I’m Proud of my Sis!

You, my myspace (and real life) friends, are very generous about giving me love and appreciation, and I cannot tell you how grateful I am. I am an extraordinarily lucky girl.

But right now I want to tell you that while I am in NY pondering my own mundane shit, thinking about fancy bras, drinking $5 lattes and getting pedicures, my sister is actually making a difference for the animals made homeless by Katrina, in her own personal and typically quiet and unassuming way. I usually get the attention while she gets the little sister pat on the head, and it’s not always fair. I wouldn’t be who or what I am without her love and support. I may not have even survived NYC at one point if she hadn’t shown up just in time to help me pick up the pieces of my broken life. And I am just so impressed that she actually went out and did something instead of just watching the news and shaking her head.

So I feel it’s important to hail her the way she deserves. If you have a chance, take a look at her last blog (Katrina) and see if you don’t feel the same.

Even though she can eat all the pasta she wants and stay skinny (jerk), and even though she won’t let me drive her car (I’m an excellent driver), and even though she tells me I should stop pretending I’m a teenager and start acting my age (never gonna happen)--my sister rocks.


Ugh. I’m back from the peace of the Michigan woods and water way, way too soon for my liking. Unfortunately I didnt have a camera to give you a visual, but highlights include:
–Major time with my 14 month-old nephew, who turned out to be the most charming of little beings I have ever met. I know I said I don’t like kids but it turns out I only like the ones belonging to people I love.
–Drew rowing my mother around the pond.
–Hummingbirds, crickets, driftwood, toads, beach rocks, cold water, wet dogs.
–A barbeque at my sister’s beautiful house in the woods, which included me eating the worm from a bottle of Mezcal, major fireworks and a quarter stick of dynamite, all purchased by my brother-in-law during a road trip stop in Wisconsin for “cheese”, and highlighted by the sounds of AC/DC set to 11 on the volume knob. To which my sister shouted, “Damn it, if the cops come Im the one thats going to have to talk to them!” I told her she needed to loosen up a little and forced her to do a shot of Jack. And then two hours later, after some merriment and very loud noises and a few holes in the lawn the cops did indeed show up and my sister was the one appointed to speak to them. She claims that I need to grow up and I claim that she needs to yell “Wooooooo!!” more often.
–Way, way too much food: ice cream, pasta, cake, pie, sandwiches, potato chips, french toast…as my Brazilian friend Carolina puts it, it was the Caligula of food. And what a time we had, but now the time has come to pay the piper for a summer of indulgence. I am in serious need of some weight loss and today begins the soup and salad march of atonement. *sigh*
So I wanted to give all of you who know me personally (or are interested) a little update, since there are so many things going on:
I told most of you that I was leaving Patricia Field to co-manage my friend Johnny T’s beautiful new club Movida. The decision was based on a few reasons, but mostly due to the fact that my job at PF is 3 days a week and I have been supplementing it with jobs that weren’t completely right for me. When I told the afore-mentioned Carolina, who is the Director of PF, that I was leaving she totally freaked out and offered me all kinds of attractive incentive to stay. She said that she didn’t believe there was anyone else who could do the job that I do and the words “golden office” were even thrown out there. Of course, I’m not going to hold her to that one, I look terrible in gold! But I was most flattered and happy to get the appreciation. Trust me when I say this moment in my life has been a long time coming, and that I just realized that I need to write a crap job blog.
So it turns out that I will not be leaving the hot pink, high clown world of Patricia Field after all and will be at the store full time doing the lingerie buying along with my usual tasks. I am a huge lingerie fan, so I think I’ll probably be good at this and am excited about having some influence over NY’s female population’s undie choices. But please don’t start bugging me to stock your cousin’s or girlfriend’s amateur barbed wire bra designs as I havent gotten started yet.
And btw, Johnny T was a gem about the whole thing as I’d already accepted his offer and kept him waiting for a few weeks, so that guy is aces in my book.
On a random side note, I suddenly have become very popular with dogs on myspace. Who are you people making all these pages for your dogs?
While we were home I had a reading from my mom’s friend Robert, who is an excellent psychic and an all around sweetheart. Here are some things he told me:
He said that my blogging was helping more people than I am aware of and that I should continue trying to address the topics that I find interesting. I would like everyone to know that I really enjoy the connection that happens with blogging and am always very interested in what everyone else has to say in response.
He told me that before eating or drinking anything, take a moment to bless (as well as be thankful for) whatever is in front of you. Think about all of the various energies that pass through the water or food in front of you, from the bodies and places the water has flown through to the people growing, picking, and preparing your food. Not all of these energies may be good for you, and blessing what you take in will clear some of that. If you are going to eat meat (which I do sometimes) spend the extra money on organic, free-range meat. Not only is it healthier on a practical level–free of antibiotics and hormones, but the actual energy is higher. There is less suffering and fear in the meat, which we have to realize was once a thinking, feeling creature that was raised and killed to be eaten and felt and vibrated with all of those sad energies. It either had a decent life or a terrible one, and it most likely felt fear before it died, and all of that stuff passes from the food to you. So just be conscious of what you are taking into your body and into your energy system. Robert mentioned that a good experiment is to watch how co-workers or friends behave after eating shitty or junk food, that sometimes you can actually see an emotional/personality shift depending on who the person is and what they’re taking in. I have yet to do this but Im curious.
Robert also said that I would do very well with a radio show working on these topics, that it would be very healing for people. Frankly, if you have ever spoken to me in person or on the phone, you know I have a nasal Midwestern twang, which is hardly soothing. And I am not particularly clever verbally, which is why I like to write. I’m one of those people that comes up with the smart retort five minutes after it’s too late. Not to mention that I have no training in the world of radio and never even thought about it before. But whatever, all those things are just that naysaying voice we all have, so I will toss those thoughts aside and state that I am open to anything the Universe wants to throw at me. So I’m putting it out there to you–if you have any ideas on this subject let me know.
I came to the realization that my dog is almost completely blind, I knew he couldn’t see well but it became very obvious when he had a field to run around in. Robert told me this is a result of the abuse he suffered (which was mighty) and the blindness was only going to get worse. He said that the dog doesn’t want to think about his past (for clearing or healing) and just wants to be near me leading his mellow little life. This particular issue has been a tough one for me as he is not a normal, fun dog–he doesn’t want anyone but those he knows intimately to touch him (because he doesnt equate touch with love like most dogs), he has seizures, everything freaks him out, and he can’t really walk on the street because he can’t see and is afraid. I have had some major longing for a normal dog and a couple years of frustration hoping that he would change with time. But speaking with Robert about it made me realize I have to just let this issue go and have some acceptance. My mother pointed out that maybe its my job to be “in service” to this being, which really struck a chord. He is a loving little soul, sometimes he just walks up to me and presses his mushy face into my feet in the most tender way, and I can feel that he is so bonded to me that it would destroy his spirit to be abandoned again, even if I were to give him to someone who could deal. So maybe it is a holy act to simply love and accept him for who he is and stop trying to get my psychic connections to “have a talk with him” and straighten him out. Some things are just meant to be what they are.
There was a myriad of other things–Robert says I need to keep my tiny EV apartment and get a country house for the weekends. I of course asked where the bounty would come to purchase such a wonderful thing and he said it will come. He also told me that for me the time is NOW and all the dark times I have had in the past have been leading up to this period in my life, which is to be fun and lucrative. And I say, bring it on! And I promise I’ll take as many of you as I can along for the the ride.
So lastly, I want to thank everyone for all the sweet and insightful comments and messages you leave me re the blogs. I am very grateful for the connection that myspace has brought and happy that you find these ramblings interesting enough to read. I consider your online and personal friendships a true gift.


Yippee! We are leaving next week to go to my mother’s house in Michigan for a week.

We being me…

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And my vicious, rotten, epileptic dog Winter, who we call the Chicken, because he’s afraid of everything, or The Brain, because he looks like The Brain from Pinky and the Brain…

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In order to fly the Chicken it costs $80 each way, plus you need a health certificate. And because everything freaks him out he needs valium for the ride as well, so the health certificate and drugs cost me $209. So the total comes to $369, which means it actually would have been cheaper to just buy him his own ticket and plop him in the seat next to us. But I love the little fucker and want him to have some fun in the country.

Anyway, we are far more excited than anyone should be about going to Michigan. Well, at least Drew and I are, I don’t really know how the dog feels about it. Now I know you would like to picture me somewhere more exciting and exotic, but home is honestly where I want to go. I am tired of people and noise and I just want to sit in the woods for a little while. And I’m also tired of explaining what it’s like where I come from so I’m going to give you a little pictorial blog.

Here is the back of my mom’s house…

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We will be spending a lot of time on this patio from the 9th through the 16th. Unfortunately I don’t have a good picture of my mom in the computer, so I will just tell you that she has black hair and is quite gorgeous. She lives in Cedar, which is right near Lake Michigan and close to a lot of state parks. Cedar is right outside of Traverse City, where I grew up. Traverse City is a resort town, the cherry capital of the world (meaning most of the cherries you eat are grown there) and all sorts of very white Republican breeding types live and vacation there in the summer. Cedar and the surrounding areas are a little more hippie/new age (like my mom) and redneck (like the gun club down the road) and not so crowded up with golfers. Cedar has one stoplight and pretty much one street, but you can still get all sorts of vegan food and organic wines there.

My mom has 10 acres about five minutes out of the town. She is involved in all kinds of spiritual healing and crazy psychic stuff so she will be practicing new healing techniques on us when we are there and we will be getting readings from her friend Robert, who is a sweetheart and a wonderful psychic. Last year we got two great readings and had our DNA reactivated and our psychic caps removed. I can’t wait to see what goes on this year.

This is the guest cottage we will sleep in…

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Notice the ladder on the side. My mother installed this ladder when my sister lived there, in the hope that someone would convince her to elope and get her out of the house.

Luckily, someone finally did. This is her and my brother-in-law, Scott…

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Here are a couple of shots of the inside of the cottage. I guess you would call it quaint. I call it NO PHONES FOR A WEEK. Okay that’s not technically true because my mom has a phone and we have cells with no reception. But it feels cut off and that’s a delightful feeling.

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Here is my mom’s spring-fed pond. It is jam-packed full of frogs and fish that jump and it’s surrounded by beautiful willow trees. It’s really magical. That is one of her Maltese dogs near the stream that runs near the pond.

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Here is the stream and the other side of the house:

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And here are the dogs. Drew calls them “the Tinies”. They’re much nicer and way more fun than my dog who snaps at everyone but Drew and me and isn’t much of a frolicker. We would like to make a switch but my mother is very selfish and refuses to trade out…

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Drew says that he is going to run around in the yard with the Tinies while I spend hours in front of the computer. He thinks that I am addicted to myspace and I don’t know what the hell he is talking about!

Here is one of the many nearby beaches we will be frequenting. The girl in the photo is our friend’s daughter Stella. Stella rocks. Well, as far as children can–you all know how I feel about kids, which is, shall we say, lukewarm.

The beaches around there rock as well. People who say Lake Michigan isn’t a real beach have never been there, which is part of the reason I am posting this little blog. So I can just point to it instead of explaining all the time. Great Lake beaches don’t have the waves that the ocean does, and they’re fresh water, but they are still pretty delightful. The area I come from is very clean and my mom knows all kinds of secret spots where very few people go.

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My sister has a new son named Alexander who also rocks. The baby is one year old now so we will be bringing him to the beach this year. I am not one for tanning so I plan on shoving Alexander out from under the umbrella when my sister isn’t looking, so that I can get under there and protect my pale skin and tattoos. I figure he’s young and can afford the UV damage more than I can.

Here is a photo of me being maternal with Alexander. I have found that imbibing moderate amounts of liquor makes children much more enjoyable. That is my brother behind me also, um, enjoying the baby…

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Here is a photo of my brother. He won’t be there this year because he’s playing guitar on a cruise ship, but I thought I’d throw his photo in just because he’s such a dork…

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So that’s all the photos I have and thus is the end of my little Michigan pictorial. I am in desperate need of a new camera but maybe I can borrow one and get some photos this year. Or maybe I will be far too lazy and overfed to even bother.

In the meantime, feel free to email but I won’t be able to get IM’s out there. Which is probably a good thing.


My neighborhood may suck but my friends are cool as fuck…

Yesterday I had a particularly stressful work day, and afterwards went to meet Drew for a drink at Motor City to listen to his friend Poker Chris spin some rock and roll for us. Five glasses of wine later, we walked home through an ungodly sea of what I then later termed in a ranting bulletin entitled “I am the Omega Man” as: “hideous, horrible, docker-wearing, fat-assed, never heard of the Cramps, will sue you if you give them the wrong table, have never been told no, awful, horrible, hideous, soulless, energy-sucking Guffs, breeding cloney, rotten, spoiled, undisciplined children, soulless Bush-supporting people that I moved here to get away from and now am overwhelmed by. TEEMING, like rats or cockroaches, only less attractive and more abundant.”

And frankly, I believe I may have been being a little kind with this description.

I’m not going to post my bulletin here as it was written in a drunk and depressed state of mind and you’ve all heard me sing this song too many times already. But I do want to post the gorgeous responses I got. It has restored my faith quite a bit. We have a small island of intelligence left in NY and I am grateful that myspace keeps me connected to it. Thank you, thank you my generous friends…

From Rik Rocket:

Well there a couple of Omega People left….

I’ve been in the same apt on 1st ave & 6th for 12 years (whoa!)..

I know, Raff it’s fuckin’ soul deadening.. the hummers, the cigars, the FUCKING DOUBLE WIDE BABY STROLLERS, the cackling, evil, sex-&-the-city, banana republic stepford wastes of oxygen, breeder, pathetic excuses for women, the frat-boy, flip=flop-wearing, Nickelback-requesting ‘men’….

I hate the way they force murderous thoughts into my head when I’m just trying to go to the fuckin bodega….

I came to the city for the same reasons….Where are the kick-ass women (and you know what I mean by KICK-ASS women) Kick-ass bands, artists…KICK-ASS ANYTHING?????

I miss ave A, B, C… I miss St. MArks….I miss Wah wah, GreenDoor, 7B, pyramid, Shit! I even miss just 5 YEARS AGO: CIH, LIFE, SQUEEZEBOX….

I miss there actually being a real scene…bands that really rocked, not just rocked ‘good enough’ for whatever bullshit city they moved here from….

It’s sad and depressing….and to have to constantly hold back so you don’t sound like a griping old-fogey. Looking at these 22 year olds and thinking ‘you think you are *CRAZY!!* but you are so not crazy at all….’ And then feelin like a bitter old dick for thinking that way….

Shit I even miss the dimebag rastas on my corner…

i was Djing at Motor a few weeks ago when some 22 year old blonde yuppie larvae asks me, “Can you play some black music?”—dead serious.
I blinked.
I said, “You mean music performed by ‘Black People’?
She nods. Still smiling as if she were ordering a venti frappe-mocha-chino.
I say, “Do you mean ‘Temptations’ black music or ‘DMX’ black music.
“Yeah Like DMX!”. Still smiling wide eyed.
All this while I am currently spinning: stooges, zep, FUCKING BLUES BASED ROCK! IT’S ALL BLACK MUSIC YOU WASTE OF DNA!!!
I played a block of Chuck Berry, jimi, Screamin Jay & Little Richard (which I’m sure was lost on her.)

It’s these moments when you hope Darwin was right and one day she will ask the wrong person to play ‘black music’ and she will be mercifully removed from the gene pool.

Sorry to ramble….

Don’t mean to date, Raff, but one of the first shows I ever saw in the city was CSFH at the OLD Ritz…….the Joey ramone circus of the perverse…

You’re one of the reasons I’m here too.

You’ve always been an amazing, strong incredible woman and a great inspiration to me, whatever that may be worth to you, heh…
You’re also correct about everything.
You’re not alone.
I can’t really offer any advice, but all the support I got is yours.


From Michael:

Wow . I love your honesty .It is so pure. What come to mind and this is all stream of consciense it’s 2 am , I just played a motorhead show , so bear with me . You are revolution .It’s inside you . Your core your soul your essence ,spirit , being it doesn’t matter where you are Timbuktu , toyko ,times square ad infinity . That’s the real part that’s the beauty ,that’s the spirit . that can never be extinguished . There can be a starbucks on every corner .But they can take away what is within. the invincibiltiy you feel when you listen to your favorite song .No one can take that from you . the drive the passion the love for yourself , your friends , rock and roll , fashion energy all the good shit . That’s what it is . it’s not where your from it’s where your at . The joy you bring people from your words and your truth . i know the city is gone . I grew up in the bronx !!! in the 1970’s !! blackouts , crime violence ! The son of sam !

You didnt go to Avenue A ! Whiteboys used to get jumped in Willamsburg . So many of my boys got stabbed on avenue b hit with bats , on and on.

When I was 14 I turned the corner out of the D train to go to Cbgb’s for a show (My first) and I was afraid !! I was afraid of the kids outside !! PCP and chains and punks living on the street ! I loved it .

I know it is gone . i live 5 blocks from Lamour east . No hipsters , no yuppies , no goat cheese . Just humble working folk . My super loves me . I helped him out when an apartment upstairs had a fire .

Maybe a vacation ?
maybe a moment of silence for our dead city ?
Pray for apocolypse ?

I have empathy for you . I feel your truth . I went to Willamsburg to go to a studio space . I want a shirt that says I was born here Motherfucker .!! NYC !! Who the fuck are you to call yourself a newyorker you hipster scum brown shoe member’s only jkt prick!!

I dated a girl who lived out there a while ago .. I used to jump out of the train , put Sabbath on my headphones and god help you if you were in my way when I stormed down the street . Those fucks didnt get out of my way fast enough !!

I dont have an answer Raff only thoughts .
I love to listen to you and I can identify with you
I pray you find and answer and some solace .

Btw the turbo ac’s are playing in Berlin in september on the 14th . That is so much like old NYC .
maybe a vacation , you will be on the guest list ….

From Jim:
I started coming to NYC in as a teen in the late 70’s. It was frightening but at the same time every unfamiliar step was filled with a feeling I don’t think I could ever adequately describe. Like me I am sure you felt it. Perhaps that is the best way to remember it. NYC felt like no place on Earth. I had to be here. One day.

I suffered through college at the urging of my parents spending most of my free time here in a drunken and drugged up stupor. I finally made it here 1982 or 1983 I can’t really remember. I do remember where I lived. 6th street between avenue C and Avenue D in a one room studio on the ground floor with three other friends. First building in the middle of the block. The rest of the block was burnt out and razed. It was totally cool.

Four years of college and my life was finally my own. So I became a bike messenger. That gave me tax free dollars to pay my share of the rent and and keep me in a fucked up stupor. I was in heaven.

I know it’s quite some time ago but I remember so much as if it where yesterday. I think most of all I miss hanging out on St. Marks. Freebeing every Tuesday looking at the chalk board in the window checking out the new LP arrivals. Flip on 8th street and all my friends that worked there. Hanging out in the park drinking Olde English and eating bags of barbecued Bon Tons by the bag and smoking Pot over a burning barrel.

I remember all the friends lost and wonder what happened to many of them. The end came too soon for some. Drugs, AIDS, Suicide. Some just disappeared. A few amazingly got thier shit together and fled the city and are now suburban Moms and Dads.

I sometimes wonder about the babies I held while so their parents could take a picture of them with the freak with the giant Mohawk. Those kids are in their 20’s now I suppose. I wonder if they grew up looking at those pictures.

I remember the shitty bands I was in that never went anywhere. But at the same time left me with treasured memories. Rock star? Fuck that. It was allabout getting drunk and getting laid. Rock ‘N’ Roll.

I could go on forever. I just turned 44 a couple of weeks back. Guess what? NYC has changed dramatically over the years. I for better or worse have not. I remember as you remember. But for me the past is the past. I can’t go back and relive it.I just hope everyday that the present gets better. I will live until I die. Until I die I will live here. No place on Earth I have ever been has ever come close to NYC.

I have hope. I will always be myself. NYC will always be in transition. On some level I suppose I am in transition too but they will never steal my soul or break my spirit. I want to be happy.

I wish you to be happy too.


From the lovely Tanya:
i know i needn’t say it
but you know i adore you…
i have the many of the same feeling you’ve
expressed here…
i wouldn’t dream of attempting to convince
anyone of remaining here…
especially someone who remembers how
wonderful nyc used to be…
the jessica simpsons & their poodles or
yorkies or whatever complaining about spanish
kids on their bikes on the sidewalks & the homeless
& their “having to look at them” on the les
turns my stomach in such a way that i just
wanna beat their heads in & feed them their dogs…
the standards for hip & cool has nothing to do
with heart, individuality or harmony….
(i could rant for a while but the pain from my recent
root canal demands i lay down so i’ll try to be brief)
yer discomfort is felt by many….
lost, here, at home…
everything changes & i don’t want to go with it….
yep, i wanna leave too…
& the country isn’t as unappealing as it used to be
which freaks me out cuz i’m a city girl…
but until you find yer way,
used these bastards as the example for being grateful
that you are who you are…
cuz no matter how
“beautiful” or “successful” or “happy” they “are”,
they’re soul sucking home wrecking parasites who
aren’t worth the spit i would toss at them…
“TEEMING, like rats or cockroaches,
only less attractive and more abundant. ”
couldn’t have been said more perfectly…

i love you raffaele…
& not in one of those
“we’re such good friends” ways…
but more of a real woman way…
you always impress me….
& make me happy to have known you
even the little bit that i have…
be strong in yer days & nights…

big kiss…

From Douglas J:
new york aint what it used to be for sure, but nothing ever is… sometimes i walk around and miss some of my old stomping grounds or get sad about what has become of said stomping grounds and i try to think if it’s them that’s changed or if its me… sometimes its one or the other, sometimes its both.

but i always think about the drones walking around just there looking around for what used to be… and they won’t find it, not because its gone gone gone, but cause they never look deep enough. they never have and never will. but they aren’t the problem cause they were always there, on the outside looking in thinking they were on the inside looking out.

sometimes, my favorite thing to do in this city is to pass some street or building and turn to whoever i am with and say “this happened there, or i used to eat here after a night out across the street, etc. etc.” THAT new york is always there and no matter how many clubs they renovate or buildings they tear down or used clothing stores they turn into bloomingdales or prada, THAT new york is always underneath.

which is where it always was in the first place, no?

From Tim:

I read the bulletin you had posted last night about the East Village changing, and what it’s like for you now. I wanted to let you know that I feel your pain…

I’m living in midtown now (54th & 8th). Often I think I miss the EV, but then I think I’m missing something that isn’t there anymore. Then I go down there, a couple of times a week, and I hate it – especially at night when all of those people are out. The daytime isn’t so bad. It’s a bummer to be sure.

The same thing goes for the meat packing district…have you been over there lately. It’s horrendous! There are some good restaurants but the crowds are just hideous. A frined of mine & I have taken to calling it the douche bag district.

The conformity is just rampant…something I’ve been pretty conscious of since around junior high school when I was the lone punk rocker, and everyone else was in their Journey t-shirts. Ya know? I also think our age (around 40, give or take) has something to do with it.

Anyway…just wanted to let you know you’re not alone. I can relate big time.

Hope you’re well otherwise…

Tim Broun


I have been thinking a lot about energy this week. Mostly about why we go where our energy tells us not to, or how to be clearer on where we are actually supposed to go energetically.

I have rarely had problems with my female friendships. I love the women in my life and cherish their love and support and I have no patience for women who don’t like other women. That energy flow is usually very clear and easy for me. I generally know immediately which women I can trust and let into my inner circle and which ones should be held at bay with a sharp, poison-coated stick. But every once in a while some needy bitch slips through because I have an unfortunate tendency to be one of those mommy caretaker types.

So I have one friend who is a complete energy vampire. I disliked her when I first met her but she was relentless in her quest to be my friend and I stopped paying attention to my first reaction as she won me over with a cute sweetness and fun nature. But she is a selfish, bratty pain in the ass, and I have been trying to extricate myself from the friendship for years. Unfortunately, she is very persistent, she will call me 10 times until I respond, and I have felt a sort of responsibility to continue being her friend because she seems to want it so much and always does something endearing just when I’m about to tell her to go fuck herself.

We had an incident a short while ago that was fairly minor, but completely typical of our dynamic, in which I was pushed and drained to the verge of tears by the simple act of trying to help her get her a pair of shoes. It caused a light to go on for me. This person, who I have always seen as sweet, has been sucking me dry for years, and out of a dysfunctional sense of obligation I haven’t protected myself from it.

That same week I went out to dinner for Noelle’s birthday with her Army of Darkness, a group of gorgeous, tough, tattooed, smart women, and it was the exact opposite experience. It was a great night, everyone was funny and loving towards each other, and I left them feeling connected and joyful in a deep way, I actually felt spiritually filled by the time spent with these lovely women.

Then I had an incident with an acquaintance here on myspace. I don’t know him at all but he started writing me these long, long messages about random stuff, mostly music and once a demented one about how much trouble he’s having dating. I responded sometimes, usually briefly, and just wrote him off as another nutty fan. So then it turned out he was mining my friend list for attractive ladies well out of his league (of which there are many because my girlfriends are pretty fucking hot). He hit on one and when she didn’t respond the way he wanted he got really belligerent and stupid about it. Then he sent the exact same come-on letter to my sister, who is very obviously married with a baby, and this totally enraged me. Don’t fuck with my friends and don’t even think about fucking with my little sister or I will turn on the Scorpio venom so high that you will cry like a pms-ing teenage girl.

I festered (it’s a hobby) on that for a while and composed a whole letter in my head to him, explaining my feelings about how completely inappropriate his behavior was. I also wrote a long blog detailing the torture that my horrible friend has put me through over the years. Then I realized, after thinking about it for far too long, that the guy wouldn’t get it and both of these reactions are another symptom of my whole tendency towards handing energy out to people who don’t deserve it. Engaging in any way with people who leech on for their own bloodthirsty needs is a continuation of the energy drain. Writing about and thinking about the wrongs that this girl has done to me is still a way of handing her my energy, and why should I take the time to try to educate some asshole that I don’t even know when I don’t have time enough for the people I love?
So I haven’t posted the blog and I let it lie with the clueless myspace freak. He sent me a retarded couple of messages disparaging my friend and telling me I was wrong to delete him and I didn’t respond. This was extremely difficult as I have an insatiable need to foist my opinion on others, so I am quite proud that I was able to shut it for once in my life. I may still post the blog because it’s already written and she’s such a soul-sucking fiend that the story is entertaining. But I’ll hold off for today because this topic is far more important to me.
My light bulb moment (in Oprah-speak) is essentially this: since we are all made up of energy and everything around us is made up of energy (E=mC2), we need to pay attention to how we are using or directing it. This includes our thoughts and conversation. It is too valuable to squander on people, relationships or things that don’t serve our spirit. Squandering personal energy causes sickness, stress, depression, and horrorshow shoe shopping experiences. It may even be unholy to treat our energy with such disrespect, if that makes any sense, because it’s a violation of the essence of who we are. I have always known this intellectually, but I’m just starting to understand it in an everyday experience kind of way.
So that’s the information these two ticks (and so many others over the years) have delivered to me and I am passing on to you. I thank them for the lesson and hope that I can now be free of their needs.

Meeting My New Neighbor!

1:45 AM

So, any of you who have been with me for a while may remember that my upstairs neighbors were dumbass NYU party girls that tortured me nightly with their late night frat boy visitors. They were just a footnote in a long trail of nightmares, beginning with my afore-mentioned ex-husband and continuing through two complete renovations, including floor sanding at 7 am which caused huge chunks of my ceiling to collapse, and a bathroom overhaul which still causes stones to suddenly fall from nowhere into my bathtub.

Ah, the East Village. Once a bastion of cheap rattraps to exist in happily while pursuing an art career or a drug habit, now a half-reconstructed set of yuppie warrens, punctuated by a few holdouts like myself who still cling to our cheap rents while the renovating sky falls around us.

I knew from the sounds of early morning construction work this week that my NYU sweethearts must have moved out. Who would be the new candidate? Maybe someone cool for a change?


So about 15 minutes ago I woke up to the far too familiar sound of water pouring into my kitchen and bolted out of my bed, tossing dozing cats willy-nilly (Side note: don’t you love the phrase “willy-nilly”?). Not dripping or even trickling, but completely pouring, like someone is taking a shower in my kitchen. I quickly assessed the situation, (yes, of course it’s coming from upstairs) and threw on a robe and ran into the hall barefoot and up the flight of stairs to what must certainly be my wonderful new neighbor.

I should add that at this point I have on very greasy face cream and a few patches of zit cream here and there. And the robe is ratty and pink, plus I am furious so I’m pretty sure the mood generated the wild eyes of a lunatic. I was essentially a tattooed version of Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard, sans the chin strap and fancy living quarters. But I knocked as politely as possible and waited for a response. Which of course I didn’t get, but I could hear someone trying to tiptoe around near the door. So I gave in to my soul’s cry for justice and pounded loudly and with all the fury of a woman who has spent 15 years living directly below noisy mama’s boys and irresponsible jackasses.

The door opened a crack and revealed the face of a very nervous-looking young blonde. NYU anyone? Here is our conversation:

Me: “There is water pouring into my apartment right now.”
Her: “Well, I’m not doing anything, I don’t know what it is.”
Me:  “Well there’s water coming from somewhere in your apartment. It’s raining into my kitchen. We’re talking major flooding.”
Her: “Well, I don’t know where it’s coming from.”
Me: “You don’t see any leaking anywhere?”
Her: “Well, water is pouring into my bathroom, but I didn’t do anything.”
Me: “You mean you have a leak? Is it a pipe?”
Her: “I don’t know, it’s just pouring.”
Me: “Is it coming from your ceiling or near the tub or toilet?”
Her: “It’s just pouring around the floor.”
Me: “Can you see if it’s coming from a pipe?”
Her: “I don’t know.”
Me: “Is it coming from under the tub or the toilet?”
Her: “I don’t know.”
Me: “Can I look at it so I can call Rock and have him come in, if it’s a pipe we have to take care of it right now, my kitchen ceiling is pouring water.”
Her: “Who’s Rock?”
Me: “The super.”
Her: “Oh. I don’t know him….Is this building always like this? Cause I’m going to complain.”
Me: “Can I please look at it?
Her: “Well, I don’t know where it’s coming from.”
Me (panicking): “Can I PLEASE look at it??”
And then I practically shoved her out of the way into the apartment (which looks much better than mine btw, guess constant renovating will do that), to see that her bathroom floor has an inch of water over it and the water is coming from her toilet. Not the toilet pipe, but from the actual overflowing toilet.
Me (very drily): “Your toilet is overflowing.”
Her: “I know, but I didn’t do anything. Is this building always like this?”
Me: “Um…yes, that’s generally what happens in this building when you plug the toilet.”
Her: “I’m trying to stop it but I don’t know how it started.”
Me: “Did you use it and then flush it?”
Her: “Yes.”
Me (I am zen, yes I can be zen…): “Do you want a plunger?”
Her: “Yes.”

So I went back downstairs, got my plunger, and brought it to her. And then began the task of cleaning up blonde NYU toilet water from my kitchen, which then leads me here to you good people. I couldn’t go back to bed before documenting the encounter. There’s always the chance that I could snap and I want evidence that the neighbor-murder with a plunger was warranted.

And now, I will have a shot of the absinthe that Drew smuggled back from Scotland before I retire. That should keep her safe, for tonight anyway.

I would listen to the same 10 artists if it weren’t for the loving people in my life. I am a classic rock girl and I’d rather listen to Exile on Main Street or Nothing’s Shocking for the nine millionth time than have to get to know someone new. Really, I can count on one hand the new bands that I like, and my friends and family regularly mock me for it.

Drew, who is ten years younger than me and infinitely cooler and more plugged in, has finally come up with a solution. He just puts new stuff on my Ipod without asking, and when I listen to it on shuffle I get hit with a new song every once in a while. Then I get all freaked out for a moment before taking a breath and reassuring myself that it’s only new music and it won’t hurt me. It’s musical shock therapy for the stubborn and retarded.

So recently I told him with a straight face that I believe Nirvana killed the rock and roll party. He burst out laughing and said, “You are UNBELIEVABLE! And did you decide this before or after you downloaded that crap Cinderella album onto the Ipod?” Well, way before of course.

Now before you start squawking, let me clarify. I actually LIKE Nirvana. But I remember the moment the video for Smells Like Teen Spirit hit. My sister (in a burst of uncharacteristic good taste–she usually listens to Enya or Marillion) got all excited about it and insisted I watch it when it came on MTV. Anyway, the album was, as we all know, great. But you could almost hear the good time gears grinding to a halt as soon as it hit the airwaves. Within months Vogue was featuring flannel shirts on uglified models and the last gasp era of the glamorous rock star died.

Rock and roll was my whole life focus from the time I was 13, maybe even earlier. My mother says that when I was a baby I would dance in front of the TV when the Beatles or Stones came on. It truly did save my soul as I was stuck in a small town and totally hating life and the people around me. Rock music and the gorgeous creatures who created it helped me to finally feel connected to something. Suddenly I wasn’t alone anymore, and I put up posters all over my room and stayed up all night listening to Aerosmith (this was well before the pods took them) over and over and over again in those giant headphones. So the 80’s rock scene was an extension of that early teen energy for me, and it was the period that I landed in NY and got to be a part of the thing I had always lived for and adored.

When grunge happened I didn’t mind that hair volume went down or that guys toned down the makeup usage, as things were getting a little stupid at that point (Britny Fox, anyone?). But I really enjoyed the long haired boys (some might say too much on that one), the local rock scene and the balls-out enthusiasm it contained. There were so many people hanging out on any given night back then that you could fill the Limelight full of people on a Sunday with local bands performing. Don Hill and I still moan sadly over shots of tequila about the Cat Club Wednesdays. Sure it was a bit cheesy, but it was a fucking blast! Now you can’t even fill Continental or CB’s with any regularity. Of course I don’t blame this on grunge, I actually blame it on hip hop. All I’m saying is that the flannel heralded the impending end of the kegger.

So now here I am, a total dinosaur, lumbering around complaining about the complete lack of rock stars in the world and yelling at the kids I work with that they wouldn’t know a good time or decent music if it bit them in the ass. They roll their eyes and let me play Bowie or BRMC (thanks, Drew!) for a little while, and then put Mariah Carey or Beyonce back on when they think I’m not paying attention. It’s so sad. When did I become extinct? I’m like someone’s out-of-date parent. And on a side note—how can people possibly enjoy listening to Mariah Carey? I swear to God every time I hear her sing I feel like my soul is being punctured. And then one of the kids actually had the audacity to tell me that Beyonce is his generation’s Tina Turner. I had to double over and breathe slowly on that one.

Once in a while something comes along that makes me feel the rock, like the last QOTSA show or Motorhead. But most of the time I’m at the bar grumbling while whatever lame non-rocking rock band fiddles about onstage, looking and sounding all normal with their beige shoes and short hair. I wanna watch a hot rock star once in a while, dammit, not the guy who fixes my computer. I think all bands should contain at least one person you want to fuck. I think you shouldn’t be able to go from the stage to the grocery store with nary a second glance from the shoppers. I love Marilyn Manson because he takes the time to put some lipstick on. I think Zeppelin rules and I yearn for a pre-breakdown Axl Rose. I yearn for the death of hip hop and modern R & B, I yearn for the kids I work with to stop torturing me with Madonna, and I suppose, yes…I yearn for my youth.


In the Don’t Try This at Home Category

Especially after that last blog, you’d think I’d be old enough know better: 
Took a half a xanax at the beginning of the night on Saturday, something I very rarely do. I am generally an alcohol and Advil kind of girl. But what the hell. So Motorhead was great, as usual, except they had to leave the stage for a few minutes midway because of annoying sound problems. Also, the set was short and it was so crowded we stayed in the back and felt a little removed. 

I went backstage for a minute but didn’t see Lemmy and the crew because there was a wait and I didn’t want to be a selfish jerk and make my friends wait outside in the cold.

My favorite part of the evening (what I can remember): Harlequinn saying “Hookers! I see hookers everywhere!” Ain’t it the truth, sister!

But then afterwards, all happy and full of rock and roll, went to Niagara and started drinking shots of tequila, completely forgetting about the xanax. Suffice to say I have absolutely no recollection of the second half of the evening. I do remember someone saying, “You’re drunk!”, which of course I most indignantly denied.

I woke up in full makeup (including eyelashes), jewelry in the sheets, behind the bed, under the pillow, clothing in a trail from the door. My bf came in panicked and said, “Why did I sleep on the couch? Did we have a fight?” Nope, we had a major lapse in judgement and that’s where he passed out, in his clothes.

Somewhere in the mayhem I lost my bank card and driver’s license, so I spent the afternoon in a haze searching for them, then gave up and got a manicure, practically nodding out in the middle. Chinese nail lady: “You so tired!!” Um, yes, working so hard you know…

If you were anywhere near me Saturday night between midnight and 3 am, I do apologize.

But–in the My Boyfriend Rocks category: Last night a gunning female fan tried to pull off one of his rings (he is famed drummer extraordinaire Drew Thomas), and he stopped her, saying, “Don’t. My girlfriend gave that to me.” To which she responded: “Your girlfriend scares me.” And he said, “Yep. She is scary. My girlfriend is BAD ASS.” That’s right, bitch. Get your hands off my man or I might wreck you and not remember it in the morning.

Auntie Raff’s How to Screw Around with Rock Stars

Ladies, Ladies, LADIES…

I am watching you younger nymphs flail around like gasping fish in the air, and it is simply not pretty. A little dignity, please! I am out of the game and have been for quite some time, but if you will, allow me to bestow the benefit of experience upon you with a few tried and true rules of the playing field. Mama is here to set you pretty things straight:

1. Do not, upon first hooking up with your rock star, keep repeating things like, “Oh my God, I NEVER do things like this!” or “Oh, gosh, I just cannot believe I’m doing this! It’s so unlike me, you know, I’m not a GROUPIE or anything!!” He has heard this a million, trillion times and believed it never, and it makes you look disingenuous.

2. If you have just wrangled yourself a shiny new rock star at a show or afterparty or random bar and the two of you go back to his hotel room, don’t get all comfy after the act and plan on spending the whole night unless he totally begs you. And that means begs for real, not the begging you are imagining in your brain as you lay there pretending he wants you to stay while all signs point otherwise. Is he yawning and channel surfing as you natter on about never having done this before? This means it is time to put your leather pants back on and scram.

Added incentive: picture the morning walk of shame, hair flat and makeup crusty, past gathered band members, management and crew as they collect themselves to move on to the next town. Hear the rhythm of your nighttime heels in the lobby carpet as you run this grueling gauntlet. Those shoes are whispering, “She’s a whore, she’s a whore, she’s a whore…” SO much classier to give him a big smooch on the cheek, say “Laters, Handsome”, and grab a cab in the safety and cover of darkness. If you want, write your number in lipstick on a napkin and toss it on the dresser. He will be much more inclined to use it if you’re not trying to force a 5 am cuddle.

3. If you like one guy in the band, but another member is hitting on you, don’t go for the second one in the secret hope of being able to hang out and get closer to the first. You may actually get a chance to hook up with the one you really like this way, but it will pit the two against each other, and you will lose. They will hate each other for about two minutes, then they will make up, do that slapping guy hug, and turn on you like rabid dogs. The band is always more important than your continued presence, Darling. Their roadies will hate you, their tour manager will definitely hate you because you will have caused him or her the additional stress of feuding bandmates, and you will always be the slut both band members joke about as bonding bros.

Also, keep in mind that all guys on the road talk with other guys on the road. So if you hook up with another completely separate rock star some other time, the first ones may have had the opportunity to fill in number three about what a tramp you were when they were in town. Trust me on this one, it is both painful and humiliating.

4. Don’t get all nutty and get engaged to the nearest rock star on the spur of the moment just to piss off your ex. This one might just be me, though…

5. If you are in an exclusive spot at your rock star’s show, like at the side of the stage or in the sound board area, don’t flail around like an ass trying to make sure everyone sees you. You know those girls, they display their backstage pass as prominently as possible and wave frantically at their friends while hampering the stage techs’ ability to work. Or they squeal too loudly at people they know and hang over the sound booth wall. Or even worse are those girls that keep edging out from the side of the stage to make sure they can be seen from the audience. Nobody likes this girl and no one thinks she’s cool. They came to see the band, not your groupie ass.

6. Don’t assume you are the only one unless he actually tells you so and you have had more time than one drunken night to assess his honesty. Think about all the hot girls that were in the room the first time you met him. Now multiply that amount by the number of cities he is playing on his tour. And then picture yourself in the same position: if you had that many attractive men available to you who weren’t going to run into each other, wouldn’t you enjoy the company of more than one?

7. Tell your close friends and co-workers everything, but keep your trap shut with the rest of the world. It only makes you look like an insecure bimbo if you keep bringing it up in casual party conversation or posting it on message boards to prove to total strangers that you can pull a famous guy. A true rock and roll babe doesn’t need to advertise her connections.

8. Lastly, and most importantly, show some discretion. Just because a guy has a record deal doesn’t mean he is automatically worthy of your gorgeous naked body. Think Anita Pallenberg as opposed to Sweet, Sweet Connie. I can’t emphasize this one enough, ladies! Class, not crass!! Okay! Heads up, boobs out, stomachs in—now get out there and have some fun… Oh, and if you like metal guys and want to see how other girls rate them (or if you just find things like this entertaining), check out Donna Anderson’s Penis Chart on Metal Sludge: http://www.metalsludge.tv/main/index.php?module=subjects&func=viewpage&pageid=381