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Our plan was to find the club first, and then find a hotel nearby so we could just walk back after the show. So we drove down the street of the Vogue Theatre, and there was a block-length line of kids already in line! It was only 6:00 pm in the evening! I was dumb-founded, and then worried and anxious. Thankfully, at the next intersection was a nice-seeming hotel. As Mike was checking in at the front desk, I quickly scanned their literature section for the local entertainment freebie. I fiercely flipped through the pages til I found the write-up for the show: EEEEK! Doors open at 7:00 pm, show starts at 8:00! Mike and I ran up to our room, threw our bags on the bed, grabbed our jackets and ran down the street. The lines were colossally confusing. Which line for will-call? Which line if you already have tickets? Which line are you in? I'm sorry, were you in line? Which line? Uggh. And then we got inside. Holy moly! The place was enormous! And it was seated! Urgggh again. We sat pretty close to the stage, but it was still awkward and weird. When The Clean came out, even Bob was like "It feels really weird with everyone sitting..." and he encouraged people to come down by the stage. Mike and I ran up there as quick as we could, and the rest of their set was awesome!
After they finished up, people just sorta milled about and chatted with companions and whatever. And then this skanky little loser dude pushed his way up to the front, and wedged himself next to me. I was completely annoyed, and planted my feet firmly, even if it meant that my elbow was sharply jabbing him in his ribs. Normal people would take the hint and MOVE, but this guy was just a complete loser. I overheard him bragging about his band, and stifled the urge to laugh. LOSER.
And then the lovely Yo La's came out, again opening with "Beach Party Tonight", but who cares, 'cause it's a perfect intro song, and then they kicked into "From A Motel 6". Awesome. And I'm having a good time, enjoying the music, bouncing along. Not even midget-man-loser can bring me down...until he whips out a joint and starts lighting up.
I don't like pot. It does nothing for me. It does, however, give me the most massive migraine headache imaginable, one of those head-feels-like-its-in-a-vise psycho-immense-pressure headaches that makes you so dizzy you get nauseous and then you throw up. And whatever this wanker was smoking was STRONG. I felt so so sick. I buried my face on to Mike's shoulder, trying to breath in the scent of his t-shirt, or deodorant, or whatever, rather than smell that sickly smoke. And, sadly, my head was in such turmoil that I couldn't even tell you what they were in the process of playing. Miserable.
With his joint all smoked up, the air slowly began to move and clear up. I did my best to suck in as much clean air as possible and try to clear out my head, but once a migraine starts, the only way I can get rid of it is to just try and sleep it off. But, it was my last night to see Yo La Tengo, and I was determined to have a good time. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw loser-boy doing this lame-ass hippie Woodstock dance, slithering his arms through the air like some Grateful Dead fan. I wanted to kick him in the shins. And then?!?! He lights up another joint!!! Holy freaking crap, people! Jeez! My lunch was still looming high from his earlier light-up, and it was then I decided, I was going to do it. I was going to throw up on him. I began to think of all the gross stuff I could. Raw runny eggs. Cat poo. Just anything to push my crappy food-court lunch back up and all over loser-boy's trendy attire. I was even a little bit excited at the idea of barfing on someone! I'd never thrown up in public before, but gosh, if anyone deserved it, it sure was him!
But I guess my conscious somehow managed to speak out through the throbs of my migraine, and instead I just buried my face into Mike's shoulder again, practically in tears. Mike finally shouted at the guy to knock it off, and while he didn't hear, his friend did, and replied by shrugging and then whispering something in stupid-boy's ear.