Well, it's been a full week since the NOFX concert, and I've nearly forgiven myself.
See, I messed up. The plan sounded good. Celeste and I would get drunk on absinthe at my house before heading down to the Palace. And we did, oh boy did we. We were having a great time and couldn't bring ourselves to leave in time to catch the train there, so we had to catch a cab. Before we left I put quite a bit of absinthe in the engraved flask my sister gave me for my 18th birthday.
When we got there our IDs were checked but not our tickets! Sweet! One of the last things I remember after that point is tapping everyone on the shoulder and saying "Steve! How're you going!"
This particularly confused the girls. We made a few friends, though.
I told Blair that I had a free ticket for him I managed to get him in. We went back to the bar where Celeste was talking with all her new friends named Steve.
Eventually NOFX started and I pushed my way through into the pit. BIG MISTAKE. That was the most brutal mosh pit I've ever been in. I spent almost the entire time on the ground getting trampled.
I remember lying under peoples feet and screaming in pain.
I don't remember ever managing to catch a glimpse of the band.
I remember struggling to keep my pants up while struggling to stay standing.
I don't remember how I lost my belt. How do you lose a belt in a mosh pit!? I remember Tom later raising the possibility that someone had walked past me at some point saying "man, I really need a belt" and I said "here, have mine". That sounds like something I might do while that drunk.
I don't remember how I got rescued from the pit.
I remember hearing The Decline (my favorite song, an 18-minute punk master piece) as my rescuer continued rescuing me right out the front door.
It's at this point that I went throught the following stages:
Denial: I attempted to walk back in, totally oblivious to the fact that I'd been kicked out.
Anger: "Let the the fuck back in! I'm missing them! I payed for this ticket"
Bargaining: "Look, I've got a legitimate ticket here, totally unused." Followed by "I'll give you $40 if you let me in."
Depression: I cried like a little bitch. I swear, like an little emo pussy.
I'm yet to fully embrace the acceptance stage.
At some point I realised I'd lost my phone, my belt and my flask full of absinthe. Thank god I didn't lose my wallet. I went wandering, and when I returned the gig was over. Apparently when I was found I was lurching over a totally sober girl who was there to pick up her friends. I was talking to her when my pants fell down around my ankles.
I don't know when I noticed the massive gash down my right forearm, but I assume that's where all the blood on my shorts came from. I didn't notice how swollen my ankle was and how much I'd messed up my knees till the next day.
On the way home I got blood and tears all over my friend's mum's car.
"I can't believe they played the *sob* de*sob*cline. *sob sniff* and I *sob* MISSED IIIIIT! WAAAAHH!"
This was only the second time in my life I've had memory blackouts from over-consumption of (exclusively) alcohol. Tom said he's never seen anyone so drunk in his life. I didn't vomit, though, and I was barely hung over
What a fucking disaster. What a fucking idiot.
Don't get me wrong, though. I still love absinthe.
See, I messed up. The plan sounded good. Celeste and I would get drunk on absinthe at my house before heading down to the Palace. And we did, oh boy did we. We were having a great time and couldn't bring ourselves to leave in time to catch the train there, so we had to catch a cab. Before we left I put quite a bit of absinthe in the engraved flask my sister gave me for my 18th birthday.
When we got there our IDs were checked but not our tickets! Sweet! One of the last things I remember after that point is tapping everyone on the shoulder and saying "Steve! How're you going!"
This particularly confused the girls. We made a few friends, though.
I told Blair that I had a free ticket for him I managed to get him in. We went back to the bar where Celeste was talking with all her new friends named Steve.
Eventually NOFX started and I pushed my way through into the pit. BIG MISTAKE. That was the most brutal mosh pit I've ever been in. I spent almost the entire time on the ground getting trampled.
I remember lying under peoples feet and screaming in pain.
I don't remember ever managing to catch a glimpse of the band.
I remember struggling to keep my pants up while struggling to stay standing.
I don't remember how I lost my belt. How do you lose a belt in a mosh pit!? I remember Tom later raising the possibility that someone had walked past me at some point saying "man, I really need a belt" and I said "here, have mine". That sounds like something I might do while that drunk.
I don't remember how I got rescued from the pit.
I remember hearing The Decline (my favorite song, an 18-minute punk master piece) as my rescuer continued rescuing me right out the front door.
It's at this point that I went throught the following stages:
Denial: I attempted to walk back in, totally oblivious to the fact that I'd been kicked out.
Anger: "Let the the fuck back in! I'm missing them! I payed for this ticket"
Bargaining: "Look, I've got a legitimate ticket here, totally unused." Followed by "I'll give you $40 if you let me in."
Depression: I cried like a little bitch. I swear, like an little emo pussy.
I'm yet to fully embrace the acceptance stage.
At some point I realised I'd lost my phone, my belt and my flask full of absinthe. Thank god I didn't lose my wallet. I went wandering, and when I returned the gig was over. Apparently when I was found I was lurching over a totally sober girl who was there to pick up her friends. I was talking to her when my pants fell down around my ankles.
I don't know when I noticed the massive gash down my right forearm, but I assume that's where all the blood on my shorts came from. I didn't notice how swollen my ankle was and how much I'd messed up my knees till the next day.
On the way home I got blood and tears all over my friend's mum's car.
"I can't believe they played the *sob* de*sob*cline. *sob sniff* and I *sob* MISSED IIIIIT! WAAAAHH!"
This was only the second time in my life I've had memory blackouts from over-consumption of (exclusively) alcohol. Tom said he's never seen anyone so drunk in his life. I didn't vomit, though, and I was barely hung over
What a fucking disaster. What a fucking idiot.
Don't get me wrong, though. I still love absinthe.
helly:
SGAU National hookup..... please read it! 