Chest hair and Nathan Lane
$10 : 1 ticket, the Datsuns (the Sights were also good, the lead singer squeezed my breast)
$3.25: 1 drink, vodka and Sprite
$8.00: 1 Steak-n-Shake meal (the Frisco Melt. "We melt your cheese for you"... oh yes)
$0: 1 button
priceless: seeing my first pair of tits at a rock show. I refer to them as "tits" because to call them "breasts" "mammary glands" or "chesticles" would give them some sort of dignity, which would take away from its purpose in the first place.

Spend 3 hours at the venue, come out smelling like smoke and all-purpose nastiness, but feeling like king of the world (er, queen). Return home, fall asleep to Robin Williams' copious amounts of chest hair and Nathan Lane in a fabulous lame suit (that Glenda would be proud of). Pass out, wake up remembering a dream that I had long hair and always pulled it back in a ponytail.

All of this, to come to the conclusion that I've discovered that a good motherfuckin' rock show is the cure for my insomnia, and it only set me back $22!