It was the sweatiest experience of my life, the kind that only a concert-goer can identify and appreciate. My hair became a rats nest and, at one point, I was certain I had broken my right pinkie toe. Still, this experience stands in my mind as one of the best concerts of my short-lived life and one I will not soon forget. One thing was for sure, concert season had begun.

The day started early. Yet evidently not early enough. The line skirted the side of the building tighter than a groupie’s leggings and my stomach dropped. It was only 1 p.m., the show wouldn’t start for another six hours, yet dozens of tight pants’ed, bandana wearing, multi-color haired fans sat in waiting outside the Uptown Theater for the Honda Civic Tour to begin. Myself and two other friends sadly pulled up some concrete behind about 75 devoted fanatics and proceeded to wait for the doors to open. The day was hot, and as the line grew, the sun rose, making it hotter.

The tension was high. You could feel it in the line: the pulse of hundreds of fans quickening in preparation to make that desperate run to the front of the arena to the coveted front row. Glancing back, I smiled. My spot in line didn’t seem so bad anymore as over 200 people trailed down the building, around the corner and down the next street.

Finally, the line moved. Like a collective sigh, everyone rose at once and began to inch as close to the person in front of them as possible. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the fact that we had been sitting on miserable pavement all day, but I was ready to literally attack anyone who tried to butt or charge the door.

Before I knew it our tickets had been torn and the mad rush was on. We ran into the auditorium and to my surprise all my worrying dissolved. It was suddenly all worth it, the hard concrete, the heat and even the overdramatic presence of emo girls. All of this could be tolerated as we stood front and center, mere feet from the stage.

Elated, we waited for the show to start. Phantom Planet opened, followed by The Hush Sound. Both had amazing live performances, but due to some unfortunate concert behavior most of The Hush Sound’s performance was marred beyond recognition.

Let’s keep in mind this isn’t a hardcore show by any means. Many of the performances were acoustic and the setting was moderately intimate. So when the moshing and pushing began, I was not only annoyed, I was injured. At one point, the whole front part of the floor crowd was leaning to the side so far I was sure we would soon topple over. My pinkie toe had been crushed and I had beer spilled down my back by a drunk guy pushing his way to the front. My hands were pinned to my chest, and let’s just say I was very acquainted with the girls in front of me.

All this time the crowd was being violently pushed from the back and I was somehow being pushed farther and farther from the stage. I quickly saw my hopes of seeing Panic at the Disco up close and personal being flushed down the drain.

By the time Motion City made it to the stage, the crowd had lost it’s mind and I was certain I would never get back to the front. The lights dimmed and the sound crew took the stage to prepare for the final set of the night that would be Panic at the Disco.

The heat was emanating from the crowd so much it was almost overbearing. I can’t remember ever wanting a drink so bad in my life. Security guards in front of the stage misted the crowd with water contained in pesticide sprayers. Sweaty, sopping wet and beyond irritated, I felt not only disgusting, but defeated.

But wait! In a radical turn of events I began to see not just one or two, but waves of emaciated “scene” girls being lifted over the guard rail. Too frail to tough it out, they were dropping like flies! In what seemed like moments, the distance between myself and lead singer Brendon Urie was bridged by mere feet. I could die a happy woman.

Their performance was brilliant and the rest of the concert went on without a hitch. I made it just behind the guard rail, the closest I’d been all night, and at the most important part of the concert. It was a dream come true.

Four and a half hours of standing, singing, screaming and jumping later it was over. In my mind it seemed too soon, but my debilitated legs disagreed. After spending a ridiculous amount of money on T-shirts and posters I left the Uptown in a euphoric state that only live music can induce. All in all, it was a Pretty. Odd. Night.