Go Big. Then Go Home.

So about last night...

As you may have surmised from previous blog posts, Pete and I do not venture "out" too often. "Out" meaning excessive drunken escapades all throughout town, of course. Well, to make up for all those early-to-bed, falling-asleep-to-movies evenings, we transformed last night's going out extravaganza into an extreme and wild adventure. 

I first saw Monotonix, an insane Israeli garage rock trio, back in the summer of 2008 at the Hideout Block Party in Chicago. When I found out that they were coming to Austin (the day before the show) I told Pete that we must go. We engaged in a brief, yet terribly serious conversation about justifying the price of tickets (they were $10 each). The justification: I had gotten reimbursed for materials I bought for work and I really wasn't expecting my boss to pull through with the cash. Awesome. Tickets purchased. No turning back. 

After being out for much of the day, we return to the Winnebago to begin "getting our drunk on". We drink a few rum-and-cokes in house, and make a couple to go, killing our bottle of Heritage Rum Pete received as a gift during our going away party back in Chicago. Note: bad things happen to those who drink Heritage. Always.   

We're feeling pretty fly and make our way, via bike, to The Mohawk. Standing in line we meet Russell Freeland, an artist who, 2 years ago, bought a one-way ticket to Austin from Boston without money or possessions. You can read about his story here. Very intriguing. 

Anyways, we finish our shady, I-feel-like-I'm-still-in-college bottles of rum and coke, make our way inside and grab some beers. I quickly tag the bathroom stall with our website. Over the course of the evening, I think I wrote peteandkara.blogspot.com about four or five times in the bathroom, each tag getting progressively more illegible with the more beers I drank.

The first two bands were from Austin: Shapes Have Fangs and The Strange Boys. A pretty chill introduction to the ridiculousness that followed. Here's a little video of Shapes Have Fangs, if you're interested:

  
The outdoor concert area instantly fills up as Monotonix sets up. And by set up, I mean they put their drums in the middle of the floor. Everyone gathers around. Pete and I are in front, requiring feats of strength to hold the crowd back. The band instantly gets to rocking. The drummer lays a steady beat while the lead singer hypes up the crowd, screaming and splashing beer, water and sweat in every direction (my camera's never been the same since I saw them in Chicago). I should mention that  these guys are really hairy. And they rock short shorts. It's quite the spectacle.    



Before you know it, drums and bodies are being passed around the crowd. Participation is a must to avoid having a hairy ass (or worse) in your face.




It's absolute chaos. And we love it. But this story's just getting started. I'm raging, moshing and hoisting grown men up by their asses and the next thing I know, Pete's gone. Oh crap. I'm not sure why this concerned me so heavily. It's pretty easy to lose someone at a show like this.

Anyways, evidence suggests that he was still with me at 11:20pm, the time this photo was taken:


The show was maybe at the half-way mark, and shit was getting crazy. But when I can no longer see Pete, alcohol renders me a worrywart, and I start the hunt to find him. I'm pushing through gaggles of goons, clearly in a state of disarray. By the looks on other people's faces, I must have appeared seriously depressed/concerned/constipated. I'm pretty sure I searched the ins and outs of that venue 3 or 4 times. Nothing. No Pete.

Well it turns out, he got kicked out of the bar! What!? One second he was jamming in the 'front row' (there really is no front row; we just happened to be closest to the band in the circle that surrounded them); and the next second, poof, he was gone. A bouncer grabs him and drags him out the bar. When he reaches the entrance (well, exit), Big Ol' Bouncer and his Mighty Bouncer Friends rough Pete up a little, bruising his head with a blunt object, possibly a flashlight. Pete, shocked by the events that are unfolding, asks, "What did I do?" Big Ol' Bouncer replies, "YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!!" He did not, as a matter of fact.

If an employee from The Mohawk is reading this (you know, since this blog is posted all over your bathroom), perhaps you should reconsider your staffing process for Big Ol' Bouncers and Mighty Bouncer Friends. Maybe an education should be required. And you should test them for steroids. Just a thought.

So anyways, Pete's getting tossed around, and the next thing you know, another dude gets kicked out. Similarly, he has no idea what he did either, although  Big Ol' Bouncer proclaims otherwise: "YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID!!"

Meanwhile, I'm inside, panicking, obsessively calling Pete's phone. 11:26pm. 11:43pm. 11:51pm. 11:54pm. Examining the evidence, we can tell that six minutes after the last-photo-with-Pete-in-it was taken, I was already calling him, questioning his whereabouts. Turns out, he left his phone in the Winnebago.

Back outside, Pete and his new buddy, we'll call him Juan, are as confused as ever after being violently tossed from the bar. What did they do? If you ask me, The Mohawk should pay these guys for crowd control. During the show, I continued to look over at Pete as he was holding back tons of crazies and wackadoos from falling into the band. I'm sorry, Big Ol' Bouncer, but were you threatened that Pete was going to steal your job? He is in the market, after all.

Juan tells Pete that he knows a way to sneak back into the bar. Excellent news! They go around to the side of the bar, in an alley-area between the bar and an adjacent restaurant. There, they encountered a 16-foot limestone, natural rock wall. Climbin' time. Juan wanted Pete to take off his belt (a homemade diddy that Pete made out of rope) so they could hoist themselves up. "Uh, no dude. I'll just shimmy up there and throw down a hand to help you up." Pete was off. How he did it is beyond me. The rock was crumbly; the slope was almost vertical; and there were all kinds of people staring on from the restaurant below.

He gets to the top, and within a matter of seconds, he's pulling Juan up who then immediately flies over the barbed-wire fence back into the venue. Pete needs to hurry, because surely Juan has caused a bit of a scene with his less-than-subtle decent from the fence onto the upper patio of the concert area.

Pete climbs to the top of the fence, cutting his fingers on barbed wire as he pulls his body over. It's now or never. He's got to jump. Suddenly, Pete's mind is flooded with an image from the movie Frozen, which he recently watched, alone, in the Winnebago. Three idiots get stuck on a chair lift at a ski resort. One jumps down, thinking he'll search for help. Instead, his femur violently protrudes out of his thigh, rendering him useless against a pack of wolves. Skip to 1:40 in the video below to get an idea of what was going through Pete's mind. (Don't worry, you won't see any femurs).


It's crazy to think that an entire movie can recap in your head within seconds of making an either incredibly stupid or incredibly ingenious decision. Lucky for Pete, he jumps safely to the patio below, somersaulting out of the impact without any unnecessary femur protrusions. Of course, the upper deck was full of perplexed press people with fancy cameras (so fancy that they needed to document from above, for the risk of getting beer, water and other liquid projectiles flung into said fancy cameras was too severe down below). Certainly, Pete had a couple of snapshots taken of his dismount. Before anyone could even think about starting a scene, Pete was downstairs and back in the front row of the show, thrashing about without control. 

At this point, I'm excessively boozed up and generally unaware of my surroundings. The show's over and I make my way to our bikes to wait for Pete. We had intentions of staying for the after party, but as luck would have it, Big Ol' Bouncer shows up again. "HEY! DIDN'T I KICK YOU OUT ALREADY!" Pete, who had been talking to our new friend Russ about my whereabouts replies, "Uh, that doesn't make sense...how would I be here if you did?" Pete's subtle humor doesn't work on Big Ol' Bouncer. He admits defeat and heads outside. 

From here, it would seem that our crazy night out is over. Time to head home and hit the hay, right?

Wrong.

Why? I (or some crazy goon I encountered in my boyfriend hunt) broke Pete's favorite glasses. Oops. 


Pete isn't very happy, to say the least. After all, he did get his ass beat a little by Big Ol' Bouncer. We're causing a mild scene outside the bar, due to the onset of my drunken crying and general ridiculousness. I flee across the street and sit on some steps. Pete, still pissed about his glasses, throws his hat on the ground. Twice. Enter the EMT's. 

Due to Pete's perfectly timed aggressive, threatening actions toward me (he threw his hat on the ground right as the EMT's drove by), we were confronted. They pull us apart thinking we're having some sort of relationship dispute. My stupid crying certainly isn't helping the situation. 

I'm ranting to my EMT dude about how frustrated I am with biking in this city and the fact that Pete, a veteran with an MBA, can't get a freakin' job. Pete, on the other hand, is calmly explaining to his EMT dude that he was simply spiking his hat in celebration of his broken glasses, just as football players spike balls after a touchdown. His EMT dude found no humor in that statement. Instead of a simple chuckle, Pete's EMT dude, trying his best to act like a hard ass, calls the police and insists that Pete will be going to jail. For throwing a hat on the ground. Hilarious. Pete has to remind himself that having long hair sometimes requires you to deal with a certain amount of prejudice. 

The EMTs leave and two far cooler, but still douchey, cops arrive on bikes. Great, rub it in my face about the bikes already. Pete's cop informs him about the many anger management courses offered by the city. Pete informs the cop that, after everything that happened to him that night (being beat by Big Ol' Bouncer, scaling a rock wall, jumping off a barbed wire fence, being thrown around a room of sweaty people, and Heritage Rum), he feels that throwing his hat was the most calm and collected way of handling his anger after learning about his broken, previously favorite, pair of glasses. He very well could have punched Big Ol' Bouncer in the face. Or simply ran from the EMTs.  

At the same time, I'm chatting to my cop about how jealous I am of his sweet mountain bike. You see, earlier in the day, Pete and I tried to ride our bikes along another trail. Impossible with all the rocks. I was still bitter. And much to my embarrassment, still crying like a fool. A drunk, babbling fool.

Well the cops get our info and warn Pete, "I know where you live." This is not true. Why would he say that? Pete's ID is from Michigan, and even if we did give them our Austin address, they would be led to a UPS store next to the state capitol. Machismo. What a pain.

A sad day for the white frames. Good thing Pete owns 6 pairs of glasses.
At this point, you'd think we would just get our asses home. Incorrect. Well, we try to get home, biking west, then south. But we get separated. I hike over some train tracks and down a rocky path toward the pedestrian bridge to get home. Pete takes the Shoal Creek Trail to get across the water. We both stopped for pee breaks. Pete's is worthy of telling you about.

He's dismounted his bike and cozies up next to a tree to do his business. Suddenly, a cop shines his spotlight in the direction of his urination scheme. Crap! Not again. Like a pro, Pete, while peeing, reaches up towards the branches and picks around the foliage. He discreetly zips up and then, using a twig he's just removed, crouches down to his bike, pretending to use it as a tool. The cop shuts off his light and drives away. Phew. 

At this point, I've arrived home and am looking out the window to see if Pete is coming. No sign. Like an upstanding gentleman, he back tracked along the path and around the bridge to try and find me, thinking I was lost. He eventually makes it back to the Winnebago, and we pass out, mentally and physically exhausted. 

We wake up late. Hungover, dirty and bruised. Because I bruise like a peach, I look particularly beat up:

Dirt and Bruises.
After composing ourselves with cold tacos and tea, we spent much of the day out in the midday sun, quelling our hangovers and watching weirdos on the bridge. It was 78 degrees and perfect. 

Tonight, we've been sipping on sun tea (slightly sweetened tea which brewed on our dashboard in the sun all day today), chowing down mini turkey burgers with cheddar cheese soup. Foodgasmic!


I think we're going to take it easy this week...