It's All Horribly Wrong! (but not in a horrible way)

I have to say, I had a great past few days. It was a positively stellar weekend, made best by everything that didn’t work out.

Friday

As referenced before, we were headed downtown so that TFN could spend some quality time with her boyfriend. With that in mind, we settled in at the Loco Bar for some good food and beer with good friends.

The tickets stated: Doors at seven. Show at eight. Based on my mathematical skills, this meant that, if we head to the club at nine, we’d catch part or all of the Street Dogs (the second band), and then see Tiger Army.

So why was it, at nine, when we walked into St. Andrew’s Hall, Tiger Army was on stage? Not only were they already playing, but they were in their encore?

Apparently, the opener didn’t show up, so they rushed the Street Dogs right on stage.

The next fiasco, despite our being on the guest list and having a photo pass, the bouncer wanted to confiscate TFN’s camera – simply for the sake of getting into a pissing match.

While TFN fought with the bouncer, I managed to call up the tour manager, who came out into the lobby, told the doorstaff to cut the crap (thanks Cash!), and then took TFN down in front and put her behind the barricade to shoot the band.

So, even though she only got 15 minutes of show, she got to spend it five feet from Nick 13. She was happy.

And also, later we both confessed to each other and to the friends we were with that the most fun of the entire night was getting into a screaming match with the bouncer… and winning. We’re horrible like that.

Saturday

Saturday started with a 17-mile bike ride (those miles fell away so easily, too. I really think I am getting to be ready for Iceman!). Then, plotting our next move, it was decided that TFN, ST and Abi (all recurring characters) as well as KayBee (a new character) would go to a haunted house.

Going to a haunted house is a big production for us. It requires a series of preparations. It requires going home, reading reviews of all the houses, making fun of the bad ones before finally choosing the one we’d like to go. Then we have to go to the 7-11 for large coffees. Then we have to go to the liquor store for a bottle of Bailey’s.

Our designated haunted house was in Pontiac. It was one of those expensive ones ($19 to get in), but supposedly one of the best in the state. It was in a crappy neighborhood, but really, all of Pontiac is a crappy neighborhood.

We got there, and we got in line. This was the line to buy a ticket. After standing in line for 30 minutes, polling people who came out of the place (“It was OK” being the most common report), we ran out of coffee and reached to ticket booth.

Were we to but the tickets, we were looking at a two or three hour wait. Unless we bought the $27 ticket, which would put us in the 15-minute line, away from the plebian unwashed. That’s right kids, for a mere $8 more, you too can become a member of bourgeoisie! We’re against that kind of classicism, so we made the proper choice.

Neither.

We left.

What happens next is a true Halloween moment. Much of Pontiac consists of one-way streets. Making our way to the expressway proved difficult. Despite the fact that we were heading toward the expressway, following signs that said “To I-75”, we managed to drive around in a circle. A big circle. A circle that it took an hour to make. Eventually, we ended up in Troy.

Oh, also, this whole hour circular drive included having all the windows down singing along to the radio at top volume. All the hits. George Harrison, Prince, Rick James… man, when five people who can’t sing are piled into a Scion, singing together at the top of there lungs – screaming actually – it doesn’t sound as bad as you’d think. It sounds bad, yes, but not that bad. Bad in a fun kind of way.

Also apparently bad enough to ward off any carjackers while we ghetto cruised Pontiac.

We ended the evening in the bowling alley across the street from the liquor store and 7-11 where we started. And it was a perfect night.

Also, I bowled better than ST, but in his defense, he left his balls at home that night.

Sunday

So once you’ve done nothing at all productive all weekend, Sunday is the day to catch up. Run errands, clean house, do laundry, right? That was totally the plan anyway.

At some point after haircuts, the call came in, pointing out that this was quite possibly the last nice day of the year, and if we didn’t end up on the porch at the K&A Faction House, we would be making a dire mistake. One can’t argue logic like that.

It was a perfectly unexpectedly lazy way to end a weekend where nothing had gone as planned…