Concerts and such.
The family, one of my baby sister's friends, and I all went to see the Plain White T's on Sunday night at the House of Blues. This was my third concert there, but the first since they changed hands and are now owned by the Showboat. Not entirely happy with the service.
Got the Elwood sandwich for dinner, which was really good, but required a glass of milk to actually eat because the FIRES OF HELL WERE IN MY MOUTH LIEK WOAH. Suggest it to anyone who likes to put themselves through excruciating pain.
We did 'Pass the Line' and ended up basically against the security fence, right next to a speaker, which meant that for those of us with two functioning ears, we were deaf in one, and for my sister, since the speaker was on her 'bad side', she was fine.
Kung Fu Girls opened, and the leader singer had a juicebox. When she would stop drinking from it, some guy near us (who was hilarious and made the concert so much better) started all of us chanting "Juice Box!" repeatedly until she drank it again.
Then Mae came on. It was awesome to finally see them live. I sang along more with them than PWT's.
Strangely enough, not one single member of the Plain White T's wore a shirt that was white or plain.
I have to say that they were all really nice and interacted with the small audience fantastically. This was the first concert for my sisters and since they a) did not almost have their hair set on fire; b) had ice cubes chucked at them from drunk people on the balcony; or c) nearly been puked on my a freakishly large tall guy, their first concert was a lot better than mine.
Except for one thing:
Now I will address this to the internet at large. Because I'm sure Miss Epileptic is out there, somewhere, and perhaps one of her myspace friends details their daily angst on LJ:
When you go to a concert, I totally understand that yes, you have whored yourself up and yes, you are wearing open sandals ( even though that footwear choice makes no sense to me); we all can see your pretty, shiny, obviously flat-ironed hair. We know that you think that you and Tom are going to get married and have teh bebes and live forever and ever happily (even though you're fourteen), but the rest of us really do not appreciate you tossing your hair around while you dance like Miley Cirus. It's weird then, it's weird when you do it. No one finds it attractive. And it's in my freaking face.
It's the Plain White T's, for pity's sake, not a rave. Get the hint when the buckle of my purse has been jammed into your delicate back flesh for the seventeenth time and knock it the fuck off. Or else next time, my mother and I will tackle you and get security to remove you on a stretcher, because you are obviously having a fit.
And another thing; if you don't know the lyrics to any of the bands' music, don't come. Mmmkay?
The Warmest of Regards (you do get sarcasm, don't you?,
Swirl
Got the Elwood sandwich for dinner, which was really good, but required a glass of milk to actually eat because the FIRES OF HELL WERE IN MY MOUTH LIEK WOAH. Suggest it to anyone who likes to put themselves through excruciating pain.
We did 'Pass the Line' and ended up basically against the security fence, right next to a speaker, which meant that for those of us with two functioning ears, we were deaf in one, and for my sister, since the speaker was on her 'bad side', she was fine.
Kung Fu Girls opened, and the leader singer had a juicebox. When she would stop drinking from it, some guy near us (who was hilarious and made the concert so much better) started all of us chanting "Juice Box!" repeatedly until she drank it again.
Then Mae came on. It was awesome to finally see them live. I sang along more with them than PWT's.
Strangely enough, not one single member of the Plain White T's wore a shirt that was white or plain.
I have to say that they were all really nice and interacted with the small audience fantastically. This was the first concert for my sisters and since they a) did not almost have their hair set on fire; b) had ice cubes chucked at them from drunk people on the balcony; or c) nearly been puked on my a freakishly large tall guy, their first concert was a lot better than mine.
Except for one thing:
Now I will address this to the internet at large. Because I'm sure Miss Epileptic is out there, somewhere, and perhaps one of her myspace friends details their daily angst on LJ:
When you go to a concert, I totally understand that yes, you have whored yourself up and yes, you are wearing open sandals ( even though that footwear choice makes no sense to me); we all can see your pretty, shiny, obviously flat-ironed hair. We know that you think that you and Tom are going to get married and have teh bebes and live forever and ever happily (even though you're fourteen), but the rest of us really do not appreciate you tossing your hair around while you dance like Miley Cirus. It's weird then, it's weird when you do it. No one finds it attractive. And it's in my freaking face.
It's the Plain White T's, for pity's sake, not a rave. Get the hint when the buckle of my purse has been jammed into your delicate back flesh for the seventeenth time and knock it the fuck off. Or else next time, my mother and I will tackle you and get security to remove you on a stretcher, because you are obviously having a fit.
And another thing; if you don't know the lyrics to any of the bands' music, don't come. Mmmkay?
The Warmest of Regards (you do get sarcasm, don't you?,
Swirl