Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Kerrie and I went to the Morrissey concert last night.
But just to say that is an understatment.
We basically spent all day stalking our idol, even getting a private tour from a concierge of the fab hotel he stayed at and going to the stores he was rumored to be shopping at that afternoon. We even had dinner in the famous Drum Room that night, just in case we could catch a glimpse of the sex god.
While the opening act was playing, we hung out in front of the Morrissey tour buses and caught the eye of his drum tech, Mira. The handsome older man supplied us with Coronas and flirted with us a bit. We ended up skipping to the concert, hand in hand, singing "We're so fabbing fuckulous! And we drank Morrissey's beer!"
But the concert didn't go the way we planned. Two petite and extremely thin young women are not the safest in a mob. We could barely see and we were punched and kicked while trying to make our way to the front (we were planning to jump stage). When Moz threw his shirt in the audience, all hell broke loose. Kerrie was pushed to the ground and stampeded on, while people rushed to grab the sweaty article of clothing. A couple guys helped me pick Kerrie up. "I'm fine," she said. And then she fainted. The same guys helped me carry her to the back of the auditorium and an ambulance quickly arrived. The EMT stayed with her for about 20 minutes and eventually confirmed she was okay. I spent the rest of the concert comforting Kerrie and trying to calm my own nerves. (When I saw her lying on the ground, it seemed the world was ending. I was worried as hell.)
After the concert, we headed back to Morrissey's hotel. A few cute members of the Courteeners followed us and kept tipping their hats at us, but we ignored them. They eventually asked us to accompany them for drinks, but we politely declined. Moz was more important.
But much to our dismay, we saw Moz leave into a black car from a distance and take off. Devestated, we decided to head out. But then Mira burst out of the one of the tour buses and chased us down. He'd seen the mob scene incident from backstage and wanted to talk to us about it. He handed us a few beers. Thirty minutes later, we were surrounded by eight members of Morrissey's backstage crew who had just finished packing up the trucks. There were a few dashing 20-something year old boys from England and a couple of older Irish men. There were a couple cute American boys as well. We sat there on the sidewalk eating pizza and candy and drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. Kerrie was charming and demure. I made them laugh with random stories. An hour later, they invited us to join them on their pimped-out tour bus. It was fucking insane. A comfy sofa and giant plasma tv awaited us. They even had luxurious bunk beds--things I didn't even know existed! We spent two more hours in there with them, dancing and flirting. We sweetly rejected their pot, much to their intrigue. They kept trying to kiss us and told us we were too pretty to let go. They told us stories about Morrissey, what it was like to work with him, and what he was "really" like (not much different than what you would expect). The whole night with them was pretty fab.
Then things took a strange turn. We drank so much beer that for some reason we cheerfully accepted their offer to ride with them to St. Louis that night for the next show. But after a few minutes of driving and peering into their leering eyes, I realized what that actually meant. And I decided that if Kerrie and I did anything rated R with any member of that tour, it was going to be Morrissey and Morrissey alone. Not a bunch of roadies. I made them stop the bus. They were upset and spent a while trying to get me to change my mind (Kerrie was too out of it to say anything). But I wasn't swayed. A few kissed us on the cheek, but Mira took it a bit too far and surprised a drunk Kerrie with a wet kiss on the mouth. He then promised if we saw him again at a future concert, he would introduce us to Morrissey. And we're so taking him up on that.
We waved goodbye to the tour bus and walked around, trying to sober up before heading home.
I eventually crashed into my apartment around 3 a.m. and went to bed in my concert clothes, drenched in stale cigarette smoke, pot aroma, and beer.
And then Rian yelled at me this morning when he got up. He said Kerrie and I are "party girls" and we need to learn to "control ourselves."
Um, okay, dad.
But despite his lecture and despite my hang over, I'm still feeling pretty fabbing fuckulous! ;)