Another Day in the Life

I was out this week for one of Drew’s gigs with the band (he’s in three) that is getting a lot of attention. I’m finally getting the rhythm of these shows down, being surrounded by a ton of very attractive women much younger than me, men that I don’t completely understand or feel connected to, just being in a scene that isn’t my own. It’s a new “rock” crowd and I am slow to assimilate into that which I don’t already own. But the band is rocking, they put on a great show, and my man is a brilliant drummer and a joy to watch onstage.

We hooked up with Jonny, Brooke, an old friend named Denise, and our friend Timmy. Essentially family and extremely old school rockers, surrounded by baby girls in tiny skirts scanning the room anxiously for members of the band or others worthy of their attention. We stood near the DJ booth, where Mike Schnapp, my former manager and one of my favorite people, spun actual rock (for a change) and we went nuts when certain songs came on. We cheered and sang along to White Zombie and when no one else reacted the way we did Jonny shouted “Guess who’s OLD school in this room!” Yep. Then he said something shitty and I slapped him in the head and he bit me and we shrieked at the next song.

The room was packed when the band played and people were not well-mannered. I felt tense and invaded. I want them to have a jammed show but I want to have a space to watch where I’m not being shoved. Denise began arguing heatedly with a wasted girl who was sort of weaving and stumbling and not paying attention. In my nervous tension I went straight into old school mode. I grabbed her hard by the scruff of the neck, turned her head towards me, and shouted down into her face in a deep voice, “LISTEN TO HER.” The poor girl straightened up, blinked at me in surprise and said, “I’m sorry!” and literally darted away into the crowd.

I turned to Denise and said, “What happened?” And she said, “I’m wearing a boot” (one of those injured foot things) “and she kept stepping on me.”

I thought, fuck, I just abused some poor little girl for stepping on someone’s foot in a jammed room? I’m an asshole and a bully. But I was so uptight that I just clicked into dominator mode as soon as I saw a fight brewing. Sometimes I react physically before my brain processes properly.

And the band played on with the crowd cheering loudly. Ten minutes later Jesse showed up, still recuperating and vulnerable from a very serious illness, and the crowd veered around us dangerously. Giant guys with no consciousness for the words “excuse me” shoved us back and forth.

Then the little girl popped up like a bobber in water and drunkenly wrapped her arms around my neck. She slurred into my ear, “What did I do?” I said, “You didn’t do anything, baby. You just stepped on my friend’s sore foot. I’m sorry I grabbed you.” She hung on me like a lover and I tried to extricate myself from the embrace. Jesse thought she was a friend and waited to be introduced. I shook my head and shrugged as she wrapped her arm in mine and put her head on my shoulder. He said his goodbyes, too physically delicate for the mayhem and as he turned to leave it dawned on my little date who he was and she ran out after him.

Behind us wasted straight girls dangled upside down off of the obligatory stripper poles that now decorate every club, their badly clad crotches (I know this bc I’m a lingerie buyer!) a mere foot or two from our faces. Jonny shouted, “Whores! You’re all disgusting WHORES!” After the show, he looked around in disgust and turned to me as he left and said, “After all these years you’re STILL the hottest girl in the room, bitch.” Thanks, Jonny, you made my night.

At the afterparty (because you know, there’s always an afterparty) I was handed a large chunk of extremely strong mushroom by a Sports Illustrated supermodel. She kissed me hard on the lips and said, “Here you go, baby.” I chuckled thinking how many men would kill somebody to be in that position.

There I went indeed. Mind you, this was at 2 am, and I had to work the next day. But it seemed the appropriate thing to do, mushrooms are so happy and generally benign. Within 20 minutes Drew and I were melting into a couch with other trippers, giggling and shouting nonsense. On either side of me were two of the prettiest women you’ve ever seen, the supermodel and her best friend, and on hallucinogens they seemed to glow, their limbs long and slender, perfect skin, faces of angels. When I shut my eyes colors danced at me at lightning speed. When I opened my eyes lovely wood nymphs were pouring glasses of whiskey for me and trying on my shoes. I made Drew get up and sit next to me so I could hold onto his hand in order to stay grounded.

And then at 4 am he dragged me out. I would have stayed there until daylight most likely, consuming what was apparently an endless supply of high grade hallucinogenic mushrooms hidden in an expensive handbag. Lest anyone out there thinks I’m a total maniac, I don’t do things like this very often, but when I do I tend to need a minder. I also have a work rebellion thing. I’m hyper responsible and work my ass off at my job, but sometimes I just don’t want to be the good girl. Sometimes it seems more important to live that moment at that moment than to worry about what time I have to get up in the morning.

We got home and I apologized to the pets for my bedraggled state. They too glowed very prettily. We took something to help us sleep and I went out watching the colors dance behind my eyelids.

In the morning I awoke very early to my building manager calling me to tell me the super and workers would be delivering a new (used) stove and refrigerator to my apt. I’ve been bugging them about my busted appliances for a while. Drew left for rehearsal and I helped the guys tear my apartment apart, yanking out the old appliances with the contents of the fridge laid out on every available surface. Once they were done I did a head count to make sure all furry bodies were present, left the mess and ran to work, feeling somewhat vulnerable and emotionally messy. I felt badly about grabbing the little girl and sometimes I just feel overwhelmed by this strange new world that has entered my life. I worry that it will separate me from Drew, I worry that I am not strong enough to handle it.

I listened to the Black Crowes on my ipod as I walked. Chris Robinson shouted, “I hate myself. Doesn’t everybody hate themselves?”


I ran into one of the wood nymphs on the street; she looked all fresh and clean and shiny and unhurt by the night’s activities, despite the fact that she’d stayed up til 10 am. But it was comforting to see her somehow.

Drew knew I was feeling shaky and he sent a text when I got to work, “Don’t worry, honey. It’s all good, you’re safe, and I love you like crazy.”

And then I got down to the work for the day.

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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