QUICK CONCERT RECAP!

met up with _slashygoodness (Allie) in line, where we marveled at all the horrendously Gabe-inspired fashion choices on teenies, waited HOURS to get into the venue, where we tried our hardest to get up to eckerlilas and shutyourface by the barrier - we almost made it! Three people behind them! And then Hey Monday came on and I kind of wanted to punch some people around me, and then Cobra Starship came on and I thought I was either going to a) die, b) throw down with the mom behind me, or c) throw down with EVERYONE around me and then die. Dudes, seriously, we were packed in like sardines and then people started PUSHING and I almost fell so many times and I started getting claustrophobic. I lasted maybe half the set, then took off, leaving _slashygoodness to brave it alone. I felt like a swamp, all over my entire body, just from that short amount of time I was down there. So I got a bottle of water, went to the merch tent, felt like a mom, hanging out at the tables with all the 'rents - you know, the usual. While I was up there, Gabe was amazing and so close and awesome. I wish I could have focused on the performance more instead of trying to save my life!

Allie lasted until after Metro Station (which, dudes, Trace is so scary, I stayed in the merch tent for that, bought myself the Cobra Starship thriller hoodie, plus it was raining at that point) and she found me during, um, was All Time Low next?

ANYWHO, we watched Fall Out Boy from a safe but respectable distance from the stage. Everyone around us were Wentz haters, though. They knew all the words to all the songs, but every time Pete talked they'd yell out for him to shut the fuck up and how annoying he is and how much they hate him - I wanted to punch them in the face. He's not my favorite, okay, but he's Pete Wentz.

Patrick was adorable. We hardly saw Andy's face. I found myself focusing on Joe and his tamed fro a lot, imagining him with Bob. It's a sickness! I can't help myself! I enjoyed all the old songs they played, since I haven't really listened to the new album all that much. The best was being there with someone who honestly loved the band - we were both singing along the whole time, Allie took a gazillion pictures.

Then! Afterwards! We met up with eckerlilas and shutyourface and danacias and... Alex? (omg, I suck at names), and headed out to the Melrose diner, because we couldn't think of what else would be open, and I may be from here, but I still have no idea how to go ANYWHERE in the city. We discussed pancakes. Scrapple was explained (delicious!). Basically, it was a lot of fun and laughing and I'm so glad I went and got to meet these girls because this is something I just don't normally do ever.

Now, to bed!

hobo joe snippet!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

basically, this has turned into another everybody's gay meet-cute like the apartment AU, only with a slightly less interesting plot. soon to be finished, I have FAITH:

“Why so fucking glum, dude,” Frank says, dropping down onto the steps next to Joe.

Joe’s frowning, playing Fucked Up Love Song already, the one he wrote about Hurley and Mixon and their weirdly intricate heterosexual lifemate status.

Joe shakes his head. “Just found out I’m a family sort of man,” he says. “Fucks with your world view, you know?”

“Shit,” Frank says.

Joe closes his eyes, rubs a hand over his forehead. “I might need to get a fucking job, Frankie, how is this my life?”

Frank blinks at Joe, mind fucking boggled. As far as Frank knows, and Frank knows a lot, Joe hasn’t held a steady tax-paying job since 2001. He’d dropped out of college, quit his internship, and headed for the streets. Frank’s always sort of admired his gumption.

“Dude,” Frank says forlornly, clasping Joe’s shoulder. It’s a sad, sad day when Joe has to go and, like, fucking assimilate. “Are you sure?”

Joe hums a few bars of Let's Get Nasty, Except For Bill, then thumps the flat of his hand against the strings. “He’s got a kid, a steady income, an ex-wife—”

“Huh.” Figures a security guard would be fucking responsible, right.

Joe points at him. “I don’t even have a bank account.”

Frank nods, pushes up the arms of his sweater and leans his elbows on his knees. Frank doesn’t have a bank account either, because it’s too easy for people to, like, fucking steal your identity or whatever. Frank deals with cold hard cash, so The Man can’t keep tabs on his life. Frank’s a free spirit. Frank jams out with Joe at 201 or stakes out his own turf by the fountain down in the park, and pulls in enough coinage to get him coffee, smokes and a couch – although it’s actually only a couch cushion, Hurley claims, but whatever, he shares it with Bill.