Few things in life compare to the sheer bliss of witnessing your childhood heros in concert, and experiencing the entire moment with your best friend. I jumped up and down, squealed, sang, clapped, cried.

The Backstreet Boys were entirely sappy, corny and exaggerated. Basically, it was everything I expected and more. I mean really, what else would a boy-band be? Although now I am more enticed by the gyrating hips of Howie D. than the band’s “touching” lyrics.

I wandered around for two days after the concert in a nostalgic daze, plagued by loss and bewilderment. Throughout the BSB’s entire performance, I kept getting bowled over with sudden images of being thirteen years old again.. sleepovers at Roberta’s, listening to “Quit Playing Games With My Heart.” Even now I feel like I’ve lost some very important part of my life.

Anyway, enough of that. J-Nurse and I flocked to George Street after the concert to drink with all the over-excited skanks who went to the concert as well. We mistook some strippers on the street for members of Girlicious, which pretty much sums up their opening act for the BSB.

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