Rock concerts, a silver sundress and bloody knees – a story of HELL YA

Monica had retrieved tickets to this concert – weeks – months – who knows, decades ago?

I had heard one song from their CD in her car one night, while parked outside the pub. It wasn’t until sometime right before I had received my practice schedule for the show I was in, that she confirmed the concert with me. I was able to negotiate that specific night off and we were set for an evening of… well, I wasn’t quite sure what exactly. I do the tequila – just not the “rock concert” thing.

Of course this is where the silver sundress comes in to play, with platforms to match. I had met her straight from work at the same pub where I had been introduced to this music months before. We discussed many things that night while she had dinner and I had …tequila.

We arrived at the concert venue after a fight with Seri (my Iphone Seri, wanted us to turn INTO a building) and found a back road in the middle of downtown to lead us to the this mystery concert hall that everyone was talking about, and no one could tell you how to find.

Parking seemed easy – however the two block hike in gravel to the event venue was gruelling. This is an important part of the story – because any buzz caught previously – was worked out – in this work out to the concert. Upon entering we arrived into to the bar area where Monica found herself with a group of people she knew. Our groups merged, and we set out with drinks to find a spot outside to smoke while the opening band was playing.

The “terrace”, as I will lovingly call it, was a fenced in slab of cracked concrete. In this prision-yardish decorated area, was a ridiculous number of patrons, doing as we were, and trying to find a spot to suck down a cig before the concert started.

I am a Prep – to this there is no question – however – I am a dork. No lie. Every new event leaves me with this blonde-wide eyed wonder to rival when Legally Blonde arrived at Harvard.

In this little dingy, hard rock atmosphere, was a patron-demographic to match the show. Everyone seemed to wearing black t-shirts and facial piercings with tattoos were peeking out of sleeves. Women with wild hair. Men with biker gear… and what I can best guess where some people pierced with fishhooks in their face.

I was wandering around with my tequila diet in one had, a bag on my shoulder cuddling my belongings and beer I had purchased (to not do that bar line again) and my open mouthed excited stare into this new view of our small town.

Open mouthed is a good way to put it – into the distance I saw my friends ( new and old ) and in an effort to glide past the clusters of people outside, I had failed to manuver one of my platform shoes and (not so firmly) planted it into a hole into the concrete.

I twisted, knee landed and then the slide – that would have brought a baseball player into home-plate. This brought me open mouth to ankle & boot – of one of them “fish hooked mother fuckers”.

I don’t have long legs – however at that moment I felt like I was dividing the concrete smoking slab like the equator. Quite possibly, to hot to touch, since it too quite a lot of tugging on this poor man’s leg to alert him – Chica down, help needed, please.

Fish-hook and friend retrieved me from the floor and I popped up – everyone surprised that I had not spilled my drink.

I was glad to see familiar faces of friends once my head reached eye level – I had skidded in the right direction and was only steps away. I believed myself to be fine, Monica checked me out and neither of us could see any viable damage. We had our drink and a smoke and trotted inside.

Monica had the forethought to make sure we could check out my leg in the bathroom so we could actually see what was going on. And boy was there something going on – from knee to ankle was nothing but an out take of Friday the 13th. Blood every where.

Here goes to a prop to good friends –  Monica stayed and helped me mop up my battered leg like a trooper – and here is a prop to fellow female kind – the women in the bathroom were more compassionate than I would have thought, for a gross bio-hazard scene like that and even tried to help. With the help of a staff member and a band-aid – I was good as (almost) new and we were out on the floor.

Monica was flirting and chatting and I, another well deserved drink in, was mesmerized by the music. She reeled me back into the group from my gravitational pull leading me towards the stage – just in time for the band to play the song that brought us to that concert to begin with.

And as the first chords began to play – the crowd screamed ….Hell Ya.

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