So The Low Men played a show last night, and of course I went, but it was … strange. And painful.

I mean, entirely aside from the fact that their set was meant to be at 10:30, then got moved back to 11:30 until finally settling on 12:30, it was strange. And painful.

When we walked in, there was a singer-less metal band rocking the hell out of the place at ear-punishing volume, including a metal version of March of the Sugarplum Fairies, which was just as weird and/or awesome as you might imagine it to be. They were followed by a guy in a Santa hat and brown leather jacket playing all by himself, accompanied by his acoustic and a mostly-decorative neck harmonica.

While he was finishing up his set, KT texted to say she’d set off for the show, but narrowly escaped being hauled off to jail, and wasn’t allowed to drive, so she wasn’t going to be coming. We couldn’t be having with that, so we went and got her.

We made it back to the bar only one or two songs into the Low Men’s set, which was … interesting. It was Mr. M-F.P.’s birthday, so he was nearly legless, and since Loki isn’t the sort to make people drink alone, he was well into his cups as well. And since they hadn’t played together in a month (the show was seriously last-minute), it wasn’t their finest hour. (It was still better than last year’s Black Friday debacle. So they’ve got that going for them.)

Following the show, there was a near-throwdown over some apparent breach of beer-pong ettiquette (no bitches were cut, alas), followed by a very drunken boy who jumped on the stage to tell a terrible joke. We thought that was the end of the entertainment, until the Rhymenocerous (not his real rapping name) took over with his friend boy Steve (his actual real rapping name) to bust out some rhymes. Or something, I don’t really know. I dragged Loki home shortly after that started.

So we got home and let the dogs in, then went back outside to pick up the cushions they’d dragged off the patio furniture. I was carrying a couple cushions back to the patio when I stepped in a hole the dogs had dug, fell into the rocks, cut the hell out of my knee and hit my head on the chairs. Happily, most of me had fallen onto the cushions, so it could have been worse. I did have to pick dead vegetation out of my dreads before I went to bed, though.

And today I feel like people have been beating me with sticks, which they may well have done as I slept. It was that sort of night.