Thursday, October 15, 2009

Clearly, My Makeup Is Too Light. But...METALLICA!

I'm sorry, did you say something? I can't hear, so you'll have to use hand gestures.

Eeew!! Oh my god, what the fuck?! You're a sick bastard, you know that? Clearly, that is NOT what I meant by "use hand gestures". I'm going to go take a shower now.

Ok, I'm back. But I can't say hello because I'm also mute. Well, not exactly mute. It's more like I'm...an 85 year old Russian whore with a life-long Winston Salem habit. Rode hard and put away wet. A little syphilis and a little gout. You know how it is.

Apparently I'm retarded now, too. But DUDES: Metallica made me this way!!! I feel like the dude in the One video. Armless, legless, eyeless, presumably dickless, earless, tongueless. Just a pile of aching meat.

Except that bombs made him that way (or was it landmines?)((probably landmines, since they're specifically blamed in the song))(((but bombs could do it, too, let's not rule those fuckers out))) and a Metallica concert about that guy made me this way.

I AM actually pretty sore. From sleeping with everyone in both bands plus bassist from Gojira. Might explain the syphillus.

JUST KIDDING! I think Lars is into guys. But I totally did everyone else.

I just realized that none of this is making any sense, which is kind of how the whole night went. We showed up (after I tried to direct our vehicle to the WRONG venue) and parked in the least convenient parking ramp downtown, which wasn't really inconvenient except we had to walk past lots of white collar folks in the sky way system, and I think we freaked them out a little bit. One of them even poked me with a stick to see if I'd move. It was awkward.

We had to pick up our tickets at the will call window, and I swear to god it was like we were trying to buy methadone or Clairitin D or something. Two forms of ID, the credit card I used to buy the tickets in March, the blood of a virgin...that one was tricky, but I found a sweet little old lady taking tickets, and she was kind enough to point me in the direction of the giant pretzel kid. Said she'd never had any luck with that one. And then she winked.

Then we had to go through the security check and the pat-down line where they search for weapons and drugs and cameras and, presumably, Bibles. The last thing they need is someone bursting into flame during the encore, so they must take those away. Which, by the way, Metallica's encore featured BRIGHT! HOUSE! LIGHTS! and giant beach balls which fell from the ceiling. It was pretty rad.

Well...I didn't actually get to hit a beach ball, but it looked fun. I'm super empathetic that way.

And then I brained myself on the stall door in the ladies room because I went bursting into the stall all willy-nilly-three-drinks-in and the door didn't actually open any further. Or close, for that matter. Or swing in any direction whatsoever. It just stayed put and made a perfect target for the side of my skull.

(MICHELLE: YOU DO NOT WANT TO READ THIS PART. I know you will anyway, but I thought I'd warn you. Don't say I didn't warn you. THIS IS ME WARNING YOU.)

Then I set my lip gloss on top of the toilet paper dispenser. Then my lip gloss rolled onto the floor. Of the public restrooms at the Target Center. Then I picked it up AND USED IT. But the good news is that there are no bathroom doors, just big openings in the wall, so I didn't touch any door handles. So I'm safe from disease, right?

Then we met some girls that Gray knew when he was young and mullet-ed and kind of a drunken buffoon.

Hi Jenny! Hi Tracy*! You were darling! Especially you, Jenny, for reading my blog! I'm pretty sure I've hit it big time now that I've met an actual person that I don't even know who reads my blog! (translation: that I don't force at gunpoint to read my blog). It was very exciting, and I was all, "Metallica who? I'm Cat, and I just got recognized. Kinda."

And then I got punched in the face by all the Metallica fans.

So then Lamb of God started their (regrettably short) set before the main event, and I kept screaming, "RANDY I WANNA HAVE YOUR BABY!" and he never actually looked at me, but I know that deep down inside, he could feel me there. Probably because of the love musk I was squirting at him from behind my ears. Raw animal musk, baby. And once when he was doing those awesome circular head-bangy maneuvers, I think we had a moment. Or possibly I just got dizzy and had to sit down.

Of course, I was nearly close enough to be poked in the eye by his hair. And since that wasn't close enough, Gray and his brother decided I needed to BE UP HIGH, so they hoisted me up on their shoulders (did I mention the mini-skirt? little advice: those are not designed for heights.) and paraded me through the crowds of people up to the stage, and all I could think was, "OH MY GOD TROUBLE. WE ARE GOING TO GET IN TROUBLE," and all I could say was, "I am so sorry. Sorry guys. Please excuse us. I'm so sorry for blocking your view. No really, so sorry."

And then I spent the rest of the concert collecting discarded cups off the floor and placing them in the proper refuse receptacles.

I'm just THAT much fun to party with.

*PS - Tracy, it's C-A-T, not Kate. I forgive you this time. Don't let it happen again, or I might leave your cup on the floor. I'd hate to have to do that.

PPS - No really, it was THE MOST FUN show ever, and I literally still cannot speak and my ears are still ringing and I have bruises all up and down my torso from being hoisted. But dude: I WAS 5 FEET FROM JAMES AND KIRK AND THAT ONE BOUNCY BASS PLAYER. I was about 20 feet from Lars, but only because the drums are so much further back, and also I'm afraid of foreigners. It was totally surreal seeing such famous musicians that close up. This must be how people feel when they die and meet Jesus. And also, if I didn't have H1N1 before, I probably do now.

Concerts are germy.