June 9, 2013

• MRI-A NonResults, Gogol Bordello, 24 ARGH!

  For my Friday off, I was hoping for the results of my MRA but it was not to be.  Tests will be in Monday.  I swam 3500 meters earlier that morning then went for a massage which was great for my shoulders.  I tried to cram in a nap but I ended up getting sucked into watching This Must Be the Place, absolutely fascinated by Sean Penn’s Robert Smith look.  It was an ok movie but his gentle speaking delivery reminded me of a fried out friend who surprises me once every couple of years with a 180 of character.

  I picked up Mabe and we were stuck in traffic for about 35 minutes before we could cross the bridge and make our way to Indianapolis for the Gogol Bordello concert.  I was nervous my leg wouldn’t keep me upright so we made plans to sit in the back and enjoy the sights.  That’s not me. We finally arrived around 8:45, grabbed some beers and headed towards the stage.  Mabe said my name when a couple of heads whipped around and stared HARD.  Familiarity.  Something kindred.  It was one of my best friends from elementary school, Ellen!!!  She’s now an artist (a fine painter from the works she showed me on her phone) and married with kids.  All these wonderful feelings came back along with memories of how our friend Amy, Ellen and I were going to grow up to be a dancer, artist and musician, respectively.  Amy’s a lawyer, Ellen is what she dreamed of being and I’m . . . not a musician.  But I still love music.  We’ll never break up.

  The opening band was noodle-y.  I could get into the groove of it buzzing on my overly expensive beers but I didn’t catch the name.  This is the third noodle-y opening band that I’ve heard over the last couple of months.  Is that the thing now?

  When they were done, we had a hard decision to make – do we give up our prime concert spots or do we give up to the Gods of Pee?  Pee wins every time.  When we got back we could only get a place to the left of the stage.  We were warned very early about the guys that were rough.  There were several.  If we stayed in that spot, I was warned we would be moshed flat.  We slowly made our way to the right front of the stage, about 8-9 rows of people back.  There would be no sitting in the back and Mabe said she knew I’d never go for it.  For some reason, short people were congregating to the right!  It was dotted with some pure giants but for the most part, it was definitely a below 5’5″ section.  I’m glad we stayed on that side.  The big guys moshed but they were awesome about making sure the little peeps weren’t trampled. 

  Then the concert started.  It was a huge wave of crazy energy.  This band is a force of nature, a mass of pain and love for life of the immigrant. 

  

  If my labrum wasn’t torn before the concert, it probably is now!!  I don’t know where my pain went but my energy level spiked up and I was pogo dancing, jumping, screaming, fists up solidarity throwing and becoming one with the sweaty masses.  No way I’m sitting in the back.  This is not that kind of band.

  

  At the edge of the mosh pit, I met a 60 year old woman.  Isn’t she beautiful?!  We danced and sang and hugged and twirled a lot.  She brought her 26 year old son who was one of the Tall Protectors of the Small.  I love everything about her right now.  I wished I got her name and contact information, we bonded on kids and music and she interpreted some of the Russian for me and really, I felt so much admiration for her.  I want to be 60 in the mosh pit.  But I didn’t get her contact info. 

  

  (That’s as good a pic as I’ve got of whatshisname.  It’s blurry because we’re dancing and screaming too much.)

  Instead I got this guy’s phone number.  (Let me back up here, Christoph and I are in an open relationship, a mutual decision since we live on different continents and sometimes go over a year without seeing each other.)  This guy was a load of fun and slowly got me to the front row.  Fun to talk to, fun to dance with, just there for a good time.  I don’t know his name at all.  But near the end of the concert he kept kissing the back of my neck and holding my hands, trying to pull me into a kiss. Yeah.  It was fucking hot.  The whole happy energy with the pecs, abs, smile.  Oi.  All I had to do was turn my head a little and this would turn into a way different post of living in the moment or screwing a psycho.  But no.  I didn’t do that.  Because.  Because because because.  He’s 24.  And I was on the rag. 

  Yep.  That’s right.  I could be his mom and I was on my period.  And it freaked me the hell out.  It’s a Kristin Wiig movie waiting to happen.

  And the only reason I know his age (I knew he was over 21 from the beer) was because he asked if I was over 18.  Look, I know it’s dark at concerts but my god, it’s not that dark for me to look like a teenager.  Although I did get sent to a room for AP orientation when Kiddo was in high school.  It all has to do with the hair, I think.  It’s got a wild life of its own. 

  

  (Front row for the encore – Alcohol)

  Two other guys physically picked me up because they thought I was cute.  When I say picked me up, it was way up in the air.  Whee!!!!

  Ah.  I found his name, it’s “Fondling Guy” in my phone.  Maybe I should text him my tits.  Just kidding, those bloated things?!!!

  Anyway, I’m about to hit a busy patch at work again.  I need to get to work and establish a new blog.  I’ll probably post the results of my test and that will be my last post here.  You guys are the best.  I hope our paths cross again soon.

  • 6:59 pm
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