when I found a fan bit that caught my eye. It was a short story about the Boys in which they were old men, reuniting for one last song. I read that story, and later couldn’t stop thinking about it. Something about that story really got to me. It was such an odd thing, writing a fictional story about real people. What weirdo would do a thing like that? Did other people do it?

I started looking around the Internet and found out sure enough, a lot of people did it. Fascinating. Creepy, but fascinating. I started to read because I was just so damn curious. Most of what I found was terrible. Was the one I’d found on Backstreet.net a fluke? I started to think so. That disappointed me. I could write better than this. I’d been writing stories all my life, since I’d learned how to write, and I just knew I could do better than what I was finding.

Okay, stop thinking crazy.

Well, you know me. I rarely have the sense to listen to myself. I really wanted to write a Backstreet story, a fan fic, just to prove to myself that I could. I had never written a complete story before. I’d attempted to in high school, but the plot had been worthless and it hadn’t really panned out (something about a mysterious alien race blowing up a planet). But this time, I really had something to work with. I knew a lot about the Boys, I felt like I had a pretty good grasp of what their personalities might be like, and lo and behold I came up with a plot. One I really liked. None of that girlfriend nonsense. I didn’t like the Backstreet Boys because I wanted to date them. (Unless you show me a picture of Brian with a guitar. Then I might change my mind. Watch your fingers though, I drool.) I liked them for who they were, and for what they sang and how they sang it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a sucker for romance, and there’s definitely good romance out there, but I wanted to do something different. So I did. Three weeks later, I had almost finished my first fan fic. I called it “Where Can We Go From Here.”

As I was nearing the end of the story I stumbled across a site called “Thoughts From The Heart,” and followed a link to a story called “Can You Feel Me,” written by someone named Danielle. From the very first line I was completely stunned. This was the story I’d been looking for. I read it straight through in one go, and when I finished I was pissed.

I couldn’t write like that. This girl was better than I could ever be. Not fair! All right, so much for being cool. Hrmph. Suddenly my story didn’t look that great anymore. But I finished it anyway, for the hell of it. I posted it on the fan site that I’d created, not really expecting anyone to ever read it. I also sucked up my courage and emailed Danielle, telling her how much I loved her story, and wondering if she would take a look at mine the next time she had the chance. I didn’t here from here for a couple of weeks, and then forgot about it. But then a message from her suddenly appeared in my inbox one day, telling me she did in fact like it. We contacted each other on AIM, and before long I found myself on a Backstreet list, where BSB talk was the rule and fan fictions were the talk of the town. (At the rate of about 3,000 emails a month.) I couldn’t believe it. I’d stumbled into a world that before I never knew existed, and I’d been instantly welcomed. With lots, and lots, and lots of emails that did a beautiful job of keeping me from reading ancient Roman novels about Golden Asses.

Well, all right. I think I’ll write a few more of these.

So I did. Still am. Plan to for a while.

Right. Here I am. Man, I’ve come a long way from that innocent beginning. Since then, I have:

Seen ‘NSYNC in concert 3 times in 2 different cities in 2 different states.

Seen Backstreet in concert 7 times in 6 different cities in 6 different states, ranging from Pennsylvania to Georgia. Shortest drive? 2 hours.

Gone 12 hours on a Greyhound Bus to see Brian sing the National Anthem at a hockey game.

Gone 4 hours to see Johnny No Name.

Actually went to an Aaron Carter concert (in yet another city and state from all the others).

Have a Backstreet mp3 collection that includes 81 studio, 16 instrumental and 187 live tracks.

Have an ‘NSYNC mp3 collection that includes 59 studio, 7 instrumental and 59 live tracks.

Boldly gone where no one has gone before. (Whoops, wrong fandom)

Seen parts of the country I never thought I’d get around to seeing.

Met countless friends that I’ve only known because of fan fiction and the Backstreet Boys, both online and in person (word up y’all! *muah*)

Found the courage to pursue the dream I’ve had since I was five.

So there you have it. I may be crazy, I may be more normal than you are. Either way, if all beginnings brought me to a place to place as good as the one I’m in right now, I’d be *insert some funny comment probably involving monkeys here.*

Well, that’s my story. What’s yours?