Well, that band for me is Phish, and my vow was broken the other night. Let this story be a lesson that you should always keep your word. Always.
My friend, we'll call her "Jane"*, is quasi dating one of the lame dudes in Phish. The other night she invited, oh let's see..."Jill" and I to come see them for free and get all access passes that would have made any vegan cream his patchwork pants.
At first I was like "abso-fucking-lutely not". But I really didn't have anything else to do, it involved a field trip to Boston, my social life has been nil since moving back, and it meant I was probably going to be able to drink Crystale from a golden Burkenstock clog all night. So, I shamefully made my way to the Fleet Center and tried to salvage what little pride I had left. I mean, how awful could it be, right?
As I predicted, it sucked. In fact, it was one of the worst nights of my life. My friends decided to disappear for over an hour, leaving me to watch the show alone, surrounded by 20,000 of Phish's dearest and smelliest fans and no booze to make it remotely interesting. They came back and acted really flaky for the rest of the night. I found out later that my ride had been snorting coke backstage (how fucking cliche)and could barely stand up. At this point, she had already lost her coat, her purse, and her ticket. I was starting to get a little pissed. I hate being the sober mother of the crew.
Things got better for about five minutes when I got to go backstage and drink a bottle of the band's fine wine and devour every last one of their chicken fingers with that honey mustard sauce I enjoy so much. I took an enormous fancy chocolate bar and stuffed it in my purse for later and grabbed some wine for the road.
I watched the rest of the show. They botched up a Velvet Underground song, and played this dumb little home video of them being all young and crunchy in Vermont, right when they formed the band I guess. (snore.). When I met the keyboardist, whose real name is Page, I said "So, you guys are into the Velvet Underground...", to which he responded "Oh, Thank you so much!".
Then I got into a huge dramafest with "Jane", who had lost her heavily intoxicated roommate, the one who had found out that afternoon that her kid sister is 8 mos. pregnant and hasn't informed her mom yet. Jane started balling everywhere and Kate rushed to her side, completely forgetting about me and the getting home before work situation that had formed. We got into a huge fight and some dumb hippie girl interrupted us to ask if we could please move somewhere else so that we wouldn't wreck the show for her by giving off bad vibes. I shit you not, folks.
Everyone in my party pretty much thought I was a heartless ungrateful bitch with a poor attitude. I am certainly NOT heartless. That's for sure. I was getting these "How can you think only of yourself at a time like this?". Please!
Don't expect me to feel badly for a bunch of drunk, coked up groupies who can't handle the mess they created when they decided to leave their brains at home for the evening. I don't care if they are my oldest and dearest friends. That's just plain retarded. Maybe it's time to clean house, if you know what I mean.
The car ride home was silent, save for me cursing myself under my breath for having left the house at all that day.
Moral of the story: never go see bands you hate.