I�I was about to type something about the concert but I just realized that my knuckles were bleeding. That has been the best thing to happen to me today.
I really really really really want to start sobbing to you but I can't because you're there and I'm here and in pain and wanting to punch someone and strangle someone else and then smear the right side of my brain all over the wall.
So much for expectations, right?
To start things off, I had soccer today. I didn't play keeper the entire game. I got in people's faces (the way Coach tells us to but NO ONE EVER DOES!) and just generally played well. I played so well that the captain of the other team decided that I was bugging him so much that I deserved an elbow to the sternum. Assholes can be very discreet when they want to be. So I fall down, screaming in pain, with the intent of getting some sort of punishment handed down to the assaulter. Unfortunately, this was the week where the only non-English speaking referee in the league was covering our game.
"Just don't do it again." But he did; to two other players, who didn't call as much attention to themselves.
Cocky people suck.
I get home. My sister, who was specifically ordered to be home by three o'clock, half an hour later than I do, arrives at five. Mother has a fit, as my sister has been increasingly disrespectful and stereotypical-adolescent-problem-childish lately. The verdict: She is not allowed to go to the Everclear concert. I smile, as she has been a huge bitch to me lately. I remember that Katie wanted to go to that (if someone else wanted to (and could), you should have told me). I invite her. My mother, being a pushover, empty threat kind of person, decided that Sophia could go after all. I explain my situation. Mother has a fit because she has been increasingly neurotic (bordering on psychotic) lately. The discussion included such colourful dialogue as:
Your Humble Narrator: Fuck you!
Mom: What did you say to me?
YHN: I said 'FUCK YOU!!!'
After a lengthy speech about proper manners when dealing with parents/elders from both Mother and Father (through the wonders of telephones), I was told that I would be prevented from going as well if I did not chaperone my sister while there. I stormed out of the house. I walked down the street to the next bus stop, and then the next and then again, until a bus came. I got on. The bus pulls up to the stop right beside my house. My sister gets on. I pull out my notebook and write "Fuck life and all its ironies!" To write this, I have to take off my gloves. When I arrive at the Rideau Centre, my mind is still quite occupied with all the thoughts of people to kill and I get up without my gloves. I realize this two hours later, while inside, listening to Volcanic, a really crappy hair-metal band whose lead singer looks like Maynard James Keenan (?) and sounds like a fork in your ear (aka Oh shit this is bad!). My sister disappears. I don't see her for the rest of the night.
Coherence, baby, just please calm down
Miscarried baby, it's all your fault.
I'll think of you when they're raping me.
Push down and sing for me
Sing for me a blood red song
Breakdown, and come around
The pain, my friend, so far away
Slit my wrists and breathe again.
Nickelback is a rather good band. Great stage presence.
I stood in the mosh pit for all of three Everclear songs. I was close enough to spit on him. I had to leave, however, due to crowdsurfers and pusher-shovers. There should be a rule concerning weight limits for crowdsurfers. Anyone heavier than one hundred and fifty pounds should not be allowed to go up, as it is inevitable that they will eventually come crashing down on someone's head. As an attempt to discourage such heavy people (men) from crowdsurfing, I would not so gently punch them in the testicles. It was very rewarding to see their faces and to know that there would be one less two hundred and thirty pound mass of sweat and flesh crashing onto my head while I was trying to absorb the fact that I was less than twenty feet from one of my favourite musicians.
One guy just didn't get it. He was way the limit in everyone's eyes, save his four drunken friends who thought it was a good idea. As he was going up, I grabbed on to his right leg. He looked down at me, intensely confused the way only drunks can be, and then I brought my elbow swiftly into his crotch. He brought his arms in between his legs, curling up a little, and as the crowd had much less to hold on to, he fell straight to the ground. It serves him right.
Another reason I don't like the Pit is the smell. It is the cumulative stench of all the pigs inside. All the testosterone/adrenaline-fuelled shovers and screamers sweating in such a compact area, all rubbing up against each other creates one of the most foul odours ever. It's enough to make your sick. Consequently, I was forced to leave the Pit after said smell, combined with kicks to the eye, lip and forehead, and the elbow I received during my soccer game induced a gag reflex that almost caused me to vomit on four different people on my way out to fresh air. I felt better after that.
I stood at the back of the hall, soaking in the collective sweat of The Pit, and sang loud enough to hear myself on the songs worth singing. They played one song from World of Noise, three from Sparkle and Fade, a handful (five, maybe six) from So Much For The Afterglow and too many of the horrible songs from the Learning How To Smile catalogue.
Play "Strawberry", "Summerland", "I Will Buy You a New Life", "Father of Mine" and Heroine Girl".
Sing them all until your stomach hurts, your throat hurts more and your voice cracks.
Start screaming them.
Stand up straight, hands in your pockets
I've been through World of Noise and Sparkle and Fade already and I'm SMFTA is slowly winding down. I think I'm going to go to bed.
My ears are ringing less than I thought they would but more than they should.
I love you. Thanks for sticking in my head.