| Fickle |
6th July 2004 00:33 |
A Tale of Great Enibriation
It was about 5:25PM EST all told by the time we left to see Incubus at the Wachovia Center. I'd never been there before, so we needed directions. Once I conquered the labyrithian directions by looking at the map and zooming in, I wrote down what I figured was important and left with my cousins, Ted and Jim.
We had an extra ticket because someone had bailed on us at roughly 4:58. So the entire time we (I) drove up to Philadelphia, we called various heads to see if they were down for a "free" concert (meaning you get them to come and then you make them buy you beer.) But by 6:30, we decided we were too close to Philly to get anyone to come, and since the show was starting at 7:00 anyway, we figured if anybody could come, they'd miss half the show before they got there.
We met the tailgaters soon after paying the $10.00(!!) parking charge. Many were drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade, which makes me ill just thinking about it half the time (the other half of the time it just makes me ill), but we had a few cans of Budweiser and we made good on conquering them as soon as we parked my silver bullet semi-slanted in the wrong parking section.
I hadn't really ate anything all day, so the beers hit me kind of harder than normal. I was fairly lit when we went inside to find the bathrooms and the arena (at the time the bathrooms were more important). We found a beermaid who was selling $7 Budweisers. (!!!!) They were the cheepest drinks there unless you were drinking shitty cocktails like seirra mist and rum from one of the bars. But the beermaid was a sly one. When we paid for the $21.00, she told us she'd give us free refills if we came around when the security dudes weren't around. It was about this time that Josh decided to propose to her.
We wandered back to our seats and tried to watch the opening band, God knows why. The opening band was supposed to have been The Vines. It was Sparta instead. Oh good. We went out for cigarettes.
As I stood watching the crowd enter I realized that we were probably some of the oldest heads there. 16 year old girls roamed the parking lot, sipping beer, and most of them were sporting chests that I never saw when I was 16. That's for damn sure. I was watching a couple of asses roam by when I spotted an old friend. He was smashed and stumbled over for a greeting. We shared a bit of the old days, all that happy horse-shit, and we both went inside.
I got another beer. These weren't can beers, these were'nt bottles. These were like fucking pint cups. Hence, after "purchasing" my second beer from the beer wench and tipping her $5.00, thing get hazy.
I remember the show semi-well, interrupted only by trips through the fog to the bathrooms to pee in a sink (I actually did do this) when I thought no one was looking. The fourth or fifth trip was the time I walked in on Jim nailing some 17 year old in an open stall. It was disturbing, even though she smiled when she saw me, Christ knows why. I didn't know her from anywhere. I kept thinking, "what if someone else had walked in?" then the image of that particular scene made me nauseus enough to stop thinking about it.
I remember thinking the light show was awesome, but I needed mushrooms to really see them the way they were meant to be seen.
I remember enjoying heavily Incubus, and still being extremely buzzed when Jim and Sid began to argue in my car over the directions to get us home. Argue isn't really a good word. Screaming is one that comes to mind, or possibly just throat-tearing. After finding our way to the Walt Whitman, They were still arguing, although the subject had been moved from directions to respect. Then it was Jim telling me to pull over and drop him off. On the bridge. He went so far as to open the door when he realised that it was pretty dangerous on the other side of the sheet metal.
About the time we got off the bridge is when they refused to talk to each other or me, and I was about to end up in Camden.
"Someone tell me where to go or I'm taking the Camden Exit and just follow the burned-out buildings until we hit the slum. Being we're all drunk and very white, I figure we have ten minutes to live."
All of a sudden they spoke up and helped me find our way. When we were fifteen minutes away from the house, I hit a cat. With my car. Granted, I've never hit an animal with my car and actually ran it over. I've bumped things, I've scared things, I even swerved around a landing pelican only for it to be ripped apart from the guy behind me. But I've never actually double-thumped any type of animal. I felt horrible. Like puking. Me. The hard ass punk fuck who loves to grate your skin. I killed an animal by accident and suddenly I'm goddamn Jane Fonda with the Animal Rights Force. Granted, it jumped out from between two trees and even sober it would have lived just as long, it's life cut short by the bumper of my Hyundai, but I still felt terrible.
So I went home and had a few hamburgers, and fell asleep.
That was my Tuesday night. How was yours?
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