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right. so. I went to Motherfucker. Got there about 10:30, had a few of the lovely free drinks, squished up front with Lawrence & Jed and rocked out to stellastarr*. pogo'd with the boys, danced with giddy aplomb beside Giulia, shrieked with delight while bouncing with Nora, laughed hysterically at random girls (who'd never seen the band before) climbing on stage to dance to Jenny... I couldn't have asked for a better send off for my beloved hometown heroes. The classics were classic, the new songs were exciting and destined for greatness, and in particular, Angela, rocked my socks harder than they've been rocked in a long long time.

by the time the show was over, the Roxy had magically doubled it's population. Finding people became a matter of chance, and we tended to celebrate running into anyone we knew at all. There were a few more drinks, some dancing, and various inappropriate romantic overtures. I befriended a cosmetologist and wound up with a couple of drink tickets and a motherfucker fabulous makeover for my newly adopted lil sis. i believe there was a trip to the men's room at some point (not having patience for the ladies')... basically, i grew a set of steel balls. Between my new dress, the endorphins kicking from the show, and the nice buzz i had going on, I'd pretty much never felt so alive and beautiful as I did right then and it manifested itself in a kind of confidence that was electrifying. I don't think I've ever quite so brazen or impetuous, and I'm thinking that's part of where my troubles began...

Now Motherfucker is known for it's excess, so imagine for me if you will, what kind of shape you'd need to be in to get kicked out. Okay, now multiply that by about 5. Good. Now you're close to where I was by 3 am. Or, where I heard I was, considering that I'm missing at least an hour of my memory, it's just poof, gone. Like Swiss cheese, or one of those intergalactic black holes filled with anti-matter. Regardless, from what I can piece together, the following is an account of what happened... I tried to convince a drunk friend to drive me home. I passed out. Conflicting reports claim that this may have been either on the floor, on a couch, or possibly both. I wound up backstage - it's not clear if this happened before or after the passing out. I argued with the bouncers, which may very well explain the large bruises on my upper arms. I was examined by an oncall paramedic who was eventually convinced that I needed mass quantities of water. Through out all of this, I repeatedly tried to get up & go back into the main room to dance - I'm guessing that didn't go over well with the bouncers. Lucky for me I had some guardian angels who recognized me, vouched for me, left with me, and devised a plan of getting me safely to a bed whilst avoiding parking tickets. I owe them big time. HUGE. And I owe them even more because I know I fought them on every step of their rescue mission and instead of bailing on my belligerent ass, they STILL managed to take care of me.

And that, as they say, was that. I wish I could tell you more... I'm finding it pretty fucking disturbing that 7 drinks (counting to the best of my ability) punched holes in my memory. If you or anyone you know had any interaction with me over the course of the evening, please share your story with me, (I'm thinking of setting up an 800 number) you never know - the most trivial detail may unlock my memories...

As for the current rumors circulating about backstage antics, mountains of blow, and my staring down the white light at the end of the tunnel... well, let me just smile, wink and say your guess is as good as mine, and really? the more rockstar the story, the better. so embellish with relish, but let's try to keep me out of the morgue, ok? In other news... well, there really isn;t much. I'll be living this down for a while... quick, somebody else hammered and ejected from someplace!!!

Alrighty then.
Thanks for all the calls and emails of sympathy and concern, I'm off to ice my bruises & hibernate for a while.
::beijos::











Comments

( 1 spanking — spank your inner moppet )
(Anonymous)
Sep. 7th, 2004 02:07 pm (UTC)
Don't fret over frettings...
Matt GoStation is back in town.

I'm sure he'll make you look as sober as a priest on Sunday by the week's end.
( 1 spanking — spank your inner moppet )