Proper concert etiquette

As someone who is obsessed with music, there’s nothing I enjoy more than a good concert. I spend a good deal of my hard-earned dollars on concert tickets every year, so I want to make sure I get the most of my money’s worth when I go. Sometimes you can’t account for certain things, like whether a band is just going to be absolutely terrible live (there are truly some artists who simply can’t produce what can be considered music without the help of auto-tune), but as you take into consideration your fellow concert-goers, here are a few simple rules of concert etiquette to remember to make sure the show is enjoyable for all.

Smoke. There’s nothing people love more than the overwhelming smell of smoke while they’re trying to jam out with their favorite band. This is especially appreciated when you’re at an indoor venue, or if you exhale directly into the face of the person next to/behind you.

Don’t use manners. What’s the point in saying “excuse me”? If you’re trying to get by someone, just be obnoxious and inconsiderate about it. Extra points if you push and shove your way through when there is clearly no room for you. Besides, who wants to be polite, anyway?

Have a regular conversation with your friends at loud volumes. This is social hour, after all, right? It’s not like the people standing near you paid money to hear the music. I’m sure they would much rather listen to you talk about what an ass your ex was and how ugly his new girlfriend is.

Be “that drunk guy.” You know the one I’m talking about. The one that gets completely shitfaced and mean, and pisses off everyone around him because he’s ruining the show. Yeah, be that guy.

 

Hit the Rise Against concert two nights ago; awesome performance by the band, less-than-awesome audience interaction, mainly thanks to the guy in front of me blowing smoke all night.

Hit the Rise Against concert two nights ago; awesome performance by the band, less-than-awesome audience interaction, mainly thanks to the guy in front of me blowing smoke all night. Oh sorry, am I bitter much?

If you do any of these things at a show, you’re a huge wanker and you probably deserve to get punched in the face. Which I’m sure you will by the end of the night.

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The cockroaches are out to get me

I cannot understand cockroaches’ obsession with me. Twice now since living in Florida I’ve had cockroaches crawling on me in bed. I understand these “palmetto bugs” (aka COCKROACHES) are basically the state bug of Florida, so they’re everywhere, regardless of how clean a place may be, but that doesn’t mean I want them setting up camp in my hair and my pant leg while I’m trying to sleep. Or almost crawling in my mouth (BARF).

The first time there horrific bugs attacked me was a few years ago, when I was living with my dad. I was laying in bed, almost completely asleep when I felt what I believed to be a “phantom bug” (you know, when you get that creepy crawly feeling but there’s nothing actually there) on my hair line. So of course, I brushed it away nonchalantly. Then I felt it again, right by my slightly-open mouth. I swatted at the area, and heard a dull thud as whatever it was hit the wall. I assumed it was a spider (because that’s normal), and that it would be smart enough not to come back. After laying there for a few more seconds, I decided to make sure it was either dead or nowhere around me, so I used my phone to shine a light on the wall where it had hit. Sure enough, there was nothing there. Good, smart spider got lost.

Wrong.

A moment later I felt something crawling up my pant leg. I jumped out of bed, flung off the covers, flipped on the lights and screamed: there, crawling around in my bed was a huge cockroach. All the screaming woke my dad, who came running in and flushed it down the toilet for me, but I still couldn’t get back to sleep with the thought of almost swallowing the damn thing still fresh in my mind.

Not even a year after moving out of my dad’s into my first apartment did the terrorizing begin again, this time by a giant winged roach. For almost two weeks, this flying demon taunted me, coming at me out of the ceiling vent when I least expected. When I finally Lysoled it to death (victory is mine!) my joy was short lived, as an even bigger flying beast took its place. I never did kill that one.

And now, it seems they are back for me, the bastards. While falling asleep last night, I felt that phantom itch again, on my face. I brushed it away, but felt it again in my hair; this was definitely a real bug. I turned on the light and sure enough, there was a cockroach crawling around on my pillow. I screamed (my neighbors probably think I was stabbed) and threw a shoe at it, but those fuckers are relentless, so I proceeded to smash it several more times with the shoe before finally killing it.

This one even went so far as to clog my toilet though (I panicked and flushed the huge wad of paper towels I squished him with down the toilet; definitely not a smart decision). I guess grossing me out wasn’t enough, he had to go and flood my bathroom with pee water (because, naturally, I forgot the toilet was still clogged- since I don’t own a plunger- when I woke up this morning and used it just like I do any other morning, and instead of going down, the water just kept coming up, up, up..).

I’d like to think I’ve met my disgusting bug attack quota for my lifetime, but something tells me this isn’t the last I’ll see of these horrible cretins.

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I poop too much

I used to think everyone pooped once a day, about the same time every day, and that was normal, how it should be. But now I’m starting to re-think everything, because either everyone else is pooping way more than I originally thought, or there’s something wrong with me. Because I definitely poop more than once a day. And I’m getting tired of it.

Pooping, or ‘excreting waste’ for all you prim and proper people out there, is a natural bodily function, one necessary to sustain life (because I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to explode and die because my poop backs up into all my other organs…or something like that). It’s a daily occurrence that happens to everyone, so I find it somewhat hilarious when people make a big deal about it or get super grossed out. I’m not saying you should go around announcing every time you’ve pooped (and I’m certainly not endorsing you writing about your experiences on your blog or anything…), because people don’t really need to know that kind of personal (wow, I just typed persoanal, haha get it? ugh) information about others, but there’s really no need to get all huffy and disgusted about the idea of someone else pooping, because, HELLO, you do it everyday, you hypocrite.

What I don’t understand is why I poop so frequently. I’ve noticed certain foods make me especially gassy and have the urge to use the toilet more than is necessary, but I’ve also noticed that even when I’m not eating anything out of the ordinary, I will still get that feeling (super annoying when you’re just trying to go about your day like any other). It’s not like I have a horrible diet and am just surviving off of super over-processed fast food and sugary beverages (okay, I like to indulge in a Coke every now and then, but that hardly counts). I don’t drink coffee and, unless I’m drinking the aforementioned Coke or the very rare Red Bull, I don’t drink caffeine, so why all this extra urge for turds? I tend to eat similar food on a weekly basis, so my body should be pretty used to the (mostly) nutritious food I’m so graciously providing it. Which just makes me conclude: I poop too much.

I swear, I have the bowels of an 80-year-old man. Babies don’t even poop this much.

I’m sure most of you are by now wondering “what is wrong with this lady? why is she writing a public blog post about her poop? does she have mental issues?” The answer would be yes, I do, but then again, no one is forcing you to read my weird works of nonfiction, so maybe you are the one with mental issues. If it bothers you that much, you should probably avoid my blog, because it will most likely only get weirder. But please don’t, because then I wouldn’t have any readers.

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It’s beginning to look a lot like…Halloween

Even though we’re still a few days out til October, the fall/Halloween season is basically already upon us (at least for an addict like me). To kick off my favorite time of year, my friends and I hit Sweet Fields Farm for their annual corn maze (despite the fact that they don’t offer night tours anymore, the jerks). Although, with the typical sketchy Florida weather, we almost. didn’t. get. to. go. Stupid rain. Apparently you’re not capable of walking through a corn maze if it’s raining (so dumb). But I willed the rain to stop (it was clearly my pleading, not the weather pattern, that cleared the skies) and we made it in with the last admission. And of course had a blast (how could you not in a corn maze?).

photo (3)

Children of the corn.

Since living in Florida, fall and Halloween have never been quite the same. As someone who lives to be scared and spends their whole year waiting for this one month, I still find plenty of ways to get my scare on and get into the fall spirit, but it’s not like it was living up north, with the changing leaves and the cool, crisp nights, perfect for bonfires and hot chocolate and freezing your butt off while you’re trick-or-treating.

Oh, who am I kidding, who wants to be cold and miserable? I love Florida. I do miss things that were unique to Pennsylvania, like Mazezilla and The Hotel of Horror, but I’ve discovered a few Florida haunts that I’m hoping will pan out and turn into a yearly thing (more on that later). More than anything, I just want to go to a bunch of haunted houses, scream my head off often, watch a lot of terrifying movies and never have it be November 1st.

Also, please bring back my favorite Halloween commercial. K thanks.

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I am never getting out of bed again

There is nothing I hate more than getting up in the morning. It is literally the worst part of my day. Everyday. Except the weekends (obviously; who gets up early on the weekends?).

My alarm will go off early in the morning to wake me for work, and (after hitting snooze several times first), I will spend a few moments laying there, staring up at the ceiling, perusing all the reasonable excuses I could possibly use to not have to get up.

I could call in sick and go back to sleep.

I could just quit my job all together.

I could poison myself and never have to get up early again.

After a few minutes of wracking my brain for any way to keep from having to get out of my warm, comfortable cocoon of a bed, I finally give in to the fact that nothing is going to save me from that horrible fact: it’s time to get up.

This happens every morning when that alarm goes off.

It’s probably ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone to struggle so much internally with the idea of getting up early (or just getting up in general). I know everyone complains about having to get up, and some days are worse than others, but I don’t think I’ve known anyone to suggest such ridiculous options to avoid such a menial thing in the first place. I guess I’m just really. not. a. morning. person. 

If only tips like these actually worked for me.

To add to my misery on this particular morning, it was one of those dark, dreary, positively disgusting days that make you want to lay on the couch under a blanket in your sweatpants while you watch movies all day long and sleep intermittently. Totally acceptable. If only school would be cancelled on days like these so I didn’t have to go to work.

bed best

My life.

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