It's . . .

Trenton Chaynes' Kittie Concert!

One fine Tuesday afternoon, I was sitting around school when I realized, "You know, Kittie are playing at the Whisky tonight. I should go." So, during the middle of my theatre class, I went up in front of the class, did a fifteen minute skit about how I like to eat eggs, and then left. It was close enough to lunch time; so I figured I could get down to Sunset Boulevard in time for the show if I left right then and there. But then I got hungry so I ate my lunch.

As I was trying to leave, I was stopped by the laughable force that my incompetent educational providers have labeled "security." It's really just an old guy with a walkie-talkie and a yellow jacket. The rest of the "security" force consists of bored house wives who just want an excuse to drive their little babies to and from school. Not that I should talk: I'm 18 years old and my mom still packs my lunch.

Anyway, I was just about to leave when I was stopped by the old guy. He yelled, "Halt! Who goes there?"
I answered, "It is I: Trenton, son of Alison Chaynes, lord of the dance, paragon of inanity, innovator of really silly things, Pokemaniac, and sex symbol for the new millenium. Let me pass! For I seek the Kittie Grail!"
He yelled, "Never! None shall pass until after school hours 'lest thou be cunning, brave, and freshly smelling enough to answer these: these questions three."
I asked, "Wait, why did you just say 'these' twice?"
He yelled, "That is of no importance! Now answer these: these questions three. WHAT . . . is your name?"
I said, "I just told you six seconds ago! Senile fool! Who was the wiper of other people's bottoms that put YOU in charge of the Walkie-Talkie of Doom?"
He yelled, "You have answered correctly, that is of sureness. Now: WHAT . . . is your quest?"
I said, "Again you ask redundent trivialities! I told you: I seek the Kittie Grail."
He yelled, "All right, then, the final question: WHAT . . . television show has Shadoe Stevens as its announcer?"
I got angry. "Accursed Powerman 5000 fan! Prepare for the onslaught of the only person ever to program a vcr correctly!"
He yelled, "You scare me not, cookie baking demon!"

And with that, I let out a mighty, "NI!" And that was the end of him. I then pressed onwards to my automobile. But, no sooner had I stepped through the gate then an odd-looking kid in a pink jumpsuit and a Richard Nixon mask jumped out in front of me. "Wait and bleed!" he screamed. Then, without warning, he put an entire spork up his left nostril.

I said to him, "Good Sir, your flair for the dramatic has won you my favor, your fashion sense has won you my laughter, and the fact that I don't have much money and am in need of concert tickets has won you my trust. Will you journey with me to find the Kittie Grail?"

He said, "Sure." And then we were off. With our arms raised in a "Superman flying" pose and our mouths making "whoosh" noises, we flew to my automobile. And then we were off again. To find the Kittie Grail, this time.

We made our way down to the Whisky A Go Go, stopping only once for extra nourishment. We arrived at Sunset Boulevard somewhere around 4:00, but took about half an hour to actually find the Whisky. Once we did, I dropped the Nixon kid off and went to look for a place to park. As I was driving by, I'm positive I spotter Fallon talking to some kids outside. It took me another half hour to find a place to park. For a twelve-mile radius, the entire area is a no parking zone. But I found an empty parking meter and put some coins in it. Then, as I was walking back to the Whisky, I saw a place to park for only five dollars. Darn it!

I reached the Whisky just in time to see Morgan and Talena getting back on the bus. Mercedes was standing around, talking on a cel phone. She looked at me, I looked at her. Then I made a silly face. But she just turned around. >sob<

My new ally had taken off his mask. He then told me Morgan was chatting with everyone outside. Of course, he was too timid to talk to her, so he was the only person she didn't speak to. I then bummed five dollars from him, walked back to the car, and parked in that stupid parking lot.

When I got back, there was a large group of cool looking goth kids standing around. And, like at the San Diego show, I got the "ugly dork in a flannel shirt" blues. I'd be all goth and spooky and stuff, but I'm too lazy. I also felt kind of dumb because I was wearing a Kittie shirt. Later, I was told by an unknown soure that, and I quote, "only the dorks wear the shirt of the band they're going to see." Which, to this day, I can't see the logic behind. But apparently it's an established system. Yeah, so the goth kids were making fun of me.

We waited around for the ticket office to open up. We were there for an hour, at least. Just waiting. Periodically, one of the Kittie members would walk from the bus to the Whisky or vice versa. So it was fun, er . . . watching them . . .

I then saw some lady with a big clipboard walking around. She had been doing so for quite some time. So I decided to go up to her and ask when the tickets were going to go one sale.

I called to her, "Clipboard wench! You look important so answer this question that I am directing towards you! When are tickets going on sale?"

About halfway through the sentence, I realized the woman I was talking to was MRS. LANDER! Boy, did I feel stupid. She said she didn't know, but asked two guys who actually worked at the club. They both told me that the show was sold out. Then Mrs. Lander and some guy went on for a few minutes about how the music industry people take up all the spots and the fans are shafted. I felt uncomfortable and wanted to run away. But I stayed.

When they were done, I walked away and the group of goth kids were looking at me funny. I told the guy I was with that tickets were sold out. We were both quite angry. Oh, yes. So very, very angry. But we decided to stick around in case scalpers came our way.

Another hour later, we spotted Mercedes signing something. So we decided to go try for an autograph. We hadn't planned on this, mind you, and we found a piece of paper in my friends jacket for them to sign. It was all crumpled, but it was a piece of paper, nonetheless. Unfortunately, some guy had brought his guitar that had what looked like bits of carpet glued on it to be signed and he jumped in front of us. Mercedes said something like, "Hey, I see a fuzzy guitar;" but in a way that gave the impression of fear. See, she was semi-looking at me when she said it. And the second she laid eyes on me, she got this disgusted look on her face. I'm not making this up, either. She got the same look on her face when I made the silly face at her earlier.

After she signed the guys guitar, she jumped back on the bus and did an interview. Well, I'm assuming the rest of the band was doing the interview, too. So we waited a while for her to come out. Finally, she, Fallon, and Talena got off the bus. A couple other kids came up to them and asked for autographs.

I made a point to walk up to Mercedes first and get her autograph. She looked at me funny again and then scribbled on my paper. She stared to write her name. There's something that vaguely resembles an M, but then it goes into a series of straight lines. She handed to me, without looking at me, and then walked away. Heh. I really like Mercedes now.

I then went over to Fallon and got her to sign my piece of paper. At least her signature I can tell its her name. I went up and said, "Um, uh . . . er, Miss Bowman? I'm really sorry to bother you, but can I get your autograph?" I can't remember, but I'm sure my voice cracked once or twice. She said, "Of course" and signed it. Then I asked if I could shake her hand. She agreed again and we shook hands. Fallon rules!

Lastly, I went to get Talena's autograph. She took the paper, signed it semi-legibly and then, for some unknown reason, she crossed out her name. Not once, but several times. Her reasoning behind this will perplex me until my dying day. But behind the scribbles, I can sort of kind of vaguely not really but yeah I can tell it's there make out her name. At least, I can see the T and the last A. I said my thanks and she mumbled that sounded like a "yeh." Then she walked away. Only she did it in a horror movie ghost kind of way. It really scared me.

We watched the girls walk around and sign stuff for a little while. Then they left. I asked Mrs. Lander for her autograph, but she declined. Then, after I pressed her further for it, she got angry, said to no one in particular, "This is there show" and walked away while mumbling something. I felt bad for upsetting her.

But we were insanely close to capturing the Kittie Grail! One more autograph and we would have it! So we waited for Morgan to get off the bus. We waited, and waited, and waited, and waited, etc. We waited another hour and a half for her. In the meantime, we saw Fallon curl into a ball and get into the side compartment of the bus. It's more impressive when you see it, believe me. Oh, yeah, that brings me to another point:

The members of Kittie are all really short.

I guess Canadians don't have enough flouride in their water pipes. They only have that natural, pure, sissy water. And all that fresh air, too. I don't trust any country that isn't covered in smog. So, while we waited, the line for the concert got longer and longer until it backed up into us. We went to sit on some stairs in order not to have to deal with the line. But we got kicked off of them pretty quickly. Anyway, we then overheard some guys who were standing around: they said they had met the band earlier in the day, hung out with them a bit, and Kittie promised to get them in for free. These were the kind of guys that look like they beat up guys like me. So I panicked and told my friend, "Let's get out of here. I reeeeaaally don't think Morgan's getting off the bus anytime soon."

So we left and went home. We had failed in our quest and were feeling pretty lousy about the whole thing. I mean, aside from the autographs, the entire day was like watching John Stamos in Hamlet.

But then again, you read this entire thing and it has absolutely no point. Bwah ha ha ha! In your face! In your face! But, here, this is a picture of the piece of paper:

Print it out and tell your friends you met Kittie! It's not like they have evidence that you didn't, right?