Well, I cracked my head open at the SlipKnot concert last night. I wish I had a good story to go along with it, like fighting off a crazed metalhead weilding a spiked cane or something, but I’m not that cool. It all started when I followed one of the SlipKnot guys backstage. I had just arrived at the Universal Ampitheatre in Los Angeles, and I met up with Paul the bassist who gave me my backstage pass. I was ducking through some brush as I followed him around the front of the tour bus, when I stood up too soon and smashed my head into a huge bolt sticking out of the front of the bus by the windshield wiper. I remember hearing a loud crack, and then everything went black.

The next thing I remember, I was sitting on the pavement outside SlipKnot’s tour bus, holding a cold Red Bull against my throbbing head and gripping a towel covered in blood. I guess Paul had taken me inside the bus for a while with Chris and Joey, but I don’t remember any of it. I hadn’t passed out, but I’d blacked out. And Paul was getting concerned. “You’re still bleeding,” he said, making a face. Dazed, I quipped that I thought that’s what people did at SlipKnot shows.

But I guess it was worse than I thought. When I stood up, I almost fainted. With everything spinning around me, I made my way to a bathroom mirror to assess the damage. Yuck! The entire top of my forehead was ripped open, and all the girls in the bathroom stepped back to stare. There were some whispers, and I guess someone went to get security, because a minute later I was being escorted to the First Aid room by women in uniform.

When I walked into the First Aid room, the nurses looked at the gash in my head with wide eyes.

“You get that in the pit?” one asked, shaking her head.

I sighed. “No, I ran into the tour bus.”

“With what?”

“With my head.”

The nurses asked if I was experiencing any dizziness or blurred vision, because if I was, I would have to go to the hospital. To hell with that, I thought. I wasn’t going to miss SlipKnot. So I just shook my head no, because when I tried to talk, the words weren’t coming out right.

Fortunately, by the time my head was bandaged, my friends showed up to rescue me. He led me carefully to the VIP seats (right behind the pit) and I stuck it out, man. I sucked up the concussion and rocked out. When the show was over, I brought some vinyl SlipKnot records backstage so the band could sign them for my brother, who’s a big fan.

I stood there with my head wrapped in gauze and these records in my hands, and one of the guys said to me, “I hope your brother knows you are the coolest sister in the world.”

I suppose it gives a whole new level of meaning to headbanging.