Your Mom is from Barcelona

I have tried three times to see I’m From Barcelona. They are a feel-good, jump up and down, hippy parade of instruments and bouncy lyrics. I love them. Apparently, they do not love me. They hate me.

The first time I tried to go they were playing for free at McCarren Pool, but we lagged at a pub drinking warm beer. By the time we got in line, some old guy who looked like Jesus was mumbling into a loudspeaker at us.

“If you guys, like, have something better to do today, you should probably go do that. You wont be able to get in because its too full in here. Uh, you might not want to stand in line anymore because you are too far away from the entrance to get let in…. Have a good day, but have it somewhere else.”

The second time I tried to go to see them in concert was less than a week ago. I scored some tickets from a friend, but then realized that they were for a show in Hoboken. Paul was gonna go with me, but instead we opted to stay at home where my roommate was hosting a Mojito Party.

Today, this wonderful band had decided to do a surprise show only four blocks away from my house! For only ten bucks! It was gonna be perfect! Third time was gonna be a big, fat charm! I had to pay for the tickets on my Paypal account because it was the night before pay day and I had exactly enough electric fake money. Brilliant! Awesome! Flawless!

Somehow, I mistyped my address on the site and Paypal locked me out of my account and froze the funds. Since it was connected to my real checking account at Citibank and that balance was so low there, it didnt have enough to cover the tickets. So, in turn, Paypal, after locking me out of my Paypal account, then locked me out of my Citibank account. Meanwhile, TicketWeb was still holding funds for the tickets, but not actually selling me the tickets. Confusing! Stupid! Full of flaws!

After an hour and a half of calling Paypal, Shittybank, and TicketWeb and having to navigate the infuriating automated voice systems, they told me to fax something to someone somewhere and everything would be OK. Well, I did and it wasn’t. By the time I spoke with Aveeva for the 4th time at the Paypal Customer Service I had lost my ever-lovin’ mind. She told me that my account would be fixed, but not until midnight tonight – after the concert. The universe is trying to tell me that I am not meant to see this band, but it has now become a life mission for me.

Instead, I stayed home and cleaned my room. I listened to the I’m From Barcelona CD four times and pretended that I didn’t miss out on hipsters throwing confetti at a temple in Brooklyn…. four blocks away from my house…. ugh.