The Aftermath

I have been thinking about something for a while and witnessed an incident that made me feel like blogging it:
Firstly, the party was great, memorable, rocking, fantastic. I have the greatest friends in the world. Thank you to everyone who came, and if you brought a present and I have not thanked you personally, it is because I got a few without cards and am not sure where they came from. Everything is much appreciated, though. I am a huge fan of presents and an even bigger fan of hanging out with friends. Jonny ran the party beautifully, Poker Chris rocked the house and everyone got nice and loaded, including Drew, who lets just say thought he was taking the pill to make him tall when it was actually the pill that makes you small. A few of my friends got so friendly they went home together, and two people who shall remain nameless didn’t finish the party until 5 pm the next day. But all are safe and sound at this writing.
That being said, there was a big melee in the middle of the evening, which ties into what I have been thinking about lately:
I have a warrior spirit. I am convinced that I spent a past lifetime, or lifetimes as a war leader. And probably not a strategizing general, but some kind of maniac with a painted face and a hatchet, roaring into battle with no fear for life or limb. Think I’m nuts if you will, but I know it in my bones. I have had a few past life flashbacks over the years, none about this one but a couple of very interesting ones, and I have a sort of bodily memory for this. I can feel it when I watch battle scenes in movies, and from the situations that I have been in throughout the years. I know I could handle it, I know I have the backbone and the mind for it and it feels familiar. In this lifetime, in less stable times, I have been what you might call a berserker, anger setting me off to a place where there is no turning back, a primal instinct to step into what feels like the natural solution to the problem at hand.
I remember the exact moment in childhood when I realized that anger and violence gave me power. I was a particularly powerless child and when I finally figured out how to wield my rage I stopped being such a crybaby and started being a force to reckon with. I beat the crap out of my siblings and learned how to talk low and mean to people I wanted to scare. It might seem incredibly unevolved, which it was, but it seemed better to be feared than to be wounded, that’s for sure.
Then when shit started falling apart because of my temper, I took a look at what was really behind it. And I realized that every time I blew up, there was sadness and hurt hiding right behind it. I would freak out and have a tantrum and then five minutes later burst into tears and feel embarrassed about my behavior. And I didn’t enjoy having people afraid to set me off. My friends called it “the wrath of Raff”. One friend swears that when I flipped my right hand up in a certain way it was time to stand back. One time she was tripping on acid and doing something dumb (besides just tripping on acid) and I started yelling at her. She says that in her state she thought her hair was blowing back from the force of it and my mouth looked like a giant cavernous maw of black rage rimmed in red lipstick. So pretty! We still joke about it 15 years later. So there are some funny parts and stories to it but a lot of excess energy and suffering expended as well. It takes so much more out of me to get in that state than it will ever give me, and it has never been my intention to be a person that causes other people pain, so I have worked very hard to become kinder and more gentle.
Still, it will always be my nature to react to being made uncomfortable with strength and volume rather than gentle good will. I simply will never be mild mannered, it isn’t my natural state. But I try, I really do, and what is happening now is that I will sometimes be too nice when someone deserves to get an earful, or I will overreact to something small because the previous ten times I have been too quiet. Sometimes I’m so afraid of reacting with anger that I freeze up, unsure of what the proper response to a situation should be. But I expect that one day there will be a balance, and in the meantime I am learning to accept that I will always be a little bit scary to those who don’t understand how difficult it is to be a born berserker in a world that so desperately needs peacemakers.
One of the interesting things in my life is that if I do manage to sit back and allow the world to flow as it should, my enemies (and yes, I have had them in my life, and I have no patience for people who say they don’t hate anyone because it rarely is true) usually suffer some demise through no action of my own. I swear that it happens each time and I haven’t figured out why yet. There have been overdoses, deportations, breakups and general malaise. I try not to get too happy about it but sometimes it’s hard. I know that we are all of the same spirit and what hurts one hurts us all. I want to be spiritual, I do. So I just grin a little and then feel guilty for enjoying the revenge. Work in progress, people, work in progress…
So, at our party there was a vicious fight that ended up in innocent people being injured and not-so-innocent people going to jail. I have my own feelings about the whole thing, but I can’t go into that in any detail because I can’t figure out how to get all of my insiders onto the preferred blog list and I don’t want to publicly air my current opinion. Anyway, suffice to say that it was crazy and dangerous and continued from the inside of the bar to outside where police and an ambulance showed up.
Thirty seconds before it happened one of the persons involved that I am not fond of sort of demanded that I step in and take care of the brewing situation. I didn’t, because it was my birthday party and I wanted to have fun, because I didn’t feel like lifting a finger for someone I don’t like and who was not asking me, but telling me to do something, and because I have had enough of my own battles and am trying to just keep my trap shut these days. 
So when the fight broke out and people tore into each other, I found myself feeling a few things. First, woo hoo, this is an old school party complete with cat fight! Second, shit, someone is really going to get hurt! Then serious fear that one of those people hurt would be my boyfriend as he stood in the eye of the storm trying to break it up, then guilt that I didn’t step in and try to stop it before it came to blows and hair-pulling, and lastly, surprise that I was not in any way desirous of  jumping in as I might have in the past. I actually felt real real horror and sorrow at the violence of the situation. The whole thing seemed so awful and painful for the people involved.
So am I cured of my warrior ways? Is the past behind me? I think for the most part it is. I never really enjoyed violence or violent emotions to begin with, I just didn’t know what else to do with my feelings back then. And now it just really seems so ugly and pointless to me. Nothing gets solved and people get hurt, emotionally and physically. But I am never going to be mild-mannered. If I was really behaving in a loving manner I would have stepped in and helped the person I don’t like, regardless of my feelings. But I didn’t. Deep down I knew that if I sat back that whatever this weird karma energy that I have in my life would take care of this interloper the way it always does. It was an easy way to say “fuck you” without saying a word. And is that really the way of peace? I seriously doubt it. 
So I’m still confused about my part. Would it have been more mature to try to control the situation? That method hasn’t always worked out very well for me either. I am so tired of being the one to step in and take control, the one with the mouth, the one with the responsibility, the mommy, the manager, the warrior in charge. Even though it is my very nature to be that person and I know that sometimes people need me to be it. And maybe part of the personal power that has been given to me this time around means that I have more of a responsibility to take care of others, even if I don’t particularly like them.

I guess I’m overthinking it, as usual. Truth is I’m always going to be a little bit tougher and sharper tongued than I would like to be, and if I don’t like you I will not be able to hide it completely. I’m sure I’m destined to be one of those crotchety old ladies that Shirley Maclaine always ends up playing. My first instinct is still to get mad first, ask questions later, and I’m still learning how to take a breath and wait until the wave passes. I think most of my close female friends are the same, we are a tough and bitchy bunch of broads. Perhaps we were all in battle together in those past lifetimes and now we are finding our way through a world that needs our strength, but also our patience. To those of you who are the peacemakers, I salute you, and I hope you will be able to show us the way.

And now, a night of spaghetti and watching all the great DVD’s you people gave me, while still wearing the tiara that Corinne gave me.

Boys are Dumb…or Not…

I’ve come to the conclusion that boys are dumb. They just are.
Before the male half gets upset with me, let me preface by saying that no one loves boys/men more than me. I love hanging out with them, I love the way they smell, the way their voices sound on the telephone, the way they look in leather pants, the way they can make everything all right when you’re freaking out and need reassurance. I am a staunch heterosexual, I have been to the other side and it bores the hell out of me. I’ll make out with a girl if I’m drunk and she’s persistent, but at the end of the day I want a member of the opposite sex in my bed. I am also madly in love with my platonic male friends, whose numbers are equal to that of my female friends. They enrich my life in many ways that women alone cannot. Men rule. But boys are dumb. And all men are boys some of the time, and some of them, unfortunately, all of the time.
Here are two recent examples of dumbness that have prompted me to blog today:
I got a friend request from a random dude, ordinary looking, not hot, not hideous, who has a few people I know and not too many myspace hookers on his page. So I approved the request and totally forgot about him. Today I looked in my mailbox and there was a request to approve his comment (thank you, Tom, for creating the comment approval option, btw). And the comment is this: 
“So when we gonna fuck?”
I was DUMBfounded. EXCUSE me?? You wanted to place this vile sentence on my page, you absolute twerp?? In the immortal words of Cher in “Clueless”–

Ugh! As IF!!!!!

So whatever, I hit the block button and annoyance problem solved. Thanks again, Tom. 
But then I pondered it a little and wondered, was this a moronic version of an actual come-on? And did he think this would work? Or was he trying to be funny? Did he think I would find him cute and amusing and brash and that we would banter back and forth about when we would fuck? I think maybe he did, because why would he bother to add me as a friend if he just wanted to offend me? But I am not going to read too much into it because he’s obviously an idiot, and he’s also a boy and lets face it, some boys are dumb and don’t know how to act like men and send a decent comment.
Next case in point:
A while back I got a message from a guy that is very cute, though not my type, and marginally famous. He has played with a few well-known people and has a whole host of girls leaving flirty comments on his page. 
Unbeknownst to him, we already met when I managed Coney and the band he was in at the time was hanging out there with my ex, who is friendly with every famous person on the planet. So this guy was very sweet, not a genius by any stretch, did a ton of coke, got a blowjob in the bathroom and then moved on with his band to the next town. I am making no judgments here; I’ve done stupider things on the road and off, and would never begrudge someone else their own wild ride. Anyway, I am assuming he didn’t connect that he’s met me because at the time I was going through a very “trying-to-be-the-low-key-rock-wife” phase in an attempt to please someone else, and as a result was much quieter and less opinionated than I typically am. Thank God that phase didn’t last forever because it would have killed me.
Anyway, here is our correspondence in its entirety:
Cute But Incredibly Stupid Marginally Famous Rockstar: Do you know Luigi?
Me: Yes, I do. 🙂
CBISMFR: Well that guy’s a fucking ASSHOLE.
That’s the whole message. Again, huh????? Did I ask for this? Why would someone intrude into my happy little world with a nasty set-up like this? I responded with something like, “I don’t know what your problem is but your bullshit is uninvited and I’d appreciate it if you took your insanity somewhere else.” I never heard back from him after that.
But because I was curious about what would prompt such a random attack I looked at his page a little closer, and found my man Luigi all over it. So they’re friends. Then I read further and found that CBISMFR states that he loves pale girls with long black hair. Ooooooohhhhhh…I get it now. He actually doesn’t hate me, he finds me attractive and this is his misguided way of showing it, much like pulling my pigtails. And because he’s used to being able to act the ass and still get blowjobs in the bathroom he probably uses this kind of approach all the time. Because that’s the kind of dumb things boys do.
When I first arrived in NY all fresh and dewy from the wilds of Michigan, I was very excited that I would finally get to meet and mingle with hot rock boys. The pickings were very slim back home and I had planned on breaking out and meeting cool people in bands since I was in junior high school. I spent all my teen years listening to and studying up on music, and when I got to the city I made sure my clothes were cool, my hair was teased, and that I knew all about the bands I was going to meet.
So then I got here and discovered that many of the rock guys I found so fascinating would look right past me to the mousy brown-haired girls in mom jeans standing next to me. It was unbelievable! These girls knew absolutely nothing about the bands, nor did they care! And they weren’t that hot, just decently attractive, they certainly didn’t have anything to say, they most definitely didn’t wanna rock, and it appeared to me that they were just killing time until they settled down and had babies. I kept wondering, what did they have that I didn’t have? What were they doing that I wasn’t? 
Then it dawned on me one day that these girls were being chosen precisely because they weren’t doing the things that I was or looking like I did. They were nice and normal and would indeed settle down and have babies while their guitar-toting boyfriends or husbands were on the road having a good time. And that’s the last thing in the world that I wanted to do. I wanted to be on the road, too! So it eventually became my opinion that those boys were a little, yes, DUMB to pick such boring girlfriends because I think girls like me are a hell of a lot more fun and in the end will actually give guys in bands a lot less grief because we get it.
One of my favorite exes is Ronnie Sweetheart, of Throbs fame, and one of the many reasons that he has a special place in my heart is that early into our acquaintance he grabbed me and said, “You’re like the female version of me. You are a total rock star! We need to get together.” Well, you know my big fat ego loved that, and I still love him for it, he thought it was great that we were both in bands and we played a lot of shows together. And one of the boys that I adored around that same time that would have nothing to do with me, except as a fellow musician pal, and who is now paunchy and faded, says to me every time I see him, “You know, we should really get together sometime.” And I think to myself, “Man, you are really dumb if you think you have any kind of chance now.”
I will end my essay on male stupidity by saying that women play a big part in the dumbness of our men. Certainly if the retarded approaches that are listed above never worked, they wouldn’t be attempted. For every asinine, boorish come-on there’s a stupid girl who thinks it’s cute. Especially with guys like the CBISMFR. He has a whole hoard of girls on his page that I’m sure would love it if he sent them witty banter such as I’ve received. Which makes those girls just as stupid as him.
Hmm…So okay, maybe it’s not just boys that are dumb. *sigh *…Well, now that blows my whole train of thought.

I’m going to have to rethink this whole theory and get back to you.