You beguiling, evil bitch.

There’s no drinking going on in the band bus, and there
hasn’t been for years.

And I ride on the band bus.

But the normal routine changed after the show in Atlantic
City, and our production manager and I changed places so he could ride to New
York City directly after the show with the band.

That left me to spend the night in Atlantic City and ride
with the crew the following day.

This also left me with the option of hanging out with the
crew and a couple of other friends in the casino bar after the show.

And I paid the price.

The crew of a touring rock show is like a bunch of pirates
travelling from city to city.

And like any good pirate, a crew member drinks.

I love my fellow crewmates, and they’re a lot of fun to hang
out with over the course of a show day when we’re working.

But it turns out that I really
love my fellow crewmates when I’ve accidentally ingested several rum drinks
over the course of a few hours.

In fact, I was loving everyone and everything a bit too much.

And unfortunately one of the things I was loving too much
was rum & 7-Up, because from the minute I walked in the bar after the show
to the time I left to go to my room, I had one (or two) in my hand.

The irony is that when you don’t drink much, people buy you
more drinks, which isn’t necessarily helpful.

But it was delicious.

And it ruined me.

Like I said, I don’t drink much anymore.

Maybe once every three or four months, if that much even.

I’m old and boring, and I’m okay with that.

But drinking is a lot like a sport, and if you only play
basketball 3 or 4 times a year, you’re going to miss a lot of jump shots (and
possibly pull a groin muscle if you don’t stretch).

So alcoholically speaking, I pulled a groin in Atlantic City
last night.

And I woke up with a hangover.

I’m sure most of you have had a hangover at one time or
another in your life.

But have you ever taken your hangover on a tour bus for a 2
½ hour drive from Atlantic City to New York City?

It was like a steel cage death match between my stomach and
my brain as to which one was going to explode first.

And the crew was loving it.

Every bump, every sway, every swerve, I turned a little more

And they were reveling in my pain.

At one point William’s tech and our monitor engineer each
took a shot of vodka in front of me, and I nearly retched.

Then our delightful new production assistant (who was also
hungover) handed me a plastic bag in case I was going to hurl.

And I made the mistake of draping the handles of the bag
over my ears, so the bag was hanging in front of my face like a feedbag, and
just like that, I heard the clicking of cell phone cameras, and I knew it was a
matter of seconds before the band was suddenly aware of my plight.

So my shame was complete, and everyone in the band was blissfully aware of the shape I was in.

But I survived the drive and I survived the day, and it’s
really none of your damn business whether I vomited or not upon our arrival at
the hotel.

(I did)

The true moral of the story is that it’s fun to hang out
with the crew.

But I think I prefer to do it at the gig.

Drinking Diet Mountain Dew…