The first time I saw MCR, they played in Orlando. I am going to take this opportunity to tell you that I hate driving to Orlando from Crescent City. I have driven across states and the trip to Orlando is still one that I hate. It’s not that long, only about 2 hours, but there’s the toll road, I never have change, and it’s just a really boring drive. Drivers are mean, there are more traffic related deaths on that stretch on I-4 than on any other stretch of road in the country, and I am always terrified that I’m tempting fate every time I go down there.
I like to be extra cautious and give myself plenty of time to get to wherever I’m going. I left at 1 and arrived at 3. Whitney, Melissa, and Aila were already there. For several hours, it was just the four of us sitting on the sidewalk outside of Hard Rock, talking and catching up. I had brought my makeup with me because I knew I would have plenty of time to work on it while I was there. After an hour or so of waiting, I broke out the eyeliner and got to work. I was looking at Whitney who was to my left, while holding a compact in one hand and the eyeliner pencil in the other. I was blather on about something that I can’t even remember, and Whitney interrupted me,
“Joyce,”
“Hang on, I’m not finished.”
“Joyce!”
“Shut up, give me a minute.” I should have noticed that she was looking over my shoulder, but I was too busy with the makeup and with what I was saying.
“What?!?” I finally replied as I exasperatedly put down the eyeliner.
She pointed over my shoulder. I turned to see several figures walking around the corner. I looked at Melissa.
“Well?”
“That was MCR.”
My black rimmed eyes grew wide. “What?”
“Yeah, they came out the stage door. They were standing right next to you, but you wouldn’t shut up and they left.”
I was mortified. Mortified. I had almost had a “Whitney Moment” and I fucked it up. That was only the beginning of my troubles though.
As we were so early, we managed to get a spot right in front of the stage when the doors opened. As any concert goer knows, you wait to be let in, and then they make you wait for the show to start. Well, by the time that I had waited in that sea of bodies for half an hour pressed into the security railing, I felt like I was going to faint, and of course, that made me feel like a complete and utter pussy.
I tried to hold out, I really did. I don’t think I even made it to the first band before I had to leave. I remember watching a now disbanded group called Letter Kills from the balcony which was surprisingly both open to the general audience and empty. The singer from that band had a tambourine and never stopped moving during their whole set. I was impressed.
A couple of other less memorable bands played, and I was bored . . . then MCR took the stage. From the balcony I could see everything, and I was further mortified to see Gerard lean over the rails, microphone in hand, and sing with Whitney, Aila, and Melissa during the chorus of “I’m Not Okay”.
I should have been there. It should have been me. I was never going to be as cool as them. I was a wimp. I couldn’t hack it in the pit. I sucked.
After their set, we all decided to leave. No one liked the headlining band, and by this time it was around 1 or 2 in the morning. I thought I was just tired, and we were all going to get a hotel together, but no one would rent to us, so I set out for Crescent City alone. I just wanted to go to sleep. I was hot, and I felt as though I would pass out any minute.
Like so many other times, I miraculously made it home and went to bed, covered in sweat and smeared makeup. In the morning I didn’t feel any better. Thus began my month long battle with the flu that included burn orange pee, laxatives, sleeping pills, and vicodin.
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