Today is Monday. I’m just now getting a clear enough picture of what happened on Friday to write some semblance of a narrative about it. It was kind of like all those stories Chaz tells on his website, only this one actually happened. In retrospect, I must have broken several records for most consecutive bad decisions in a row.

I will recount the story in a forward, linear motion.

Andy E., Andy M., Paul, Ben, and myself all gathered at my house after work. A couple of us had a beer. Bad decision number one. Like there weren’t going to be plenty of beers in the night. Why start so early? Because we am geniuses. We piled into Andy M’s monster truck and headed to Pat’s condo in the big city. After we looped around his block a few times, Pat came outside and climbed onto Andy’s lap in the front seat to show us where to park. Pat’s condo is pretty nice. It is in down-frigging-town Atlanta. Like when people on 10th or 14th or Piedmont or Juniper say they live downtown, they are lying through their fat yuppie faces. They live in midtown. Pat lives on Marietta Street by the [big] 5 points Marta station, Philips Arena, and Centennial Olympic Park. Downtown.

We had a couple beers there and headed onto the Alkaline Trio show, which was the over-arching goal of the whole evening. The original plan included snagging some dinner, but while walking to the show, we all decided that it would be much easier to just go to the show and forget about dinner. Bad decision number two. You see where this is going.

Reggie and the Full Effect were acceptable. They lose points because they are a gimmick band that acheived it’s fame through the success of a non-gimmick band. The wiry hardcore guitarist had some very impressive moves, and the Get Up Kids’ drummer was pretty tight. I initially thought the highpoint of the show was when they did the synth cover of Reign in Blood, but it was definitely when Satan came out and performed the encore. I had a couple beers during their set.

The Alk3′s crap was already set up under blankets on stage, so after Reggie, the roadies walked out, yanked up the blankets, and we were ready for the main event. Naturally, they made us wait another 30 minutes to build suspense, or whatever. Stupid rockstars. They made a lights out, smoke machine entrance, played the first three songs on their new record in order, and it was all kind of down hill after that. They played Radio which is a good singalong. And that first song off the Lied My Face Off ep. Other than that … it was kind of crap. They had this 2nd guitarist standing behind Skiba’s amps. It was kind of insulting. Is Skiba too much of a wasteoid to play his own parts? Is he not a good enough live player to please Vagrant Records? Did they really keep him behind the amps because it’s the Alkaline Trio and four people would be a contradiction? Are you fucking kidding me? If there’s going to be 4 people on stage, put 4 people on stage. Don’t try to walk this rock and roll tight rope, because you will lose. You’ve already lost. Basically, they played none of my favorite songs and they did it with minimal style. A one song encore? Rhett Miller and Ian Mackay would take your instruments away if they could.

Following the show, we headed back to Andy’s car. Upon arriving at the car, Pat made a plea for someone to stay downtown and hang out. Ben had to get Allison (who was at my house hanging out with my wife) home so she could go to work on Saturday, so that mandated that not everyone would stay. I think I said something like, “If one other person stays, I’ll stay.” Paul “Nine Cigarettes” Coccoli stepped up and away we went. Bad decision 23 or 24, I can’t remember.

We hopped on Marta, and this is where things start to get a little “funny.” I remember calling Gia and telling her the plan. I also remember her calling back extrememly annoyed that I called and left a voicemail instructing her of the plan. I failed to connect the two until a lot later. We arrived at Mulligan’s where we were promptly greeted with more beer and what I was told was called Ham Dogs. I don’t even remember what was in/on/around this beast of a food item, but Pat, Paul, and I each ate one. Something like a hot dog wrapped in hamburger wrpped in ham and/or bacon, topped with cheese, chili, and a fried egg. I remember standing all by myself like 3 feet in front of the stage while the Mulligan’s band limped through some uninspired crapola. I remember doing push-ups. I remember arm-wrestling. I remember one dollar American. I remember “plaid-boy” not doing push-ups. I remember getting into a cab. I remember sitting in the cab in front of my house thinking, “How the fuck did I get home?” I remember the hot, burning shame that came the instant I woke up the next morning. I felt like I had been an open wound, bleeding all over the room.

Andy Eberhart (who went home after the show) reminded me today, “You got the Pat treatment.” And I, for one, should know better. I’m definitely not going to do anything like that again for AT LEAST a couple weeks.