Shitshows

Two nights in a row of shows, both shitshows. Would you expect any different in my life? I woke up one morning to a late-night text from High School who asked if I wanted to see M83 the next night. I was very surprised by this but also very pleased as I had been really wanting to see M83 and it was a sold out show. I wasn't about to ask him where his girlfriend was and accepted the invite. I technically already had plans with my new roommate and old coworker--the Georgia girls. My old coworker (GA) was now an event planner and hosted parties at different clubs. This particular Thursday she was hosting a lingerie fashion show at the Hudson Hotel. My new roommate (Atl) was her best friend and it was going to be her first night out in NYC. But I figured since the show was right near the Hudson, that I could swing by before or after for a bit. And because I am excessive I did both. I arrived there with Atl and the place was filled with a bunch of sleazy Europeans. Even though I love Europe we weren't too pleased with the crowd. But we were pleased with the open bar so I drank free beer until it was time to meet High School.
I trucked over to Terminal 5 in my platforms, almost eating in potholes a couple times. I met him in line and we headed straight for the bar, which is typical of us. We ordered our dranks and squeezed in with the hipsters. We had a decent view and the band went on just as we walked up. Aaaand they were awesome. Hipster/electro/tres tres French. I loved it. They were intense and the best was the female keyboard player and her amazing backless dress. I cannot wait to see them again especially since my memories are a little hazy due to all the drinks I had already consumed. Which led me to think it as an excellent idea to head back over to the Hudson, with High School in tow, after the show. We thought we had missed the lingerie fashion show but lucky for us it was just beginning. It was tacky and every girl looked so uncomfortable and we thought it was amazing. The two of us and Atl stood on our tiptoes to get pictures of the girls trying to cover their asses (literally). We then kept drinking and made the hazy decision to head back down to our hood and drink some more. Why not? Don't worry, you don't have to be at work the next day and it isn't already 1AM. I told myself that I would drink water but when I returned from the bathroom, there was a beer sitting in front of me so what choice did I have but to drink it? We had unknowingly entered a hipster lair, the second for the evening and we were surrounded by hipsters that literally smelled like cigs and BO. Charming.  After a couple more dranks we decided enough was enough, High School headed back home to his girlfriend and I passed out for a few hours.The next day at work was not pretty.
I stuggled through, being a complete waste of life and headed home to immediately take a nap. I woke up to a text from Charlie Kelly inviting me out that night, which was even more surprising than the invite I had received from High School. He said his brother was in town, whom I had not seen since we met at Ultra. I had no idea what the night was in store for so I dressed in an outfit I would normally wear out--platforms booties, jeggings and a shirt. Turns out that when I headed out to meet them, they decided we were seeing the Crystal Method at Webster Hall. Not an appropriate outfit. But too late to change so I met them outside for a somewhat awkward reunion. I hadn't seen Charlie Kelly since our times last fall with AD and Bawseton and it was weird without them. But once we all started drinking things were fine and we yelled to each other about inside jokes from those times (I think you can turn down this street....).
At one point the boys headed to the bathroom (probably to do drugs) and I stood in a corner, going through old texts on my phone. All of a sudden I felt a firm grasp on my ass. I looked up and there was a huge black guy staring right in my face, his hand still firmly planted. I was partly in shock because I couldnt believe this was happening, so I said "What are you doing? Why is your hand on my ass??" and his response "Oh you don't like it?". I then tried to twist away from him until he finally got the hint and wandered off. Sexually molested by a stranger, cool. Why do guys think they can do that??
The show had started and the opening set was two young female djs who I thought sucked. And worst of all they had some NYU kid jumping around on stage with them, screaming into a microphone. He was annoying as shit but luckily at one point everyone started throwing plastic balls at him that had been dropped from the ceiling. Luckily the girls wrapped up fairly soon and the Crystal Method came on. They were actually awesome despite being old, fat Brits. Towards the end of the set I decided to make a trip to the bathroom. I had been well aware the whole show that I was overdressed but on my walk back from the bathroom I decided to walk with an attitude, like I was much cooler than everyone else. Welp, that failed. Scene: I'm walking like I'm cool and then all of a sudden I ate it. Really ate it. My foot had slipped in a puddle and there was no time to try and recover. I was upright to flat on my back, drink flying out of my hands, in half a second. I laid there for a second in disbelief, until someone finally rushed over to help me up. I was mortified but luckily the boys didn't even notice. This didn't stop me from yelling to them that I had just fallen as soon as I walked up. I think they were pretty upset that they missed it.
After the show, there was no way they were done drinking so we headed to a bar nearby. It was dark and neither of us had ever been to it. When we walked in there was a mirror on the wall to the right. Well apparently Charlie Kelly thought this was another room and bee-lined straight for it. Luckily he stopped directly in front of it, realizing, and did an about face. After we finished dying, he later said that he thought there was an angry man walking quickly towards him and he needed to check it out. I didn't feel so bad about falling then. We sat at the bar and I regaled them with funny things my roommate had said to me earlier that night. Ex: "People who saw you can't wear leggings as pants, I say, you're just fat" and how she called fat, trashy people "swamp donkeys". We then all tried to drunkenly dance to the salsa music that was playing and I looked like an uncoordinated rag doll with cement blocks stuck to my feet. We left at last call and I stumbled back to my apartment, pleased with the unexpected events of these shitshows.