Back in 2010, I met Jason Colidron who was (at the time) editor for CWG Magazine (Chicks With Guns) at an underground show. We struck up a conversation about Deftones and I told him that I was going to their Diamond Eyes show later that year. I ended up writing about how I met Chino and was published in CWG. Later, we discussed an internship with the magazine and all it’s responsibilities. Then he mentioned that he wanted to test me out as an intern, so of course I said “when and where?”. The gig was in Orangevale at the Boardwalk. He needed help with covering the show so he hired me and another intern who I ended up calling “Duck” (his name was Donald).
At the show we were helping out with interviews, and hanging out in the crowd. The place was packed from wall to wall with zany fans and the bands were just as nuts. Your Demise comes on and we’re all metaling out. When their set was over, the lead singer took to the mic and said “we need a place to crash tonight! Who’ll let us stay on their couch?!”
…I felt my pupils dilating.
People in the crowd were raising their hands and hollering, but I was already plotting. I gave a deranged look to Duck, told him to text everyone in his phone, and went out to find Jason. While texting everyone I deemed cool in my phone “hey can I have a British rock band crash at your house?”, I told Jason of my plans. As overzealous as I was, my efforts came up futile. The only messages I got back were along the lines of “huh?” or “what the fuck?” or “my place is too small”. However, Jason saved the day by asking his neighbor if we could host them at their place and getting a “fuck yeah” in return. And so… it was ON (like Donkey Kong in a thong playing beer pong).
I went home, changed, and drove Duck and I to the party location. By the time we got there it was in full swing. Booze and bud everywhere. I’m serious. There was a literal pile of weed on the table and too many bottles to count. We got fucked up (needless to say). I noticed there were a few bandmates missing from the house and I asked the others where they were. Apparently, the band went out to get beer and one of them decided to jump out of the band van while they were driving; he cracked some ribs. He was laid up in the van smoking weed trying to chill out with another band member.
The night was somewhat of a blur, but these are some bulletin points of the night:
-Duck fell in love with the Jager bottle and kept taking it. Later I saw him scooting on the ground like a dog trying to wipe its ass on the carpet.
-I met a woman who had just came back from the river and she was peeling hardcore. I watched her rip off a 5 inch chunk of skin from her tits.
-This weird guy tried to hit on me by CORNERING ME IN THE BATHROOM LIKE A CREEP. He said his friends were leaving but he’d stay if I wanted him to. I said “bye” and left the bathroom.
-I rearranged the fridge’s letter magnets to say “fuck you”.
-Some of the band members complimented my legs; we ended up talking about midget porn somehow.
By the end of the party everyone was either gone or… GONE. I left Duck there and went home to sleep everything off. The next day I texted Jason and he informed me that Duck was missing. He wasn’t answering any texts but later on he had told me that he walked home (which was ridiculous because he lived too far for any rational person to want to walk). The house was trashed (of course). All I saw were the remains of what was last night in each room. It was a good party, to say the least (except for that weirdo in the bathroom).
It was the first time I had partied with rockstars, but little did I know that it wouldn’t be the LAST time…