Hey, remember last week when I was all, “OMG we’re going to see Gary Numan“? Well, guess who almost didn’t get to see Gary Numan? OMG GREAT GUESS.
Henry and I got to the Altar Bar right after the doors opened and imagine my extreme delight when we gave the guy at Will Call Henry’s name and he was all, “NOPE. NO TICKETS FOR HENRY.” We used Henry’s credit card and Ticket Fly was like, “These tickets will be in Henry’s name, OK dummies?” So the guy asked if maybe I was confused and selected the mobile ticket instead of Will Call, and even though this did not sound at all like something I would ever do, I said, “Gee, you know what? I think that’s what I did” so then I had to get out of line and stand awkwardly next to some broad who was giving out free e-cigs while I frantically checked all 8 of my stupid email accounts on my phone for some non-existent cyber ticket, and you know what happens when I am totally panicked? I cannot think straight and I end up checking the same email address approximately 78 times because suddenly my surroundings are closing in on me and why is everyone staring?
Just totally awful, what a terrible way to start the night, with Henry standing there smirking at me because oh, look who is so irresponsible and lost our fucking tickets. Eventually, I found the email confirmation and shoved my phone at one of the guys who read it over and verified that my tickets were indeed WILL CALL and they should be in HENRY’S NAME. So then the other guy had to go to the office to see if they needed re-printed and right then, my friends Patty and Tim showed up and were like, “HEY GUYS” and I just grunted several intelligible syllables in response because I couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that I was going to punch a bitch if they tried to deny me entrance. The dumb ticket guy came back and said, “What’s YOUR name?” so I told him AND LO AND BEHOLD, the fucking tickets were there in my name but literally none of us had the bright idea to check for that from the get-go.
That was a real nail biter, wasn’t it blog readers? Is anyone still reading?
Meanwhile, Henry’s spirit was crushed as he realized that he was not going to get out of this show after all. And then he had the audacity to bitch because there were so many old people there. That man is never happy.
He did seem happy to see Patty and Tim, though, considering the only people he ever sees at concerts are kids that are friends with his sons, Blake and Robbie, or security guards that he recognizes from other shows. We talked to them for a little bit before the show started. I was really excited because a lady who works in the The Law Firm mail room was there as well, which took me by surprise because (STEREOTYPE ALERT) I never would have pegged her for a Gary Numan fan. Maybe more toward James Ingram.
Because James Ingram is always on the tip of my tongue.
I expressed my happy shock to Patty, who told me that she had also seen this co-worker at a Damned show in 2003! Newfound respect for the mailroom lady now. My whole department is obsessed with her because she walks around at exactly 5:04 every day and moans, “Mmmmm-lasssst mail.” She’s made it into an art form and I’m in awe. I even got Barb to ask her to reverse directions on April Fool’s Day one year just to fuck with one of our since-departed co-workers, who was so obsessed with her that he once steathily chased her around the department in an effort to hear her cries of “Last Mail” in all four quadrants:
Even more now that I know she likes good music! Whaddup, Last Mail? Come sit at my lunch table.
After bullshitting with Patty and Tim for a few minutes, I dragged Henry upstairs so that we could claim a good spot on the balcony, which is my favorite place at the Altar Bar. Before the show started, I took some time indulging in one of my favorite activities: stalking people.
NO ONE IS SAFE AROUND ME, PATTY.
Roman Remains opened, and I instantly fell in love. I don’t really keep up with this genre of music that much anymore, so it was all new to me and fuck if that dark bass line didn’t bring back fond memories of my short stint as a goth. Plus, the singer is a really hot Nordic-looking woman. It made me consider going back to the goth lifestyle, and coincidentally, Henry had just cleaned out my closet and found my old Morticia-styled stompy heels in the back, so he placed them suggestively at the front of my closet in case I wanted to wear them to work.
The second band was Big Black Delta. They had their moments but I was mostly bored. I can only watch some guy push buttons and then dance around for so long.
But then finally, after a long, dramatic intro, Gary Numan finally came out and I was like “OMGGGG” like a little bitch because, my god, what a fucking icon.
ADAM LAMBERT WISHES!!
Henry’s dumb hands.
The only downside was when a man and his much-younger girlfriend (basically, a way more annoying version of me and Henry) squeezed their way in between me and the guy next to me at the balcony, which is fine, but how about you STFU and enjoy the fucking music instead of screaming everyday conversations to each other whole fucking time? That is probably my biggest pet peeve ever at older people concerts. Yes, a good bit of the people are actually there because they’re fans and genuinely love the music, but there are always those motherfuckers who are like, “Hey, let’s spend $60 on tickets and just go and drink and act like motherfuckers.” HERE’S AN IDEA: GO TO A BAR AND PLAY THE JUKEBOX INSTEAD. FUCK. And the girl part of the duo stunk like b.o. and a head shop.
They would walk away every now and then and I would rejoice. But then, when the intro to “Cars” started, the guy shoved his way back in and started thrusting his phone out over the balcony, so I was like, “OK fine, I get it. You want to get an Instavid of Gary Numan singing ‘Cars.’ That’s understandable.” But no! No! He was just taking pictures. OMG GARY NUMAN IS SINGING CARS QUICK TAKE A PICTURE. Seriously, get the fuck out of here, guy. Eventually, I just made Henry switch places with me because I couldn’t hold my breath any longer.
Meanwhile, Henry was too busy gawking at all the aging Goth Queens in all of their latex-and-exposed-midriff glory. It made me laugh because from the neck up they were 100% “middle-aged professional” but the rest of them was “night at the Batcave.” I mean, at least do something with your Sally Wiggin hair if you’re going to sausage your body into a musty pair of bondage pants.
This is not my video, but she must have been standing only a few people away from me. So thank you, Girl, for posting this on YouTube because it was one of my favorite songs of the night, OMG I love you Gary Numan. Even though you didn’t play Marcy’s jam “She’s Got Claws.” :(
It was good and I got to drink some beers. The guy behind me was dancing the whole time and kept bumping into me. I think he was gay. I mean, I don’t care, I’m just saying.