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Sunday night, I took my sister to see Justin Timberlake. (FYI, all of you “I hate any music that’s popular and isn’t about pain and angst and cutting myself” music snobs can kiss my ass. I like all kinds of music, including Justin Timberlake. Plus he’s HOT.)

Here we are before the show.

(That’s my sister’s only best friend Am, me, and my sister Jackie.)

We weren’t allowed to take cameras into the concert, so I had to sneak mine in, so I couldn’t start taking pictures until the lights went down and more people were around us. The Staples Center employees in our section were fun nazis, and were taking peoples’ cameras as soon as they saw the flash. Otherwise, you would have seen the pictures of all the freaks around us trying to find their seats.

Like this broad:

DUDE. Look at those jeans. They’re just as awesome and ripped in the front, too. And the lady next to her sitting down had a pair exactly like them on. It’s like they passed out at the Def Leppard show in 1988 and just now woke up. I love them.

I noticed that the people ahead of us were all looking up toward the boxes. Normally, I don’t like to gawk, but out of curiosity, I looked. Guess who it was?

DAVID MOTHERFUCKING BECKHAM and that Barbie doll wife of his. Still bitter over the whole “indefinite injury” debacle from a few weeks ago, I got pissed that he can’t be bothered to show up for a game, but he can show up for a fucking Justin Timberlake concert. So I got mad and yelled out, “Beckham, you sonofawhore, go home and rest your [insert pretentious air quotes and heavy sarcasm here] ‘injury’, AND SHOW UP FOR YOUR JOB, YOU ASSHOLE!” This earned me a visit from one of the fun nazis, and she told me to keep my voice down.

(As an aside from my drunken retardery and my bitterness, it totally sucked how people stood on their chairs to shove their cameras in their faces to take their picture, and just sat and stared at them, completely ignoring anything that was going on on the stage. I don’t care if you think “well then they shouldn’t be celebrities”. At some point, they should be allowed to go to a fucking concert without being mobbed by a bunch of cell phone camera-wielding retards.)

Before the opening act, Good Charlotte, (gag) came on, this couple showed up to sit in the row in front of ours. They were completely drunk. In fact, they announced as much when they sat down and said, “We’ve been partying all day, and we’re going to party more!” Really what he should have said is, “Justin Timberlake is what I play when I nail my girlfriend, because we’re going to do it at The Staples Center!” Yeah. As soon as he sang ANY song that was remotely slow, they started making out. And when I could, I tried to snap pictures of them:

The Staples Center people kept going over there and telling the girl that she had to get back in her chair, but their love could not be deterred. At one point (I only got one picture of this, and the lady next to me totally blocked it), he untied the back of her blouse, and her boob was hanging out, and she didn’t figure it out for about fifteen minutes. They were awesome.

I don’t like Good Charlotte, and never have. Not because I think their music is any worse than any other bullshit that gets played, but because they keep insisting they’re punk with their mohawks and their tattoos. Come on. Punks don’t sing songs that go “Girls don’t like boys, girls like cars and money.” Sorry. You guys blow.

Being the gossip-loving hoar that I am, I will admit that the whole time they were singing their songs, all I could think about was that Joel Madden dumped Hilary Duff and then knocked up that skeletor-looking Nicole Richie like, the next day. So when they finished some deep song about soldiers in Iraq (I think it was called “March On” or some shit like that), and everyone was feeling all serious, I yelled out as loud as I could “Way to knock up Nicole, Joel! WOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The concert was fun. Kanye West came out for a couple of songs, and Timbaland came out for a bunch, too. I drank, I danced, I screamed, I sweated. It was everything live music should be.

I’m a little bummed Justin didn’t sing “Dick In A Box”, though. Dammit.

The show went on til 12:30 in the morning. This is an incredibly late night for my lame ass now. I go to bed around ten or eleven every night, and to be out until one o’clock on a school night is unheard of. So to say I was a little out of sorts Monday morning would be putting it lightly. I was hungover. I dropped my toothpaste in the toilet. I spilled coffee down the front of my shirt while I was running out the front door. After I changed the shirt, I decided I needed something stronger than regular coffee to combat the exhaustion, so I went to Starbucks for a triple vanilla latte, and while I was waiting in line, the lady that took my order came up to me and said, “Uh, honey, you might want to go into the bathroom.Your shirt is on inside out.”

Ugh.