Down for the Count

The last thing I expected on Valentine's Day was for things to go down.

And by things, I mean me.

After bratwurst and Garnacha at home for dinner, I did what I always do to celebrate the day of love.

I went to Cous Cous for their Black Valentine's Day party.

For a change, I even had company for it.

When we got there, the crowd was almost exclusively male, made up of guys at the bar and musicians standing in the middle.

It was noted that I was one of the few in the room with XX chromosomes.

But gradually the room began to fill up and my fair sex was better represented.

To make mingling easier on this traditionally romantic evening, Cous Cous was running a special of $2.50 Aristocrat tequila shots for our Valentine's Day pleasure.

And while you couldn't pay me to drink what the bartender referred to as, "More of a tequila-flavored grain alcohol," I saw plenty of people doing so.

Still, most of the people I spoke to while sipping my water were musician friends, including the guys in Snowy Owls who were slated to perform tonight.

Since the Black Valentine's Day party always features songs about love gone bad, I wanted to confirm the rumor that they were going to do My Bloody Valentine's "Loveless" album.

What I heard was that guitarist Matt had chosen all his favorite MBV songs and the rest of the band had agreed to learn them.

At one point, Matt pulled out small sheets of paper with lyrics printed on them in the tiniest of fonts.

I told him I hoped he wasn't going to need to read them given how tough that would be.

"Yea, I should've written them on bigger pieces and just laid them out on the floor," he laughed. "I could have just looked down and read them. It's shoegaze, right?"

Now, that was funny.

Allen, the bass player was lamenting how late Cous Cous shows get started and, for people with real jobs, I'm sure it is tough to wait for a show to begin around 11 when you have to be up early in the morning.

But eventually it did and Jake Mayday was first.

It was just him and a guitar, but by then the crowd was all up in his space, meaning he had to close his eyes to sing because people were standing less than a foot from his face.

Not me. One of the benefits of an early arrival was having a small section of the dividing wall on which to lean and place my water.

Jake began with Death Cab for Cutie's "Cath," a personal favorite as Death Cab goes.

But you said your vows, and you closed the door
On so many men who would have loved you more

In a high point of the evening, Matt turned to me and asked what the song was.

Although he's someone with whom I've discussed our shared taste in music a hundred times (we began with a discussion of Bleeding Rainbow, a recent recommendation I'd since fallen in love with), I told him it was the very first time he ever asked me what a song was.

As it turned out, I was fortunate to get that feelgood moment before the crash.

From there Jake was off on more of the same, causing a friend to ask, "Is he gonna do all Ben Gibbard?"

I wouldn't know, because as I stood there watching Jake, all at once I felt like there were too many people in the room and all the air was suddenly sucked out.

Admittedly, I was overdressed (heart-covered dress, sweater, coat sweater and jean jacket with two scarves) for being in a room with so many other people and all at once I felt it.

The next thing I knew, I was on the floor and being pulled back up by those around me.

When I arose, indignant, I asked what happened and was told I'd dropped to the ground.

I promptly did it a second time, only this time I awoke on the kitchen floor with concerned faces around me.

On the plus side, the kitchen door had been opened and the air was much cooler back there, so I felt human again.

As I answered questions of my rescuers, a woman on the phone had clearly called 911 and was talking about me.

Someone handed me a Coke and the woman on the phone shouted, "No food or drink!" per her instructions from the 911 operator and it was snatched away from me after one sip.

By this time, my head was clear, I was no longer hot and woozy and all I wanted to do was get up off of Cous Cous' kitchen floor.

But no, everyone insisted that I wait for the EMS to arrive.

After having a lively conversation with them, confirming that I'd had three meals today, I'd had two glasses of wine hours earlier and nothing like this had ever happened to me before, they let me sit up.

There I answered what day it was, who the president was and how many quarters in $1.50.

When one of the medical technicians asked the guy questioning me if they were going to take me in, he all but laughed.

"No, she's just fine now," he replied. Someone noted that I was "sharp as a tack."

Slipping out the kitchen door to get some fresh air rather than back through the room with the show, my companion and I walked around the front of Cous Cous, where a group was taking a smoke break between sets.

One of the girls who'd helped carry me to the back was there and asked how I felt.

I told her I was perfectly fine, just not sure if I should go back in to see the rest of the show.

"You should be okay," she reassured me. "Just stand in the back where you can get some air."

Another girl sitting on the bench, pulled her cigarette out of her mouth and got vehement.

"You just fainted!" she said with authority. "You need to go home!"

Well, there was that.

And there my black Valentine's Day ended, with no My Bloody Valentine, no shoegaze and no ringing ears.

Cupid, you done me wrong last night.