1: Only You Can Save Me - The 69 Eyes
2: Open Your Eyes - AFI
3: One More Sad Song - All American Rejects
4: Out Ta Get Me - Guns n Roses
5: Oxy Contin - Head Automatica
So, right, I’ve been avoiding my journal, and I can’t be assed to type a fancy ass entry right now, so I’m gonna sum up a load of crazy stuff.
Me and my mum went to see Guns n Roses with special guest Bullet For My Valentine. AKA, my first ever proper rock concert. In the past I’ve seen like.. The Osmonds and Tom Jones, and yeah, that was dandy, but they’re not exactly Axl Rose are they?
After throwing a rather spectacular tantrum when my mother declared I couldn’t wear my corset dress, I happily settled on knee boots, tight jeans, black blouse and a thick lace up corset belt.
Only, when we get there, my mum says I’m leaving the belt in the car.
Even though it was hers when she was my age -.-
So, with my stupid-ass blouse blowing about like a gothic Marilyn Monroe we totter off to the arena. Gawd damnit, the stupid stadium’s never going to be built, but the arena’s quite adorable in it’s own ‘AHHH I’M GONNA BE CRUSHED’ kinda way.
I got offered beer, which made me feel old and happy.
But I fucked up.
Me: Hah.. All the heavy metal band shirts.. I should’ve worn a Green Day shirt for irony..
Cute guy: .. -strides passed in band shirt-
Me: …. That was so punk of me.
Yeaaaaah. No one can stuff up as incredibly as Kay.
Bouncing around, being paranoid about the way I look, we eventually drag our cute asses into the arena. Only to sit and wait for forty minutes. Luckily, we had South Park behind us.
South Park © of Kay’s Mommy, were basically dubbed for being as stereotypical as a gay hairdresser in slip-on shoes.
Two boys about my age, and a tall hunk of a guy with a long blonde pony-tail and full length leather jacket. Seriously, gothic-mastuh. Thick boots and spiiikes.
This guys were dicktards, but they amused us endlessly. We never actually spoke to them, but we sat in front of them and giggled to ourselves at their sheer appalling-ness..
A highlight was them asking Mr. Leathuhhh if he was a queer.
And then having lengthy Warcraft discussions.
Oh, be still my heart…
So, forty minutes of giggle snorting and toilet breaks later, someone comes on stage ‘WAHEY!’ we all say ‘GIMME SOME BULLET LOVE!’
Only, it’s not Bullet Love is it? It’s Skid Row.
If you don’t know about Skid Row, all I can say is, you’re very, very lucky. While the North got Towers of London as the surprise act, we got past-it-eighties-cock-rockers. Now normally I like my hair metal, but I don’t like this prick. You see, my mommy raised me on the good, wholesome tunes of Bon Jovi. And this vocalist ( Sebastian Bach ) fucked Jon over! I can’t be assed to go into details.. Ask me if you’re curious, I guess.
.. He’s not that mildly-hot-and-Aaron-Gillespie-looky-lik
…okay, maybe I lie. He appeals to my Jyrki-69-loving-cock-rocker-in-leather-s
Now, one thing I can say for Mr. Bach, is he isn’t a one trick pony. Ohhhhhhh no. He’s a three trick pony.
He can swear, scream at random intervals, and swing his mic above his head incessantly while headbanging.
Now you may say... These are all the sparkling qualities of a rock God! But no. This man just as the aura of being a dick. The songs all merged into one agonising blob, the druggies in front of us were fangirling and saying away, phone and E in hand, add to that the damn right weird placing of guitar solos and the fact I was impatient… I wasn’t amused.
My face looked like this -.- for the entire show.
Then their bass amp goes. You’d think.. With forty minutes of fuckin’ around backstage doing Ozzy-knows-what… they could have had their equipment checked.
Then he got political.
And I’m all for politics.. I’m all for calling Blair and poodle.. But assholes like that give anti-Bush/Blair’s a bad name!
Yeah. I understand my own petty prejudices are clouding my judgement right now.. But I reaaaaaally don’t care. I’m starving and pissy.
So then they toddle off, and I happily listen to the next installment of South Park © (‘Now.. I’ve never heard Guns n Roses.. Are they good?’ & ’It’s cold in here! We pa -- your mum paid good money for these seats!’ ) while watching the chick in front strip and pop pills like a bitch.
Then finally, finally, a scream goes up.. And the Bullet banner is lifted. Which is a relief, because my mother said with the time Sebastian-fuckin-I-can-swing-my-mic-and-s
Then something strange happens.. Emos start magically appearing.. Crawling out from their dark, blood stained corners.. Clad in converse, Vans, Bullet hoodies and too many bracelets… fringes concealing their bloodshot, black teared eyes..
‘MY GOD,’ I think, ‘ARE THESE PEOPLE GOING TO HEADBANG TO THE WONDER THAT IS GUNS?’
I forget about the thought, because Bullet come on. Now, after the arrogant American as swipe (AAA) known fondly as Do-It-From-The-Bach, the humble, Welsh, metal hotties are like a sheep shag after a hard day in the coal mines.
I sit in my seat, swinging my head in an awesome banner, generally revelling in the wonder that is these screeching tunes (Tears Don’t Fall sounds colossal in a stadium-like enviroment).
Then it’s all over, far too quickly, much like the best sex (AAA was more like.. Messy, long, slow, drawn out, anti-climax-ness… not that I was expecting much.. Only to have him cum on the best sheets. Or something.. O_O… Bullet were hard, quick, fast and dirty in an alleyway, leaving you with whiplash and covered in sweat… yeah.. I worry about me too) we waited.
Mexican waved a few times - it started to guy and this bald guy flicked off the opposite side of the stadium and yelled at them for killing it.
Drunk metal heads = good times.. Good times…
So, after discovering Mr. Leather was seeing Lordi on Halloween and the emos had magically vanished, we waited some more.
After about 40 minutes, people started booing.
And yet, as soon as the opening chords of Welcome To The Jungle kicked in.. suddenly.. The whole room loved Axl.
I was on my feet.
I was rocking.
I was head banging so hard it was almost sexual.
The man can SING. It’s hard to document this experience.. It was a lot of screaming, a lot of adrenaline, a lot of dancing.. A lot of being frustrated at the whole venue singing so loud that Axl was drowned out (even though I was quite happily screaming away - I can now say I’ve sung Sweet Child O’ Mine/November Rain/etc with THE Axl Rose) too many intervals, too many solos.. Even though the pianist was incredible, and one of the guitarists looked like a short n skinny Synyster Gates through my rose tinted specs.
Plus, two guys, no matter how old, playing guitar with each other… mhmmm.. Hot..
…. Even if it is Xtina’s Beautiful…
So, shrieking my heart out, Paradise City goes on.. And I go hysterical. I go beyond hysterical. That’s the closest to spazzing I have ever come. In fact, I think I may have cried a little.
I’m not even looking at the stage/screen I’m rocking out so hard, then my mum taps me on the shoulder and shrieks ‘IS THAT HAWKINS?!’ so of course I snap my gaze upwards, see a pudge and a lot of hair, and go…. Well… I can’t even remember. That was how insane I went. I actually blocked it out.
JUSTIN HAWKINS SINGING PARADISE CITY WITH AXL ROSE?!
Only.. It’s not, is it?
After a lot of pyrotechnics, explosions, fireworks, solos, screaming, shrieking, head banging, squealing, singing, adrenaline and orgasms.. My mum drags me away to realism.
It’s a strange experience to be rocking out so completely, then to be stumbling along Wembley high street, all wide eyes and buzzy, slurping at a cola and babbling hysterically, thinking you’re creating an intelligent review of the show, when really you’re just going ‘omg..woah..omg..woah..omg..woah..’ a lot.
So, how was this sex? I would say… Long, hard, exciting, exhilarating, rough, too much foreplay, not enough actual action, changing, evolving, sweet sweet love followed by brutal screeching, moaning shagging O_O
.. Then the climax sucks.
But hey, it’s fun anyways!
What else? Ah yes…
I BOOKED GOD DAMN TICKETS FOR MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE.
The only thing that can express my glee.. Is flailsquee!
A new compound word had to be created for the sheer joy.
So now, MCR = flailsquee.
It was so unexpected… I was reading Kerrang! It came up.. I asked my mum as a joke..
.. And she said yes.
So now, I’m paying for me, my mum and mah darling Franny to go see the Jersey boys scream their sexy hearts out.
Now THAT should be good secks.
I may draw them and make them sign the pictures and pat the ‘fro and grope the Mikey and discuss lasik vs. contacts and snurgle Geetard and call him Geetard and poke Nigel and snurgle Frankie and hold his head to my bosom and get… BOB HUGS.
AND… I get to see Zoe and Rae. Hah. My cuddle-bunneh and my Mormon-lover.
Oh pffttt.. Detailed religion entry coming up later when I can be bothered.
PS: This post shames me more than I can say.. Because it’s the opposite of everything I respect in people.. But, opposites attract, and if I stop attracting myself, I’ll fall apart.
My logic keeps me sane =DDDD
- Finally switched rooms.
- Watched gay pr0n.
- Fell in love with Ville Valo all over again.
- Started work on my website.
- Ate the most heavenly pasta salad ever.
- Decided that Dark Light is my comfort blanket.
- Started sucking my thumb again.
- Realised I would kill for ramen / internet / Galaxy Ripples.
- Found brillllllliant videos.
Jyrki’s accent… urgh.. His voice.. He’s stunning.. Insta-gasm…
*DON'TBITCHMEABOUTBURNING. I .. .. my mum paid good money for those seats! (c)
Pee Pee Ess: Oh Godddd.. orgasmic ramen...
Packet of chicken ramen.
Half an onion.
A few slices of ham.
A handful of cheese.
A few knobs of butter.
A splash of milk.
Mix it together and enjoooooy the creamy yum-yum.