SAVE IT TIL THE MORNING AFTER
I have discovered a new species of predator. Hockey wives. Or girlfriends. Or, wannabe hockey wives and girlfriends. PA and I went to the Ranger game last night and spent the post-game hour or so in the green room. I've never felt so uncomfortable in a green room in my life - and I mean, I've been in a lot of fuckin green rooms. I think girls can smell the fear when someone is new. I obviously didn't know anyone apart from PA and thus spent a great deal of time looking around, getting a sense of who was hanging out at what was essentially an afterparty for a sporting event. The bathroom was a trip. I stood in the queue, sipping my beer in my sparkly Rangers cup (through a straw, no less), watching the girls watching me. They were eyeing my outfit which, in fairness, was not nearly as elaborate/night-appropriate/girlie as theirs. They were eyeing my makeup which, in contrast, was not caked all over my face and topped with cheeseball razorsharp mascara overload. I mean, I looked like me. Not like them. And I guess it was painfully obvious that I had never been to one of those affairs before. I tried to break the proverbial ice by offering everyone Purell - because the soap dispenser was malfunctioning, but the looks I got implied that niceties were not welcome in that there ladies room. Oh well.
I rejoined PA and his friends Billy and Lianne just in time to catch the first stream of Rangers as they emerged from the Garden depths into our area. Man oh man, the contrasts continued. The last time I had been in that room was after the Killers gig in January. Those guys, as dapper as they seem on-stage, still made the casual decision to come hang with us in t-shirts and jeans, as any normal exhausted person would. But not these Rangers. They came to hang in suits. With their hair all neatly combed and slicked back and OMFG OK... it was a bit of turn-on overload. PA introduced me to Brandon Dubinsky and I felt like a schoolgirl. Henrik Lundquist stood a few feet away speaking to friends in Swedish and I just stared. It's funny - I've probably spent the majority of my nights out at afterparties, surrounded by people who in theory could be considered celebrities, and I have never felt as speechless as I did last night (ok, with the two exceptions of meeting Robert Plant and Brian May). I couldn't talk to anyone. Just stood there with my sippy cup and let PA make fun of me for not getting to meet Sean Avery. I'd say it was a night well spent. Rangers, get in.