All hail rock concerts!

My tickets just came in the mail today, delivered by this tiny little man with one of those funny accents that you can't quite place. Now with the tickets officially in my possession, Dad and I are well on our way to going to see KISS in Halifax! Yes, that's right, the band that gave us I was made for loving you, Dr. Love, and Rock and Roll all Nite; I'm going to go see them on the Commons on July 18th! Shit yeah! The opening acts include Thornley _{I love their song Make Believe}, The Trews _{can't get enough of their song Poor Old Broken Hearted Me}, Econoline Crush, The Novaks, and Frankie Whyte. Th last three acts I have never heard of, but what the heck, I bet I'll love them anyways! But my excitement pales in comparison to the fool I'm going with, dear old Daddy, who has been singing KISS songs for the last 72 hours. Sadly, the only way to get him to stop is to break the news to him that he sucks at singing, which comes as a surprise to him every time we tell him. He ends up pouting for half an hour, and then as revenge he starts singing even louder than before.

For the concert, he swears he's going to paint himself up in Gene Simmons' Demon makeup, which I don't doubt he'll try. He's done worse, like when he went to the Rolling Stones in London and befriended a moped gang. He almost invited them back home with him, because, you know, gangs you meet at rock concerts are always so awesome to bring home with you, but since he was in London for military reasons, it wasn't happening. For KISS, I just hope we don't stumble upon Halifax's division of the Hell's Angels or whatever rampant gang is running the streets there. God knows, Dad will befriend them and having them driving back home with us. He's too charismatic for his own good.

And how much better can one concert get? By making it TWO concerts! The Canadian Forces Halifax Rock Concert is happening on August 2nd and I am sooooo going to that one, too. Again, I'm trooping it with good ol' dad 'cause I'm cool like that. Instead of it being on the Commons like the KISS concert, it's going to be on Citadel Hill, which is, as the name suggests, is a giant hill. In fact, pretty much all of Halifax is a giant hill- you're either going up or down in that city, and whichever way you choose to go, you're lost anyways. I'm excited for this one, too, since some really good Canadian bands are playing- Our Lady Peace, Sloan, and Finger Eleven. Chicken Foot is also playing, but meh, they're an American bad. I'm celebrating Canada, baby! Hells Yes!

Now, see, a few of you knew I was supposed to be going down to Florida to see a good friend of mine, , but so many things have happened since my classes got out in April- $600 dollars for Lucifer's (the cat) surgery, couple hundred lent to Ma for bills, and then fuckery with Tweedledee's prom night that resulted in me having to fork out $240 fucking dollars to the pissant. Sufficed to say, I was poor before, but now I'm shitting poor. No money for a plane ticket. ;_; The concert tickets, on the other hand, are way cheaper, and Dad volunteered to pay for most of the costs after the last tune up for my car cost me over $200 dollars. _{Goddamn expensive parts and services...} So, yeah, no Florida trip for me in August, but I'm choosing to look on the bright side- I'm getting cheaper thrills down in Halifax, and spending quality time with my dad! Yay!

So, just to round this journal off, I'll end it with another stupid interesting story from my life. Happened recently, too. Tweedledum, my youngest brother, turns 16 on the 5th, and he's been gunning for a tat for a long time. He wants to join the military and follow in his dad's footsteps. To further honour that, he wanted to get a tattoo of the Canadian flag above his heart. Not a big deal, right? I think it's a good idea (even if I'm going to sneak into his room while he's sleeping and slap it as hard as I can), and Ma doesn't have much of a problem. It's dad that doesn't like the idea. He's weird like that. And so, somehow, this one tattoo conversation started mutating, as conversations usually do. When the flag idea was denied, Tweedledum got a little rebellious and decided he wanted a tat of a stripper on his forearm. A big sexy stripper that danced when he flexed his arm. A mock-argument broke out over the pros and cons of having a sexy stripper tat on his forearm. The pros: he'd name the stripper Beth and she'd get him through the lonely nights. Cons; because of Beth, he'd be bound to have quite a few lonely nights. In the end, Tweedledum decided that he wasn't going to get the stripper on his arm, he'd get her on his back. She was going to be all sexy and naked. In a sudden burst of pseudo-brilliance, he declared that she would be pole dancing; her legs would come around him and he'd be the pole.

Sadly, he's the kind of hillbilly moron who'd do it, too. -_-

Moral of the story: Let your kid get the tattoo he/she wants, or it might turn out to be something much worse...