And boy do I have some stories to tell.
It starts typically: about 30 minutes til doors and I don't have a ride.
After calling everyone I know who has a car twice, I finally bribe my friend to give me a ride, and he drops me off about 10 minutes after the first band starts playing.
So, in case you didn't know, Southern California is pretty much the most legit of most music scenes, hip-hop and rap excluded. What this means, is that I am inherently more "brutal" than the entire population of the state of New York, including these hXc kids who take themselves very seriously.
And being the utter humbler I am, I decide to go into the pit and THROW THE FUCK DOWN.
Like, in all honesty, I laid out everyone in there at least once. The best was at this relative lull in the moshing where some 250+ lb. mother fucker thinks he can get the edge in on my by charging his fat ass at me across the empty pit. What he failed to take into account is that little ol' 150 lb. Optimus Prime played tight-end in 10th grade, so I tuck my shoulder down right into his groin-ish area, and literally pick him up and carry him back across the pit into an unforgiving wall of onlookers. The rest of the night went about the same. I busted out some of my two-stepping, threw some shit, got some nice windmill action going - mule kicks weren't allowed though. The security guards weren't having it, so I didn't try it. Anyways, I basically wrecked shit out of all the screamo kids within a 100 mile radius of Rochester. I did, however, lose one lense to my glasses. In my defense, though, the lense was already broken, as was the frame, and the whole apparatus was held together with Krazy Glue, so it wasn't exactly structurally sound to begin with.
I wore my glasses in my pocket for the rest of my dancing during the show.
And in this, I made some friends. Don't ask me to remember their names, because I don't, but they seemed to think I was legit, because I sure as hell didn't go out of MY way to introduce myself after utterly destroying their faces.
I guess my reckless endangerment (or as I like to call it Wreck-ful Fun-danger-ment) didn't go unnoticed, though, because between the second and third bands, two security guards grabbed me. One stood behind me and pinned my arms against my side and started steering me towards the door, the other one walking beside me with a hand on my neck. They got me to just outside the door of the club, and the one behind me says to the one with his hand on my neck something to the effect of "You go out first, we don't need a fight right here." Neck-guy obliges.
I see a small group (3, maybe 4 people) standing there huddled around another person. Great, I figure. I accidentally murdered some dick with my hardcore, and I'm about to get kicked out.
Neck-guy "Is this the guy?" pointing at me, speaking to the group of concerned scenesters.
Scenesters "No."
Arm-guy lets go of me, and without any further explanation, I walk back into the club. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but to the best of my understanding, someone wearing either a headband or a blue shirt (the only two things about me that really stood out in particular in the dark club) must've started a fight with one of the Scenesters. Dodged a bullet there, if I do say so myself.
Mkay, so anyways, the show finishes, it's great, right? The Color Fred, Drop Dead Gorgeous, From First to Last, and Chiodos; all great bands. Well I had run into my roomate's ex-girlfriend's roommate, and she had agreed to give me a ride back to campus at some point during the show (since I hadn't arranged for one of those, either).
Well about 20 minutes pass, doors close, and there's maybe 6 people inside the venue, and no sign of the bitch. She ditched me.
That's when I start asking all the people near me if they were going back to the neighborhood near RIT. Not much luck, until a group of four girls exits the building, and sure enough, 2 of them live like walking distance from campus. I score a ride, and 2 of the girls (the two near RIT) are actually pretty cute, so it works out well in more ways than one.
The fat one driving, though, says that I have to chill for like 15 minutes, because I guess they were on a mission to sell themselves to Craig Owens, the singer for Chiodos.
Needless to say, they failed. I had to knock on two tour buses for them, just to find out that he had left right after the show. Not really surprising, but whatevs.
Anyways, we're riding back, find out one of the girls is taken, the two fat ones live in Buffalo (an hour away, phew!) but the last one is single, cute, and 17!
I get back to RIT, and score some digits. I'll definitely be seeing these ladies around Crotchester, and the two cuter of the 3 single girls addered me on MahSpace.
Yeah, it sounds really trendy and scene and poseurish, but what the fuck, I go with it, because these kids are legitimately cute.
And in keeping with the theme, I give myself a haircut tonight.
It looks like this:
Fuck what you say, I'm gonna be ROLLING in the poon when the chicks get a load of this shit.
