Why I'm Not at the "Yelle" Concert Right Now

My boyfriend tries to take me to concerts with him almost every month, and I have declined his offers all but one time. It's not because I am some soulless robot who doesn't enjoy music or fun, I just don't like concerts. It's probably because the majority of my concert experiences have ended in pain and anguish.
(And when I say concert, I mean like going to see an actual band or person perform music. Not like an orchestra or a ballet or something. Those are always enjoyable if you can stay awake.)

The first concert that I ever went to was a sit-down Micheal Bubble concert in Philly, which was awesome. No hard feelings whatsoever.

The second was not nearly as enjoyable. It was at Festival Pier and it was the Soundtrack of Your Summer Tour. The bands that played were The Main, Boys Like Girls, Good Charlotte, and Metro Station. Naturally, it was full of screaming semi-emo girls and douche bags. I was initially excited for it because I was with my friends and we were girls and it was summer and blah blah blah teen angst. But as the concert dragged on, I realized how much I was going to regret this experience. During the first set, I had to change into a Piggly Wiggly tshirt because the sweater that I had worn got covered in orange soda. People thought it was funny to spend 6 dollars on beverages, take the caps off, and then throw them into the crowd. Idiots. By the time the sun set, they were starting to sell alcohol. (Which, in retrospect, confuses me. How many people who are of legal age to purchase alcohol would actually attend this concert? It is beyond me.) Anyway, Bud Lites were soon being thrown into the crowd as well, and there was a couple behind me smoking pot. By about 9pm, I was soaked in beer and orange soda and I smelled like a head shop, not to mention that my back was protesting in agonizing pain from standing pushed up against sweaty half-naked teenagers for so long. Finally, Good Charlotte came out. I say finally because they were supposed to be the second to last band to play and I was already ready to get out of there. Their music was so incredibly loud that I thought the sub woofers were going to give me heart arrhythmia. Of course, my more adventurous friend decided that she wanted to get closer, and inadvertently herded us into the center of a then-raging mosh pit full of kids with spikes on their necklaces, too many jelly bracelets, doc martins, and unnatural hair colors. I got punched in the back of the head several times, and was absolutely positive that I was going to die.

                                                                              Before

After

Eventually, the concert ended and I returned home to my father to face an interrogation on why I was covered in beer and soda and reeked of pot.

The third concert that I attended was actually more out of obligation than anything else. I had no real desire to go see the return of the Spice Girls concert, but I did end up going. (When you say "return of the Spice Girls" it sounds like a bad 50s horror movie.)

They're missing one...IT'S BECAUSE SHE'S RIGHT BEHIND YOU AAARRGGH!

Anyway, my step mom and step sisters were really into Spice, so my tickets were already bought for me before I could decline the offer. It was at the then Wachovia Center, and we had pretty bad seats. It's ironic that I say "seats" because I was not allowed to sit in mine for the duration of the concert, which I thought was a load of crap.

The last concert that I went to was with my boyfriend, which was actually kind of enjoyable. It was at the Plazza in Northern Liberties, and it was a free Matt & Kim concert. We went with a few of his friends and we met up with more once we were there. I had only experienced moshing once before, and so I was inadequately prepared this experience. Girls were crowd surfing, people were punching each other on purpose, and pushing around and sweating and yelling and tripping on acid. (Come on people, it's Matt & Kim. Really?) At one point, my boyfriend had to catch this one girl out of the air before she fell and broke herself. She looked at him like she had never wanted to bone anyone so bad in her life , and I had to be all "bitch, gtfo." (Not really though, because I probably would have gotten beat up and I am a wuss.) Anyway, I had to use my boyfriend and this other girl as human battering rams so that I wouldn't get totally destroyed by the giant men in front of me who thought it was the best thing ever to push people around and scream and punch at the air.
By the end of the concert, I was still intact and did enjoy myself a reasonable amount. We were meeting back up with the people we came with and were walking out of the venue when we realized that one of my boyfriend's friend's tshirts was dripping with blood.

US: OMG WHAT HAPPENED ARE YOU OK!?
HIM: What?
US: Dude, you're totally covered in blood.
HIM: Oh, man. That's not mine
US:...ew

All of these experiences coupled with the fact that I don't dance makes me truly dread going to concerts. Tonight, Yelle is playing at Union Transfer, and although I do enjoy her music, I made sure that I graciously declined my boyfriend's invitation so that I could stay here, safe in my warm albeit haunted apartment. And that's the story of how I became the biggest loser I know.