More Adventure Please!

First, a big thank you to those of you who’ve actually mentioned you missed my blogs. I am very flattered. I know I haven’t written anything in a while, truth is that there hasn’t been a burning desire to say anything, which, if you know me, is fairly miraculous. But I’m back!

One random thing – I can’t believe how much the display photo on this site dictates the level and style of contact that you get on here, it’s remarkable. I think all my male friends on myspace should put up a photo of a hot girl for a day and just see what happens. I’ve been getting a lot of black metal guys with the upside down cross photo, and I feel a little guilty because it’s a fraud, but that’s infinitely better than the random onslaught that occurs with the other “friendlier” photos. I changed out of the black metal photo and then went back a few hours later. I couldn’t stand it. Oh, and I got a nasty email from one girl saying she knows Cherie and didn’t like my profile rant about not wanting collectors. Maybe I’ll post that in another blog because it’s also interesting.

And for those of you who are curious, the 69 Eyes gig was really fun. Bowery Ballroom was crowded and the band sounded great. Afterwards we went to Ming’s on Avenue B, which was sufficiently gothey enough to get the boys a lot of attention and where Jyrki handed me endless glasses of jagermeister until I was beyond drunk. Drinking with Finns is nigh on impossible, they are professionals and they will kill you and then stand over the puddle that once was you mumbling things about Hanoi Rocks. It’s brutal. There were a couple of people taking pictures, if they’re located I’ll post them later on.

I did meet the famed Bam Margara, although I still don’t really get why he’s famous. Jyrki and his drummer Jussi did a radio show with him on Sirius and I thought the guy’s style was really crass and juvenile, that typical rock and roll party dude frat-boy mentality where women are either hot pussies or ignorable skanks and nothing else. Which I suppose is why he’s loved on MTV. But he’s helping someone I care about to reach more people in the States, so I have to give him that respect at least. And we shared a cab with him and he seemed pretty nice, except that he didn’t even pretend to pull out any money at the end of the ride. Jyrki (who is always a gentleman) wanted to pay but I beat him to it. I am happy to chip in for cabs but I’m old fashioned and think guys should at least expect that they’re going to pay for the whole thing, especially if MTV is paying them loads of money for acting the ass. And he was with one of those horrible “I’m with the famous guy so I’m not going to acknowledge your presence” kind of girls, who actually sat next to me in the cab and never once looked at me throughout the ride and conversation. And forget about pretending to pull out any money for the cab fare. It’s like that type feels that they’re so cool that they cannot deign to give any sign that any other woman exists. Even when you’re fucking giving them a ride in YOUR cab to a party of YOUR choosing. I hate that kind of petty bullshit with a passion and there’s always at least one trying it in the room when you are around someone (marginally) famous. Tara, you will have to come up with a name for this archetype.

But then I thought: Okay, whatever, bitch. You have to sleep with that yutz at the end of the night and you’d better enjoy his tiny bit of notoriety now because I doubt it’s going to last that long and then you’re going to have to act the snot in some suburb in NJ with your paunchy used-to-be-on-MTV husband who calls everyone dude and refuses to get a real job and spends all day getting stoned with Sebastian Bach. Either that or he’ll cheat on you with some horrorshow porn star in LA and then you’ll have to find another low-rung celebrity who will allow you to stand stone-faced next to them. Either way will be revenge enough for me.

Anyway, the night was a lot of fun but sort of set me off on a weeklong existential crisis that I have been utilizing as a torture device for friends. Yes, yet another one. I seem to have them every month, perhaps it’s really just PMS that I’m trying to disguise as something deeper? It’s frigging hard being female sometimes, you can never be sure whether it’s hormones or bonafide angst. The question is always there: am I complicated or just full of estrogen?

My current crisis is that I got a glimpse into what my life used to be like on a regular basis, and it made me realize how constrained I’ve set things up to be now. Which is not to say that I am unhappy. I think my life is great, and I have fun and am generally a happy person. But I always expected to lead a life of rock and roll excitement until the end and lately it has been most decidedly lacking in the adventure department.

I quit singing in bands because I was burnt out and because I didn’t want to turn 40 and be lugging gear into CB’s. I didn’t want to wake up one day and find myself irrelevant or embarrassing, another shrunken head trying to relive the glory days. I also couldn’t deal with working the side jobs to support it anymore, I wanted something more. Bartending is only good for a certain amount of years, after you pass a certain line you become that bitter, angry bartender that everyone hates, and I got to a day when I realized I had more to offer the world than a Budweiser and a snarl. So I quit my last band The Creeps (which in my opinion was actually better than the Sluts) and focused on managing Coney Island High, and for a point thought that my life would be about managing rock clubs. But Giuliani and pop culture turned that into an impossible nightmare and I quit to take a job offer to general manage a magazine and printing company. That collapsed a year or two later and now I’m at Patricia Field, which is an absolute nuthouse but is also where I can be myself, and where I am loved and treated well.

I have the kind of job that many people would kill to have, and I do enjoy it most of the time. Not all aspects – I deal with the numbers end of things, bank statements, bills, etc. and that’s boring as hell and certainly not a job I EVER envisioned having. And if I’m not there on payday the store turns into a gayer version of that rumble scene in Anchorman– people on fire, limbs getting chopped off, trident throwing, horses, general madness and mayhem combined with a lot of high pitched squealing. Which means that my schedule is pretty much written in stone. But I also get paid well to shop for lingerie, and how could you not love that? Nothing makes me happier than poring over lingerie catalogs or sipping coffee in a pink showroom while discussing silk vs. nylon. I rearrange my little section in the store and enjoy seeing people get excited over the things I’ve chosen.

But as I watched my friend get on his tour bus and ride into the sunset I had a moment of panic that life was rolling on without me, that there is a big party out there that I haven’t been attending lately.

I thought:  I want a tour bus, Daddy. I want a tour bus NOW!

Okay, maybe not exactly, and yes, I know we’d all like that plus a couple of million bucks. But I am yearning for more excitement, goddamnit. I am supposed to be leading a rock and roll life and have somehow set myself up so that it’s fairly impossible much of the time. How did I end up having to get up in the morning to work 5 days a week? This is not what I had planned! I want to get on a plane and fly out to exotic locations and get drunk with my famous friends while they play their shows. I want to get on the bus and roll into a new town with music blasting on the stereo, cracking the same inside jokes over and over again, anticipating the night’s activities. I want to have nothing to do all day but put on way too much makeup and play a show for a half an hour and then party with attractive strangers who think I’m much cooler than I actually am.

But that is not my reality now. I have a job, cats, an epileptic dog with abandonment issues, rent to pay, and a relationship worthy of respect. Sigh…I am no longer able, or I guess willing, to act like the crazy Cycle Slut I once was, and sometimes the responsibility of being an adult feels heavy.

I should insert here, however, that many of my friends, and most definitely my sister would beg to differ, as they think it could be about time I grew up and may be beating the proverbial dead horse. I don’t want to have kids. I am committed in my relationship but I don’t care about getting married, I still dress like a hooker and am not averse to getting up on platforms or couches to perform whorey dances when the music is loud enough. I occasionally ingest substances that are not necessarily doctor recommended. But don’t listen to my sister, she’s crazy and strangely obsessed with guinea pigs. I still maintain that I have possibly become too responsible for my own good.

Drew is on tour in Europe, as he has been for much of the last year, and I have to admit that at times I get too tweaked out about what he’s doing on the road, even though I know that he is a great guy and would never do anything too crazy to fuck anything up between us. It has occurred to me that the reason that I’m focusing too tightly on what he’s doing is that I’m totally jealous that he’s in Europe playing shows while I am getting up early to use an adding machine.

I don’t really have an answer, and I’m not complaining in any way about my life. Drew has to work his ass off when he’s home to make up for the money lost when he’s out on the road, and that’s often the reality of being in a band today. I realize that there are people reading my blogs that would be very excited to have half of what I have had. I am a lucky girl and am by no means ungrateful. Part of my reason for sharing it is to clean away some of the mystery for people and I know that one of my jobs here in this life and body is to bring this information, to open up my world for examination for those who haven’t been as fortunate as I have. And I’m happy to do it.

I suppose I’m writing this down to explain why I haven’t had anything too real to write about lately. I’m stagnating a bit and trying to find the answers. I don’t think the answer is getting in a van and sweating it out with some new band while my savings dwindle. Plus truthfully, I was never the greatest singer on the planet and mostly got by on charisma and humor. I am getting a little long in the tooth for that and I am also a lover of my creature comforts, my overpriced bras, my clean sheets, my overfed pets, and a steady cash flow. So for the time being I suppose I’m just going to try to get to a few more shows until I figure it out. I may be going to see Rob Zombie this week even though it’s a school night, and I’m going to Children of Bodom with Tati next Sunday if she’ll have me, and even though Monday is all important payroll day.

Let the fashion crew sweat it out a little. Mommy’s coming in late, goddamnit.

Author: Raffaele

Rock and roll juggernaut, writer, muse, animal lover, Cycle Slut from Hell, friend, lover, sister, daughter, nerd, fagwoman, Slytherin, killer queen.

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