Celebrating the Eve of My Birth with Paramore

My legs feel like jello to the point that I can't stand up straight. My balance is off and I feel like a Weeble Wobble. My hair is a tangled mass of snarls and knots. My naturally wavy locks look a lot like Ke$ha's right about now. Ew. It reeks of other peoples' sweat, as does my homemade studded denim (badass) vest.  I could wring it out. My black sundress is permanently destroyed. My head is pounding from the Andre Sam and I drank prior to the show via our very own private tailgating party. That plus the proximity of my head to the very large speakers I stood next to makes me hard of hearing. I feel like my ears are blocked, like I'm swimming under water. My body is bruised and battered as if I got into a fight with a few biker chicks. The dark purple nail polish on my toes is chipped from being stepped on, jumped on. I've got constant pins and needles tingling my fingertips from fist pumping and raging alongside Hayley Williams for the past two hours. I feel amazing.

These aren't complaints. This is merely a list of proof that tonight was EFFING AWESOME. It's been a long time since I've danced and sweat and screamed my heart out at a concert of a band I so genuinely love. I've missed it.

Paramore and I are like this *crosses fingers*. They're the only band I've ever followed since the very beginning of their career. Back in 2005 (upon my return to the states after a rendezvous in Italy) Paramore opened for a small band at a crap theater in Hartford. My friend and I stood there in awe as five teenagers (the youngest being Zac, the drummer, at 14!) rocked the stage and our hearts. I was in love. Since then, I've been adoring them and praising them and I think it's safe to say they are my favorite band.

That being said, you can imagine my excitement when I purchased tickets for the PIT at the band's Boston concert, one of the first stops on this summer's Honda Civic Tour. THE PIT. As in, Sam and I were front and center, sardines crammed into a cluster of die-hard Paramore fans. Meanwhile, thousands of additional fans sat in seats or on the lawn miles behind us. SUCKERS! I couldn't have asked for a better birthday gift to myself. Thank you, Jenny.

The show was perfect. There were no distracting theatrics, no time-consuming costume changes (not including bassist, Jeremy, changing into a Boston Celtics t-shirt before the encore, but that's understandable and totally effing alright with me). It was a no nonsense quintet from Franklin, Tennessee pouring their hearts out and spilling their guts into the music and onto the stage. Front-woman Hayley Williams is a 5-foot-tall, rock solid minx whose flaming red hair never stops whipping as the chick profusely head bangs. She spends the show displaying her vast amount of energy running back and forth from one side of the stage to the other, pausing briefly every so often to belt out her flawless voice in the faces of her adoring fans. The girl never stops smiling. She is seemingly so gosh darn happy and appreciative of her fans. All I wanted was to give her a high-five and thank her for supplying the soundtrack to my life.

Halfway through the set the boys and girl of Paramore got comfy on a big red couch - similar to the one that appears on the cover of their debut album "All We Know". It's as if the crowd was invited to Paramore's living room for a private jam session. They played three songs acoustically - "When it Rains", "Where the Lines Overlap", and "Misguided Ghosts". With the guitars unplugged, the voices of the audience singing along soared.
 

Paramore ended the set with a killer encore of "Brick by Boring Brick" and "Misery Business". I grabbed Sam during the final song and maybe cut off her circulation the way I squeezed her arm as Hayley sang "I've watched his wildest dreams come true/And not one of them involving you/Just watch my wildest dreams come true/Not one of them...HEY JOSH!" She screamed for her lead guitarist and I was ready because it's exactly what she does on the band's live album The Final Riot (@ 2:5,4 please). So I screamed right along and nearly ripped Sam's arm off as I jumped up and down, ruthlessly kicking the girls in front of me, punching the air and banging my head. Sorry, Sam. Sorry, girls in front of me.

Now get ready for the grand finale... Of all the thousands of fans in attendance, of all the crazy bitches around me screaming for a set list, your girl Jenny from the blog was a lucky winner. I threw myself as far over the barricade as I could and grabbed the attention of a photographer. I'm surprised he didn't run away considering my Ke$ha-like appearance complete with confetti plastered all over myself, stuck to the sweat dripping down my face arms and legs like crazy glue. "Excuse me!" I asked politely. "Can I please get a set list? It's my birthday tomorrow and it would just be so awesome. I'll take my ID out to prove it!"

"Set list, eh?"

He turned around and saw bassist Jeremy's taped to the ground in front of him within arms reach. The photographer ripped it free in one foul swoop and happily handed it to me.

"Aaaaaah! I LOVE YOU! This is the best birthdaaaaaaaaay pressseeeeeeentttt everrrrrr!!!! THANK YOU!!!"

I would have jumped the barrier and kissed him had Sam not threatened to take my life and everyone elses if she didn't get to a port-o-potty asap.

Much thanks to Hayley, Josh, Zac, Taylor, Jeremy and Sam for kicking off my 24th birthday with a freaking bang.