Motley who?

I was thick as thieves with four banditas my freshman year of college: Muppet, Smack, KitKat, and K.O. Whether we were at a dance club or supposed to be studying, we simply had too much fun together. So when the opportunity arose early in fall semester for us to attend a concert together, of course we would go. The band: Motley Crue. Them: Fans.  Me: Not remotely a fan except I did like one song.

Smack’s older brother, BK, a giant hulk of a boy, was having a pre-party at his apartment. Perfect. As we all dress and convene to go to his apartment, I am met with four pairs of puzzled eyes.  "What?" I ask.
"Is that what you are wearing to the concert"  asked of me in unison.
"Yes, it is."

They are layered in various combinations of denim and black. I am wearing a bright red mock turtleneck, crisply pressed navy walking shorts, red and navy argyle socks, and penny loafers. Clearly, I was not a head banger and had never been to a Crue concert. My outfit du preppy not frequently seen at a concert. I was not aware that the only attire needed by women at a Crue concert was spiral perm, pasties, and underwear that could be quickly removed to throw on stage. And even though they didn't have these costumes either, off we went. Motley Crue: not exactly singing hymnals.

When we arrive at BK’s apartment, he takes one look at me and says, “You look ridiculous.”
I ignore him primarily because you can’t tell someone in argyle they look ridiculous when you are wearing tucked and rolled acid wash jeans and a jean jacket with rips all over it.

I pony up to the keg and am handed a giant glass. I can’t say that I had ever consumed 32 ounces of beer at one time. Maybe over an entire evening at this point in my drinking career but not at one time especially when it was only about 4 in the afternoon. But, I certainly do my best. An hour or so passes and I step outside. I believe there was a Marlboro Light involved.  More time passes and everyone gathers to leave. Although, I can’t be sure because I was curled up on the front porch taking a nap.

When my gal pals attempt to rouse me, it can not be done. As in, I am down for the count. BK is highly irritated with the antics. He opts to leave me there which is met with fierce resistance from my girlfriends (THANK YOU, girlfriends!) The departure includes a brisk walk to the stadium from BK's apartment. I mean, it involves a brisk walk for them. BK likely attempts to once more to advocate for leaving me on the porch to fend for myself. Once again, he is told no.

So he has to carry me fireman style over a mile back to my residence hall. He does so grudgingly and not before he says plenty of sweet things to me. Luckily, beer has soundproofed my existence. I wake up hours later feeling none too well. In fact, the only thing that seems to be a good idea is to open my 2nd story window and hang my head out of it. Cool night air washing me with minor relief. And then I am sick. At the precise minute my sweet and innocent Japanese exchange student roommate walks in with her study group. Welcome to America Shoko! You won the roommate lottery.

Luckily, she felt sorry for me having not a clue that I did this to myself. When the girls came home from the concert, they found me in the same position. But I rallied back and we were still able to have a very fun night after the concert. Oh, youth. Gives us such elasticity. And when people asked me about the concert, I simply said, “Motley who?”

And then I blamed in on the argyle prejudice.
And BK.

PS: He only hated me forever 
for a long time  
forever being nominated as the one to carry me all the way home. We never made up.

And I have never been to another Crue concert either.