Music and Whiskey and Vomit, Oh My! (SF vol. III)

So MJ and I are all dolled up and ready to head out to the American Head Charge show at the Warfield in San Francisco. She in a hot-hoochie-mama-pink dress, fishnets, and big black boots; I in jeans and a black sleeveless shirt to show off my tattoos, and of course the super-kick-ass-but-goddammit-the-blister black and white shoes. MJ stopped along the way at a liquor store so I could hop out and buy some whiskey; we figured we'd be hanging out with the guys on their tourbus (uh, their current home), and you can't very well do that (unless you're a groupie) without bringing thanks-for-the-hospitality-and-putting-us-on-the-guestlist gifts. MJ had a big container of the afore mentioned cookies, and I got the 5th of Jim Beam.
We got the car parked in a reasonable area (though none of the club-surrounding-areas were very good) and headed on into the show. AHC was one of the openers for Mudvayne, who I also like pretty well, but MJ and I had already discussed the possibility of abandoning the show after AHC's set and hitting a karaoke bar or something with the guys.
It was an energetic set, including songs from their previous and current albums, all much appreciated by the audience. I thought they got a good response from the crowd, who moshed and screamed and put up the devil-horns whenever appropriate. Their last song, "Seamless," was especially intense, as Martin (their vocalist) made a comment that I read as somewhat of a dedication to their recently departed guitarist. Live and on their albums, their grinding, throbbing metal sound is musically balanced and contoured by the keyboards; the result is a concoction of melodic trance, driving rhythms, heart-ripping chords, and technical composition. Yes, I'm a weirdo. If you love music, sometimes you have to dissect it to see what makes it work, you know?
Anyway, like I said, it was a great set. Afterwards, MJ and I milled around for a bit, taking in the Warfield Theatre and the various characters in attendance. Finally we decided to go ahead and take the chance of leaving (no re-entry) to see if we could find the bus.
Lighting a clove cigarette as we walked outside, we discussed our options and decided to venture around the block (MJ remembered a guy talking about running into the Mudvayne guitarist back there, so we thought we'd give it a try). We walked around the corner and almost immediately saw Justin, the keyboardist, who was one of my favorite guys in the band from the last time MJ and I hung out with them at Ozzfest way back in 2001 (my bachelorette party, of all things). We talked awhile and convinced him to be the token male to walk us back to our car so we could get the presents (it's amazing what dropping the homemade-chocolate-chip-cookie phrase can do).
Back to the bus with the cookies and the booze, we boarded and I immediately felt like I was imposing on their space. No one did anything to make me feel that way, but it's just a matter of invading someone's personal territory--an already too-small living area that they're already having to share with too many people. Justin and their replacement guitarist Benji did their best to make sure MJ and I felt welcome, though, noshing on the cookies and thanking us for the gifts and coming to the show. When Sir Banks, the bassist, appeared from the back to greet us and confiscate the cookies and the Beam, it all felt a little more comfortable. He showed himself as being as nice as he was before, and we all started talking more with the opening of the whiskey. MJ and I soon met a couple from the SF area who were also visiting the guys and hanging out. Kat and I almost immediately took up telling dog stories and laughing about our respective goofballs. Sir Banks, seeing there were enough people to play a game, brought out a small contraption with 4 joysticks attached. Only they weren't joysticks. They were conductors.
He told us the gist of the game and he, Daniel (Kat's boyfriend), Kat, and I took a joystick. Daniel was the first to go down, as the electric shock brought him to his knees with a pseudo-mammalian cry of surprise. And again. And again. Round after round, Daniel kept getting shocked while the rest of us and the quickly-gathered audience roared with laughter. Finally, Kat traded joysticks with him to see if it was a set-up, but to no avail. Not only did he get shocked the next time, but Kat and I did, too. Let's just say that I'm glad I didn't have to pee at the time.
Martin eventually made his way to the front of the bus, mainly to get his dinner, and as usual didn't say much. A very nice and intelligent guy, his mantra is "Don't speak unless absolutely necessary." Whatever the case, he's a cool cat and when the night was over, he was my new favorite of the group.
Some more whiskey and cookies and coming-and-going later, MJ informs me that we're all going to Zeitgeist (the very same bar she and I went to the previous night). We all loaded up on the trolley-car and descended upon the bar with various forms of ID and cash. A round of drinks purchased, bartenders tipped, and we headed out back to the patio area, taking over the table to the far side of the yard.
More conversation and laughter, another clove cigarette, and someone from a nearby table passed over a different kind of smoke. Eventually, it ended up in my hand, and I thought, "What the hell? It's not like I'm going to go have to get tested or anything." What I should have been thinking is, "Well, you've not had a lot to eat all day, and you've been drinking, and you haven't smoked pot in almost 10 years, and you remember what happened the last time you tried to smoke and drink at the same time..." Strangely, none of those thoughts entered my head until later, so I took a puff and passed it on. Yes,--I've said it before--I'm an idiot.
It didn't take long before I had my head down on the table and knew I was fucked up beyond belief. I tried to talk to MJ, and though my words were incoherent, she knew I was sorry-assed-out-of-it. Martin went to the bar and got a grilled cheese sandwich, which he brought back and shared with me. All the while I'm struggling with the cottonmouth to get a bite down, Justin is across from me saying that the cheese and the grease are really bad for me in that (and any) condition, and that the cheese is going to clog my valves. Clog my valves. Clog my valves.
I didn't even get my head all the way under the table before I projectile-vomitted a stream about 3-feet out. Somehow the bench beside me was unoccupied, so none of the high-velocity chunks became part of the apparel of anyone in my immediate area. MJ and Martin were up without delay, MJ bringing me a wet towel and Martin handing me a glass of water. My valves were not clogged at all, and with the fire-power I possessed, I even managed to avoid puking on my shoes. I was still somewhat bent under the table, trying to expunge the evil demons from my being, but almost instantly feeling better. Not normal or sober, but better. I was still fucked up, mind you, but with the emptying of my system I was once again functional. We stayed a little longer, but I knew if I was going to revive any more I was going to have to walk this one off. And walk we did.
We made it out of the bar without any further incident (I think my spewing foamy whiskey and chewed-up grilled cheese was by far enough), and we began the hike back to the bus. I don't know how long a walk it was exactly, but it for sure wasn't a short jaunt around the block. With MJ and Martin steadying me occasionally, I was able to pull myself together and walk with the group at a good clip all the way back.
We arrived back at the bus and hung out for another little while, this time joined by the busdriver and a couple of roadies. MJ got the brilliant idea to drunk-dial Waveline, so we pulled the busdriver in on the voicemail message to personify Waveline's good friend Jim Beam. Somewhere in the mayhem, the band's other guitarist, Karma (who had not joined us on the night's adventure), appeared with another guy who I think was either a roadie or a friend of his. MJ and I sat across from each other at a little table, a guy and a girl sat on one of the benches further into the bus (drinking Captain Morgan's and chasing it with Coke), the guitarist Benji and his groupie were making out across from the guy and the girl, the strange roadie J-Rock was sitting next to MJ, Karma was standing in the aisle of the bus, and his friend was sitting next to where he was standing, eyes glued to Karma. I was still pretty fucked up, but nicely so (meaning, I was able to enjoy the state of being), and all of the layers of interaction in that one little capsule of an environment were insane. Watching the guy and the girl sit and take shots of rum and then chaser, I realized that they were in their own little world. As were Benji and his groupie, who was then on his lap straddling him (they soon left our area for the bunks, where I assume he got a blowjob). J-Rock the strange was hitting on MJ and trying to see if she and I would partake in some girly action. Karma, standing in the aisle at the front of the bus, was doing his best to try to be witty, but sounding more to me like he was reciting jokes from some stand-up comedian he'd seen; his friend, who I presume had some sort of man-crush on him, just sat there mesmerized, chiming in occasionally to further pad Karma's ego (calling him "brilliant" and the like). These two in particular were amusing me in my non-sober state; as Karma did his best to appear intelligent and cynical (but came across more as being insecure, ever the showman for any attention), even making sarcastic comments to we un-famous-non-musicians (for all he knew); his sidekick lovingly looked on, laughing at all of the punchlines and egging him on to further his performance. What a pair, these two. I wonder if Karma employs that guy to be the Robin to his Batman, or if the guy just wants to blow someone in a band (I guess groupies come in all forms, right?).
In any case, Benji and his girl had moved on back to his bunk, and some of the other guys had returned to to the bus to get ready for that night's travel. Sir Banks made a detour to the pisser on his way through the bus, and found, much to everyone's dismay, a big wad of toilet paper thrown into the toilet (a big no-no in a communal, mobile commode). Raising all of hell with his angry shout, Sir Banks let us know that whoever was responsible for the tp was going to have to go fishing for it, because he wasn't going to do it. I was a little impressed when Benji's groupie readily admitted to the error and reached in (with a toilet-paper-covered hand) and removed the bothersome matter. Benji, meanwhile, was sitting up in his bunk with his pants half-way down, but his girl never missed a beat--she discarded the tp in the trash outside and promptly rejoined him, closing the door that led to the bunk area on her way back through.
A little more time passed before they (and we) had to depart, but when the busdriver made his final call of the night we knew we must adjourn. Walking back to the car, MJ said she couldn't believe how resilient I was, and was happy that I had rebounded the way I had. A "Rock Star," she called me, which made me feel a little better and a little less embarassed by my behavior. I suppose if there was a group of people who could understand, it would be those guys, but I don't particularly like to be a burden.
MJ drove back to the flat and we got ready for bed. When I went back to thank her once more and tell her goodnight, she was working on a puzzle (MJ, do you ever freakin sleep?), so I went on and crashed. A gentle rain was tapping on the window and the balcony outside my bedroom, and I was grateful for the peace that concluded the night.

Again, I have to give a huge thank-you (again) to both MJ and to Martin. I am extremely fortunate to have had such caring people around me, and I appreciate your help more than either of you could know! Next time, I'll be the babysitter and you crazy kids can have some fun.