That’s what last night was. We knew we would pay the price today, and we accepted that. And pay the price we did. I’ll spare you the details of my current job, but look for that in another post, tentatively titled “Diggin’ Ditches in the Rain”. But suffice it to say I’ve had less than 3 hours sleep, to work in the rain all friggin’ day. But at least I got out an hour early. Poor Mrs. had an even more hellacious day in store for her. But let’s pick this up from last night.
Last night was the last night of a residency with the bestest band in the world, the Pat McGee Band. A residency is when a band plays the same venue on the same day for a few weeks in a row. The idea is for the fans and word of mouth to spread, and attendance increases with each new date. It’s a great practice, and more bands should be doing it. Last night was the last of 3 Mondays of Pat McGee Band (which will now be shortened to the much more easily typed PMB) playing the Tin Angel. The first 2 gigs were their typical blast. PMB is 3 guys right now; Pat (duh) on guitar and vocals, Brian Fechino on lead guitar and Chardy McEwan on percussion. These dates are very informal and stripped down. There’s no set list, they just take requests from the crowd. It’s a true blast.
The first 2 shows I kind of lucked out. The first night, I didn’t have “work” on Monday, so it allowed me to take a good nap in preparation for a long night out. And I made sure to be a good boy. Just 2 beers, and try not to stay out too late. But lemme tell ya, even with the nap, it sucked goat balls to get to bed at 2 and get up at 6. What can I say, I got the rock in me.
The second week, I ended up not working on Tuesday. Of course, I didn’t find this out until I was well into my usual morning routine. I certainly wasn’t gonna bitch though. Which leads us to last night. The Mrs. also digs and knows the band and was coming to this last residency show. Which is a big deal, since she usually turns into a pumpkin at 9 PM, so for her to want to do a late night, on a Monday night no less, is pretty big.
So the idea was to meet up with them early, spend some time with them, and leave at a reasonable time. That was the plan. We started off good, we were able to have dinner with the band. Well, they ate, and we just had 2 beers. OK, so that is my usual “good boy” limit, and it’s not even 8:30 yet. No biggie. So we go to see the show. Immediately, the Mrs. Is like “I’ll buy next round.” My momma didn’t raise no fool to turn down free booze. Now I’m one over my limit, and PMB hasn’t even started yet. No good can come from this. I know PMB will go on about 9:30 and go for about 2 hours. I have it in my mind that we have till 12, home by 1. I can see the clock. I can also see she drank her beer, and wants another. My rationalizing skills hit over drive with the faint cry of “Just one more, it will be OK.” Fine so I get another round. Mine drink disappears quicker than
It’s not too long before we’re both holding empty glasses. OK, I know the show will be wrapping up in a bit and we will have to go. That was it, waters from now on, we have long days ahead of us. Suddenly, she turns from the angel on my arm to the devil on my shoulder. “C’mon, one more, please?” “Shit, hon, we both have to work tomorrow.” She counters with “When’s the last time we had a night out, let’s have another.” I try to rationalize with her again. “You know you’re no good with less than 15 hours sleep. You will have to pay the price tomorrow.” She says something that I can’t reply to. “I don’t care.”
It’s like heaven’s gates opening. Here’s my barometer, now telling me it’s OK to indulge. We’re probably at 11 o’clock now. I know this beer will force common sense to leave us. I know that we will have to go soon. I know tomorrow will suck ass. But, fuck it, tomorrow seems so far away, so it’s off to the bar I go. The show is so good, it can power me through the week. The beer will only help power me through tonight. Fair deal. . I won’t indulge myself here, but the show is fucking awesome, a ton of fun, and well worth the price we will pay. The plan-yes, that we already veered away from-is to hang till about 12 with the guys, help them get their gear out and split. Brian comes out and we chat, and he says he wants to do a shot with me. See above part about my mom raising no fool. That shot turns into a shot and a beer. (Depth charge!) Fine, it’s water rapidly flowing under the bridge at this point, and I really like Brian. The more I’ve talked with him over the years, the more I see where we have a lot in common. About the same age, in similar situations with our girls, in similar situations with always fixing up our houses, both love our Labs, etc. Brian is a very cool guy. We’re all talking, having a good time.
We’re about midnight now. Our original plan gets a bit of luck as the band is staying over in NJ, not nearby, which could really lead to a late night. The band decides to hang out for a quick beer. Yea, I think we all see where this is going. We all go to the bar. A round of beers awaits us, as we keep talking with Brian. Then Chardy comes. Chardy is the joker of the band. I have never seen him in a bad mood, and he has a quick and wicked sense of humor, and makes everyone laugh. We talk to him as we are now getting close to 1. Shit. But the fun and booze commands us to keep going. Then, the pizza saved us.
Turns out the band ordered pizzas to go from the bar, to take back to the hotel in NJ. The band is leaving now, and we have some sort of shot to get more than 10 minutes sleep. We share our goodbyes. In a way this sucks, because I was spoiled seeing them 3 weeks in a row. I don’t know when I will see them next, but they gave me and the Mrs. a truly great night out, something we desperately need these days. Lots of great songs, lots of laughs, nothing but a great, great time. Even past 1 on a Tuesday morning. We get back to the car, and start the trek home. Soon, we will be nestled in our bed. Nothing can stop us now.
Except her stomach. For some reason, she gets hungry after such adventures. There have been many stops at 7-11 to get greasy cheesy nachos. I mean, I don’t think that’s what they’re actually called, but you see my point. Her stomach has GPS to the Wawa on the way home. I know after a night of drinking I’m usually trying to stay away from the greasy food. But not her. So now my trip to sleep will be further delayed by her grabbing a sandwich and Pringles. OK, so while I am there, I might as well get something, too. I really like their Italian Ciabatta. Which apparently is Italian for “keepa you up most ah da night.”
Fuck, I can’t sleep. It’s now past 2, I am tired. I know my Tuesday-due to start in t-minus 5 hours-will suck. Right now, I just crave sweet, sweet slumber. And if I’m lucky, a dream with Christina Applegate in a school girl outfit. Yum. But no. Instead I toss and turn, hearing every tick of the clock. Which is kinda odd since I have a digital clock. Anyway, even though I am tired, I can sleep, and hearing the Mrs. snoring away like a hibernating orangutan (if in fact they do hibernate). Fuck. Just fuck.
Morning comes and I am use to my usual “old man” aches. Tired doesn’t even begin to describe it. Mrs. isn’t much better. “Yea,” she says,” but it was totally worth it.” And for one of the few times I can ever safely admit, she’s right.
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