“Trust women” was Dr George Tiller’s motto.
Dr. Tiller dedicated his life to providing women with health care. This weekend
was the 6t year anniversary of his murder by anti abortion
terrorists. I knew about him, but it was not until tonight that I ever heard
Trust women. It blows my mind that we live
in a world where that is not the case, where certain men think they know better
than a woman about what she needs.
There is a current story on the internet
right now about a guy posting a photo of a woman breast feeding her child
(breast feeding is a federally protected right, posting a photo of a minor
without permission in illegal) and writing a shaming rant. Excruciating. We
still have such a long way to go.
I love men. Men are great. The breed of men
out there who still think that they have some say over women’s bodies need to
grow up, and surrender. I am sorry is you are afraid and weak, but that doesn’t
give you permission to try to dominate. It is hard to be on the losing team and
on the wrong side of history, but we all have challenges we have to face with
dignity, it is am opportunity to grow our character, to act right, to be our best.
Deal with your pain. No one has the right to go around hurting others just
because they feel insecure.
I want to live in a world where women are in
charge of their bodies. We should not need to say trust women, or respect
women, because it should be a given. In the meantime, I am loving Dr. Tillman’s
motto, which shows his sensitivity and wisdom. Trust women, a mind-blowing
concept, and yes, of course. Thank you Dr. Tillman. Peace to your family and
loved one’s on this anniversary.
Yep, I caught throw up in my hands 6 nights
ago and it was a good thing because it meant that I did not have the change the
sheets for a third time.
My baby had a stomach bug over a week ago
and threw up all night, which I wrote about when he was 12 hours
throw-up-free.In a matter of
minutes after posting the blog I went to check on him and he was sitting up in
the bed looking at me like in a horror film and I said “are you ok?” and he did
not answer but instead threw up all over the bed again. I exhaustedly changed
the entire bed and washed everything for the second time. Two nights later I
wrote a silly post
Anyway, my baby had been throw up free for
48 hours at he time of posting but an hour later I was in the bed with him and
he threw up again. This time I just put out my hands and caught it. I managed
to spare the sheets which was so delightful. I did not care about the throw up
in my hands, but I did think about the girl in church I wrote about who caught
throw up in her hands. http://hollyramoswrites.blogspot.com/2015/04/3-weird-things-i-experienced-as-kid.html
but I really did not want to blog about
throw up again. It seemed like writing about it made it happen. Silly, but why
take a chance? I just needed to stay away from the subject for a few days.
He threw up again tonight after being throw
up free for 6 days. The truth is that his virus is a tough bug that takes a
while to go away. The other kids who got it had a similar trajectory, I was
kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to vomit again. Now that
he did, I feel abit relieved, able to blog freely, and I am hoping that it is
all over for real. I still do not feel 100% and it may make its way around the
family and whatever but no use in being suspicious or trying to avoid the
truth, I caught throw up in my bare hands. I hope you don’t have to.
I write everyday to connect with people, to
be in a productive meditative state and to have a creative outlet. But more
importantly I write to be of service and help anyone who might benefit from
these words and experiences. By telling my stories I hope to help someone feel
less alone in the world. Feeling alone is prison. Know that others share your
experience is the gateway to healing and self empathy and freedom.
So if you read this post http://hollyramoswrites.blogspot.com/2015/05/nothing-is-shocking.html
you can imagine how thrilled I was to see my neighbor’s underwear lying on the
steps outside her back door. I felt so less alone in the world, so less of a
spaz. I am not the only person who opens their front door to find their underwear lying in the bright desert sun, not the only one who drops their underwear in the street after
the gym or before doing the wash or whenever the hell. Hallelujah!
Oh man people, you are taking me back… In the early 90’s there was a store on 9th street, I think, called Suzy Wong’s, I believe. If anyone remembers better, please let me know. Suzy was a curvy asian woman with spiky platinum hair, if the person working in the shop was actually Suzy, and I think she was. She made cool clothes. One day I saw her walking by in this tight pink dress with delicate silver pattern on it. She wore it with a pair of flip-flops and she looked badass. I went to the store the next day and bought the same dress.
The dress was made out of swim suit material, which was perfect for me because it meant that I could be out and about in it and hop into a swimming pool or fountain ala La Dolce Vida, with ease, which I did indeed do on a regular basis. I loved that dress and wore it in to the ground. It looked great with pumas or stilettos, day or night.
As I mentioned the dress was pink with a delicate silver pattern on it, quite remarkable. The problem with the dress was that it seemed to match my exact skin tone and at a short distance it looked like I was not wearing any clothes at all. Despite everything I was into, I was not into people thinking I was walking around naked. I did not love the attention, cars screeching to a stop, guys yelling out windows at me. It did not stop me from wearing the dress that I so loved but often I covered it with a beat up leopard skin (fake) coat until I got to my destination. Once I got to the parties everything was fine because the scenes I hung around didn’t blink an eye at the sight of a woman dancing with her keys around her neck and nothing else on.
I have my own Mary Ellen Mark story, which I had forgotten about till looking at her stunning body of work today. I met MEM once
in an abortion clinic. I accompanied my girlfriend when she needed an abortion.
We were both 19 or 20. I sat in the waiting room and MEM approached me and
introduced herself and said she was doing a piece on young girls getting
abortions. I told her that I was not getting one but I knew who she was. I
happened to be in college and was a photography major. The film Streetwise had
come out recently. I told her that people often told me that I looked like the
girl Tiny who was on the poster for the film. I indeed did look like her and
had the air of an at-risk youth, despite my college scholarship to NYU. That
was why MEM approached me.
MEM asked me what I thought of the film and
I told her the truth, that I did not see it because I had heard from someone
that Tiny had been filmed at the gyn without knowing it. (I had been told that
by a girl who was sleeping with my boyfriend. We had an open relationship. I
had mentioned wanting to see the film and like MEM’s work and the girl involved
with my boyfriend said that they had filmed this girl Tiny
without telling her. I decided not to see the film because of that.)
Anyway MEM told me that that was not
accurate. That Tiny was aware of everything and consented to everything and
that the film makers would not have filmed her without full consent. So I said
that I would go see the film. She took my address and shortly after I received
one of the posters in the mail, signed. I hung on my wall for years.
That was it. Mary Ellen Mark was in the
streets and in the trenches, calm cool and collected, communicating and
shooting, walking the walk, the real deal all the way. She made an amazing body
of work and will be missed. Peace to her family and
There is one image in particular in the
slide show that gives me chills because it is of a boy that looks just like my
son will look when he gets a little older. The photograph shows this boy with a
friend who is holding a gun, about to tuck it into his coat. I plan to raise my
boy in a different world that that and pray I succeed.
I love poppy melody with longing and
emotion. I love mid calf pointed toe leather boots and dark hair beehives and
eyeliner, I love a great Phil Spector production. Girl groups are so fantastic.
Phil is a mess and the history is dark but
the work that remains is brilliant.
Darleen Love ghost sang a bunch of songs and
one or two became a hit. She asked Spector for her own career and recorded
another song with him and then heard it on the radio listed as someone else. She
left the business because it was too brutal and one day she was working as a
maid. She was in the middle of cleaning a toilet when she heard herself on the
radio and she remembered who she was and what she was supposed to be doing and
launched her come back. Her voice still thrills me and kills me.
Once, years later I played guitar with Joey
Ramone during a short set of about 5 songs. One of the songs he did was Love’s “Christmas,
Baby Please Come Home” a masterpiece. My band Fur had broken up and a friend
invited me to play the gig as a kind gesture to remind me how I loved music. Of
course I wore a dark beehive and pointed toe, mid calf, black leather boots. During
the Love song I got to sing unrehearsed background vocals while sharing the mic
with Jayne County. Dreams really do come true. From what I understand, we did
not sound perfect, but I was never a perfectionist. It was all brilliant to me.
I was in Electric Lady studio, the recording
studio Jimi Hendrix built, on 8th street in NYC twice. Once when the
Clash walked by, Joe Strummer holding a boom box on his shoulder blasting Radio
Clash, and we got to follow them in for a few minutes before leaving, and once
when a friend’s band was recording there. When you walk in the street level
entrance you go down stairs to the underground studio.
There is a secret river that flows below the
island of manhattan. I cannot tell you how dear that river is to me, it is so
magical and wonderful. You can access the river from the underground Electric
Lady. There is a cellar door that can be opened where you can actually see the
river. The day I was there they tried to open it for me but, to my great
disappointment, they could not find the key. Had they I would be temped to jump
in and swin away under the rock of the island and see what I could find. Still,
I was able to stand by the locked metal door and hear it rushing by. That was
the thrill of a lifetime.
There is a building on 5th
avenue, right off of Washington square Park, the address might be 2 5th
avenue, and they have a Lucite pipe in the lobby that runs down to the water
and when the river is high, its water splashes up into the pipe and you can
watch it teasing you. One day, dear river, one day we will formally meet.
No desire to write. I was under the weather
all day. On the verge of the stomach virus my son had for 2 days. My husband
and I had the luxury of getting a sitter this morning and sleeping in till
noon. A rare moment in rock history. The drag was that I woke achy and with
some feeling of maybe getting the bug. The beauty is that my husband was around
and I could sleep in, as it would be ridiculously impossible to be sick on a
day when I needed to be the mommy all day. Life is like that, bodies are like
that, people are like that, they know when there is an opening. Of course it
was the only day I could be sick and thus I was. I did not plan it, think about
it, make it happen, it just did. So I ate gentle and was determined all day to
beat this bug. The worse thing in the world I can imagine is throwing up. Oh,
the horror. The blessing is that feeling not myself gives me such gratitude for
my healthy body that I have almost all of the time. Thank you thank you thank
you. Appreciate just how good you have it, dollfaces out there!
Claudette was an African American girl with
a shaved head who hung out on the hardcore scene. I saw her face in the Bad Brains
1982 video that has had me captivated for days now and was reminded of her. She
used to hang out with Leon and Lisa (I think that was her name. I think she got
pregnant and went away. I am not sure) in their dark overcoats and plaid pants and boots with a bottle
of beer in hand. In New York you used to be allowed to drink on the street if
your beer was in a paper bag. I was not friends with them but I saw them
everywhere. Claudette had amphetamine eyes, lined in black pencil with dilated
pupils almost like a Margaret Keene painting. She had great working class
clothes, flannels and trousers and stylish old man items that I do not know
where she got them from. I remember her having an affected fake british accent
for a spell. We were all teenagers trying on different personalities and such,
figuring it out. Who could resist hearing an X-Ray Spex record and not want an accent like Poly Styrene? Leon and Claudette and Lisa were inseparable, always laughing
, clowning, having fun, not taking very much serious. One day someone gave Claudette
shit about her accent and I will never forget her glancing at them with disgust, as if anyone could stop her from having fun and saying “Kill me ‘cause I’m Bri-ish.”
Accent intact as she walked away. I loved people watching all the misfits who found eachother and
who reinvented them selves in our beautiful scene.
I woke to throw up in my hair at 3am. I changed the sheets and bed
clothes of me and him and put my hair in a pony tail. I changed the pillow
cases and knew that I would have to change them again in the morning. Cleaning
up throw up is really hard and my disorganized brain makes it harder. A little
got on the mattress cover so I put a cloth between the mattress cover and the
and new sheet, and one between the mattress cover and the mattress. I also put
another sheet on the top of the bed, so any residue would stay off of the clean
sheet. That was the best I could figure out at 3am. After that he threw up
every five minutes for the first hour, every fifteen for the second. We tried
going back to sleep at that point and he threw up every half hour for the 3rd
hour, so I would doze and hear the retching and get the bucket and wipe his face
and rinse the bucket and go back to sleep for a bit. It was mostly bile and dry
heaves at this point. He threw up every hour after that so I got a few 50
minute segments of sleep and then it was wake up time. Then I washed his hair
and mine and got rid of all the mildly or possibly affected linens and did the
wash. He stopped throwing up at 9am. The only other time I got woken up by
being thrown up on was when my daughter did it a few years ago. That was a rite
of passage, this was just the drudgery (trudgery?) of motherhood/parenthood. He
is fine. We survived. Tonight I could do nothing so I spent over an hour on
line, first reading about someone’s journey through a really difficult time. Not like my silly night, but a truly difficult time. Here is the link for the curious. http://www.kevmcdev.com/2015/05/22/after-bmt-as-real-as-it-gets/
It reminded me of stuff I wrote about during my trial. He quotes Viktor Frankl,
like I did,at that time, ah the beacon of light. It was great to be reminded and to also know that things can pass. Then I looked at all of Chloe Dzubilo’s
artwork. Here is the link:https://www.visualaids.org/artists/detail/chloe-dzubilo
The work is brilliant and amazing. Thank you
for letting me part of it and thank you to all the writers and artists out
there for sharing and expressing yourself and letting me see it and feel your
journey. I really love life and being human and knowing you all. This is all I
got to write tonight. My home does not smell like throw up anymore, horray. I
am done. Updte, i am live editing this. I walked into the room to check on him and he was sitting up and i said whats wrong and felt around, but everything was dry and then he threw up all over them bed. and me as i tried to get him off the bed. Oh hell....not sure what to do.. more cleaning...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFDiXszQeVY
So I watched the Bad Brains live at CBGB’s
from 1982 movie. I had glanced at it yesterday when I wrote about seeing them
that year at Irving Plaza and then I cold not stop watching. There is not much
I can say. The film is right there online and you can see it all for
Even if is all there to be seen, I tend to
geek out on this band and rave about them every once in a while. I rarely if
ever listen to hardcore anymore. It has very little to do with my life and
where I am at right now. Once in a blue moon a story will come up or I will
check out something online and get transported back to a time that seems like
many lifetimes ago. I am rarely impressed. But this particular band and this
show was at the peak of the hardcore scene and it never ceases to blow my mind.
Things changed pretty fast from this point. But this moment in time tells an
So there’s the way I knew most of the people
at the show that night, many by name, Polly, Jaenette, Claudette, Leon, Maria,
John W, Bubby, Poss, Dave Insurgent, Jimmy G, Russel, and many others just by face.
These kids were akin to kids I went to High school with. We passed each other
everyday in the hall, so to speak. We all knew one another, whether we were
friends or not. It is remarkable that such a radically brilliant act had such a
tight knit fan base of family basically. They were our band. Look at the way
people sing the lyrics. Look at the way HR hands over the mike and gives kids
space in Right Brigade. Look at the way he lets everyone be included but can
still command the space. I cannot think of any other band that was so plugged in
and generous. The deahead scene maybe (?) but they were so sprawling and this
is so intimate.
Then there is HR the man. Holy hell, Batman.
Where do I begin: that vocal thing he does where he screeches high and demonic
and then drops down into himself “how low”, (demonic), “can a punk get,”
(dropping iiiiiin); the way he dances, the headshake, the finger snaps, the hip
sways, the arm swing, you are killin’ me; the way he looks and smiles, his
face, his body, come on; the way he dresses, in a cotton button down and tube
socks and trousers and looks more bloody cool than anyone I can think of. Where
and how did all of this originate? Such intelligence, presence and style, in
another world he would be, should be, the godfather: Tastemaker, rock star;
inventor, pioneer, possessed soul giving it away for free. The whole band is
mind blowing and deserved as much credit, Dr Know, Darryl, Earl.What were they thinking, how did they
come to be? They are simply an anomaly.
I love watching this. I remember how hot is
was in our NYC December long underwear and over coats and hats. I loved that we
were called “girls and boys”. I love seeing the gang, all those familiar faces,
Polly and Jae and Claudette and watching Leon dance. Beautiful Leon, so true
and hip. I love that some people were in on it, people I know and can talk
about it with, people who knew about this and how stellar and shocking it was, it makes me
feel less alone in the world. That was a time, boy, that was a time.
I’ve said it before and I will say it again.
The first one through the wall gets bloodied, not always getting their due. It is sad but true. But
some of us know better. Thank you Bad Brains for everything.
I went to see Minor Threat and the Bad
Brains at Irving Plaza when I was 15. Wow, was that a historical show. I will
never forget entering the club with this guy Chris that I asked if I could go
with, because I really wanted to be there and I did not want to go alone and I
did not know anyone else who was going. The foyer of the space was tiled or
marble, the stairs were hard stone. The sound of hardcore records being spun
was mad and muddy. I was tapped into the adrenaline of all these kids waiting.
We were chomping at the bit for the show to start, for life to start. The
energy in the room was on overload, the air was electric, humid with sweat and
body heat. Before we went upstairs to the room, I remember being part of a
conversation where a girl, I feel like it was Jenny, was saying that straight
edge was pointless. She said “why go on a diet if you are skinny?” Everyone
thought her analogy was profound. I was thrilled and terrified.
Then there was a woman in the lobby that I
will never forget. She was older than all of us teens. She was from the older
school of punk. She did not have short messed up hair, hers was set in some
cool version of a 50’s hairstyle. And she wore a tight skirt, it might have
been leopard skin, and sexy stiletto heels. Her style was definitely not just
50’s bombshell, she had that unmistakable punk edge. Most vividly, I remember
that she had chains on her body. I think she had metal cuffs around her ankles,
above her pumps, that had chains attached that went up to her wrists or her
waist or something. She was radically out of place in the sea of hardcore
teens, and also pretty amazing bravely commanding her space as she walked in tiny steps in her very tight skirt
and heels. I couldn't stop staring and wondering. And yes, I appreciated her style even though I was now into this whole other
thing of boots and overcoats and short hair.
The bands need no description. It was 1982
and they were the most amazing bands on the planet at that time.
There was a guy at the farmer’s market with
a beard and glasses wearing a housedress. My daughter thought it was funny. She
was with a friend and they thought it was very funny to see a guy in a dress,
not because of any cues I was giving them, they just did. I wanted to try to
teach her to respect how other people choose to look.
So I said that if we notice how someone
looks we should say hi to them. I told her that Allen Ginsberg said “Pay
attention to the vivid,” that he meant that you should pay attention to what
ever you were visually interested in. And if our attention is attracted to
someone we can tell them we think they look cool. And she said, “Or we don’t
have to say anything.” Yep, or we don’t have t say anything.
The truth is I thought the guy
looked really cool, radical actually, his large unwaxed brown body in a
polyester housedress and great horn-rimmed glasses on his cool face. I miss
creative dressers and revolutionary stylists. Los Angeles is lacking in that
department and he was a breath of fresh air. I should have been the one to tell
him how cool he looked. But he knew anyway.
T & K were these art collectors I knew
when I worked at a gallery in Soho in college. They used tobuy tons of art and commission special
pieces in custom colors. The artists in the community they hung around would
make them these crazy custom pieces and make lots of money The T &K would
throw them big parties. This went on for a while and everyone was happy and
getting what they wanted.
Then one day it came out that T & K had
embezzled all of the money they used to throw the parties and pay for the art.
They went to jail. The bank auctioned off their collection at Sotheby’s, the
custom creations brought in only a small fraction of their original prices.
It blew my mind that they were taking such
great risks and paid such a great price just to collect contemporary art and to
throw parties and be popular on the art scene. But I realized that the real
drive behind the actions to feel special. They could have collected anything or
hung out on any scene and done the same thing. It wasn’t about the art. They
just wanted to feel the adrenaline and be popular and have things and be
That reminds me that few things are about
what we are seeing on the surface. Fights are rarely about the issue at hand
and love is rarely about what we are looking at on the surface. Go deeper to get
to the real source.
Cleopatra was a prostitute I met once. I was
in her apartment for a few minutes. Her bed was amazing. It was made out of
that white glossy plastic material they made those cube tables out of, is that
formica? Or just glossy plastic? Anyway the bed was a giant cube and on the 4
sides there were large circular cut outs so you could move in and out of the
cube onto the mattress. The openings dipped just below the mattress so you
could make the bed with ease. The mattress filled the cube wall to wall. The
circular openings were rimmed in silver metal so the edges were smooth. It was
brilliant. Then to contrast the white gloss she had purple satin sheets, so vivid
and inviting. Her bed made me want a great bed.
I searched like mad for purple satin sheets
but all I could ever find was eggplant, which was a whole different vibe. I
settled for pink satin, not sateen, but real satin.
I bought my first real bed with illegally
earned cash. I went to macy’s because they were having a mattress sale. The bed
that felt the absolute best was priced at $3000 in 1991, marked down to $1000.
I paid cash. Then I paid a guy $1000 to hand make me an iron frame so I could
hang curtains on all four sides. It was not exactly Cleopatra’s but it was
great. When I moved to los angeles, I left the the 10 year old mattress with a
friend. She still has it and when I lay on it, to this day over 20 years later,
it still feels unbelievably good.
A couple of years ago, I used legally earned
money and bought another $3000 mattress, organic. This mattress is unbelievably
comfortable and neither me or my husband sweat at night because there are no
synthetics in it. A great bed is one of the best investments you can make. You
spend 1/3 of your life in it.
Oh and the pink satin sheets which I slept
on till they shredded became the material I made my fin out of for the 2000
Coney Island Mermaid Parade.Someone just send me some photos of it, which brought it all back to
When Johnny Thunder’s died in 1991 (could it
really be 24 years ago last month?) there was a memorial concert at The Marquee
Club in NYC. A bunch of bands played, I don’t remember who, except Walter Lure
fronting the Heartbreakers. What was interesting was that Johnny’s family was
there. Johnny had an ex wife and a bunch of kids which seemed so at odds with
his public persona, which was so very feral, so undomestic. The dichotomy
reminded me of the character in Dog Day Afternoon, aside from Johnny looking
like Pacino. Of course, his family were there, he just seemed so familyless, so
alone, as he would say.
The other interesting thing was that David
Johansen sang a couple of Dolls songs with some of those guys, something he had
not done in a very long time, intentionally I believe, due to personal reasons.
I was hanging out in the balcony, liking some guy who wound up being a real
drag. Anyway, the band starts playing a Dolls song, Personality Crisis, and
David Johansen opened his mouth and it was just shocking to hear that sound
come out, so iconic and strong. He sounded like no one else can. He sounded
like the records. It was really emotional given all the circumstances.
It always bugged me that sometimes the only
thing that brings us back together with the people who were so important in our
lives but we just can’t find peace with while they are alive, is death. I wish
there was a way around that but sometimes there just isn’t.
You were like Frankenstein and I was your blind
man. I did not know anything about you, so I did not know your reputation for
being such a monster. I just liked
you and accepted you, as is,
It wasn’t your fault, someone definitely
made you become like that. You didn’t do anything wrong, but eventually it
became your problem, because our past is ultimately no one’s problem but our
own. It was your problem because you didn’t do anything about how you were.
You were not used to someone being nice to
you or liking you without strings, the way I did. I just liked you. I wasn’t
privy to any of the baggage. We had a nice run. We drank tea just like in the movie. You gave me a lot because you had
no one else to give to. Not material stuff, but knowledge, experience, help, even
It was hard for you, you always had
something to prove. I did too but you were even more competitive. Always
suspicious, you could never you’re your guard down. It got exhausting. You were
always looking over your shoulder, carrying a gun just to go on the subway.
Like what was going to happen, jeez? Just like my father who always carried a
knife. Whoever messed you up did a really fucking good job. Man, the damage
runs so deep. Sorry it was all so hard for you.
You tried to tell me a million times who you
were, but I did not believe you until I finally got it. Eventually, we grew
apart. It was like I got my sight back, but you never stopped being the monster.
It was so exhausting to listen to your having it all and your pathological
lies. The dark part of you got stronger and stronger and was unbearable. I wanted to keep liking you but I was moving pretty fast in the other
direction. Life dances on. I really truly wish the best for you and I hope that
the world is treating you well. Thanks for everything.
Oh man, I had always played it safe and hung
around guys I knew through friends and family. I went on a date to the beach
once with a guy I just met, but a cousin came along with another guy. I went on
a bunch of double dates and kissed a few stranger when out with friends, etc,
pretty safe stuff. Then I met the guy who would become my first real boyfriend
that I slept with and said I love you to all that stuff. (You all know him.) This was how it started...
I met him at a Black Flag gig and we made
out and felt around in the rain outside the club and he took my number. He was
in this cool band Heart Attack that I had not seen but knew about. I was sixteen and he was
year younger than me. He invited me to come to his next show and to sleep over.
I lied to my mother and said I was going to sleep over at a friend’s house.
That might have been enough or we might have had someone pretend to be my
friend’s mom on the phone to confirm things, me and my sister had done that
before. I felt guilty lying but I knew that I had to do this, really wanted to, and was not going to not do it.
He picked me up in a car in Times Square
outside some store we said we would meet at, old Times Square raging with porno
theatre’s as they were called back then. Jeez, I might as well be saying
outside burlesque joints, but as antiquated as that sounds, people were having
live sex on stage in those prime days of nyc decadence. That neighborhood was
hardcore. I am pretty sure the girl driving was this girl Betty, who years later was in the Cycle Sluts.
She was with some guy named Anthony, I think, in the front seat and my guy sat in the
back with me. Her car had something written on the bumper about an ass or a
butt, something funny, but I cannot remember what. Forgive me if I am way off
Anyway, I had on a new dark red lipstick
that was making a mess, because we were making out for most of the ride. I could
not think of a thing to say and kissing was easier than a conversation. It was
pouring rain and my hair was wet and a mess and I wore a black trenchy raincoat
and black bondage pants. He had on grey old man pants and a black rain coat
too. It was thrilling and terrifying as we drove to New Jersey to some small
club that booked hardcore and I met his band and attended my first sound check.
I never said a word to Betty. Betty and I ran in the same circles for years and rarely
talked- hardcore, then Lismar, then whatever rock clubs. It might have been decades
before she was just cool and approached me and said hi and referred to our long
silent history. She was terrific looking and had great hair like Brigitte Bardot, my
idol. I was just shy, weird, without a lot to say, and thus, anti-social.
Anyway, I watched the fast angry intensity
of this guy and his band and was thrilled to be on the inside. We went back to
his apartment, his mom’s place in Queens, and we listened to records and did
stuff in his bed. I forget what the playlist was that night, anything from UXA
to the Adolescence to Sam Cooke to Buddy Holly. (UXA, a band I have not thought
of in 30 years, with singer De De Troit, pronounce Dee Detroit, So fucking
kueewl!) I slept in my heavy eyeliner because I did not have any with me to wear
the next day and would not be caught dead with it. Somehow I got back to
Manhattan the next day in my damp clothes and my smudged face. I was tres disheveled and on my
way to the life I wanted.
The nest day my mom saw the hickies on my neck and got
really mad at me for lying. Like a typical awful teenager, a just shouted back
at her with attitude that "I DID NOT LIE, I DID SLEEP AT MY FRIEND’S HOUSE".
Nobody was going to get in my way, I knew what the fuck I was doing.
Sorry, mom. Oh man, I will have a teenage
daughter in less that a decade. God help us all. Anyway, it all worked out.
wow hearing this brings me back to the smell of his building, visceral.
At fourteen I was just starting to blossom,
just starting to like guys and be ready to get near one. I was starving to be
free and know everything about the world. I gravitated towards anyone with more
access than me, so I was always around older people, often my sister or my
cousin and their friends. I got to stay out late and go places because I was
with them. Sometimes I was just around strangers accidentally.
I wound up being around a lot of guys 3-7
years older than my 14 years. Here are some of them (some of the names are fake
because I can’t remember them and a few are changed to protect the guilty):
John had a foot fetish and would take off my
shoe and hold my foot and compliment it repeatedly. He once put a pair of
handcuffs on me but my wrist was so skinny I was able to slip out of them.
Joe loved to pick me up in the air and
kissed me when his girlfriend wasn’t looking.
Mike lay on the bed with me and tickled me.
Ricky had me wait in the car while he did illegal
Carl was so cool, took me to see great bands,
bought me drinks, and gave me coke once.
Vinny stayed up all night with me talking about
Lenny invited me to see his band at Max’s,
so I went.
A lot of them looked out for me in their
I was lucky to have been there then and
lucky to be here now.