There. I am officially doing it.
Last night, I had a moment of clarity when I realized that here I was, almost 40 years old and moshing with smelly men, and that I needed to start a blog.
Why not, everyone else is doing it. And who the hell is going to read it anyway?
So, about my night…
I went to the Pixies WHOOPS I mean Pogues show last night (I bought last nights tickets as a Christmas present for my husband, I thought I was buying him Pixies tickets…when he opened them, he wasn’t going crazy. I said WTF, honey, Merry Christmas, he said, cool, you love these guys. I was so excited that I guess I subconsciously bought the wrong ones.)
WOW. What an interesting night. Now, I love the Pogues and I saw them at a summer music festival in the late 90’s, Shane McGowan was not in the band anymore. He is a massive drunk who is an amazing artist but man, google his image. He drank so much he…just…forgot to deal..wit his teeth. Whoops. Eventually he was kicked out of the band in the 1990’s. That festival that I saw was pretty tame for some reason, anyway I don’t remember it being to out of control but you should have seen the oldest member of this boardblog site in the irish MOSH PIT last night.
Shane was so drunk that they made the audience wait an hour and a half before they came out. That sucked. (I heard the next day that he was late because they couldn’t find him. They couldn’t FIND HIM. God, I love that about him.)
I realize that I am an old fart, but I thought I looked kinda cute and I certainly thought I was fooling everyone with my cute little mini skirt, boots and peekaboo top. Until some guy bumped into me and said, “Oh Hey Aunt Barbara. When did you get here? At least you boobs still look good.”
I literally was crying in the bathroom. Then I was crying because I was crying in the bathroom. Then I realized how gross the bathrooms are and I cried because everything is so different now, I mean, I NEVER cared about how gross the bathrooms were. Now, all I wanted were some baby wipes and antibacterial lotion.
When, seriously, when did I get old?
I am going to be 40 next year and I literally feel like I am still in my 20’s. I have such a warped sense of self.
Also, I miss smoking. The ban has created a whole other problem.
Even before the concert started, as we all piled in like cows to the slaughter, I am smelling the nasty of all these people around me and I realize, I miss the smoke smell. I can’t handle the guy in front of me who clearly has not showered for days after, let’s see (I analyzed his stank for the better part of an hour) curry, beer burps, a random beer fart here and there, uh, and the worst smell, that make me throw up in my mouth a little bit, did someone get a little somethin somethin lately, DUDE. BATHE. O. M . GAWWWDDD.
Then the band started and Shane was spitting and practically puking on everyone through the nubs of his 4 remaining teeth and then people started to sweat. (By the way, the band was amazing. Shane is fucking insane, but he is stilll awesome. Love Spider. And Phil Chevron was back in action after battling throat cancer and it was the highlight of the evening to see him singing “thousands are sailing” – quite amazing. And so ends my mini-review)
I am a little damaged still from the whole scent experience. Lift the ban so I can fill my lungs with smoke instead of stinky drunk Irish college boy.
Speaking of drunk Irish college boy, 15 years ago, this kind of a scene was like a candy store for me. I LOVE drunk Irish college boys. Well, I did but man, it’s hard to look back at what I used to find hot. I was a total tard.
The funniest thing all night was Mike and this other older guy blocking me. They were my bodyguards, shoving and punching people away from me. Mike has his leather coat on and never took it off. We had to leave a little early because we thought he was going to have a coronary.
Feck, we are old.
But the date ended perfectly when we went to our most favorite city hang out, The Green Mill, and drank a dirty martini and listened to Gypsy Jazz…. A great, if not incredibly stinky night. Merry Christmas to me.