Nicole – Remember Our Date?

This happened a couple of years ago. I was rebounding from Annabelle.

I joined Tinder awhile ago and have had zero success finding anything longer than a few dates and some quick flings. One day, while relaxing from a hard day at the office, I was Netflixing my night away when a match alert went off on my phone. I started talking to Nicole and after some back and forth about our lives and basic small talk, we decided to get together for drinks at a local chain bar, Dave and Busters.

I showed up about 10 minutes early, headed inside and got a lay of the land. Families everywhere, ages ranging from Disney World screamers to high schoolers to adults and families. I was a little concerned about the choice to meet there, but I figured what the hell, I would see where the date went. She called me 20 minutes later, having gotten lost between the main entrance to the shopping center and the parking lot for the arc.

Whatever, the place is kind of tucked away in the back of the complex. When she finally walked in, she was DROP DEAD GORGEOUS, as in the hottest person I have ever been on a date with. Awkward hug out of the way, we head to the bar to grab a drink before earlier smack talk/bragging about arcade game skills were put to the test.

Everything was going great. We reminisced about fun places and events, talked about our current lives and work, etc. The conversation was great, and she was giving all the signs that she was really into me. Hand on my leg at the bar, running her fingers through my hair. Looking back, this maybe should have been a warning sign as this all happened within the first hour of meeting each other. But at the time I was thinking with the wrong head. We finish drinks, she grabbed my hand on the way to the gaming area and by now I was asking myself how this could get any better. We play a few games, we make out in front of a giant Connect Four game, and head to the bar for another drink.

While sitting at the bar for round number 3, she left to use the restroom. I’m sitting at the bar, and I noticed she had been gone for a pretty long time. I started to realize that maybe she wouldn’t be coming back, because in all honesty I had been waiting for the other shoe to drop all night. There was just no way a girl like this existed. I noticed that she took her purse and her jacket with her. Again, I started to slowly let it sink in that I would be leaving the arcade alone. If I had only been that lucky…

I got a phone call during my stay at the bar. It’s my date. Great, she’s calling me from her drive home. Hey, at least she didn’t just walk out and ghost me. I answered, and I can hear arcade games in the background. She told me she was lost and was looking for me. Apparently it is possible to get lost in the 50 feet between the bar and the restrooms. I found her and we headed back to the bar and settled up the tab. It was getting a little late, and I was ready to head home and succumb to the after-work heaven that is Saturday night and Netflix.

I drove her to her car, since mine was close and she couldn’t seem to remember where she had parked. God, this girl got lost a lot. We said our goodbyes, she got out and I drive away. I made it out to the main road and thought to myself, what the hell am I doing? This girl was obviously into me and it wasn’t THAT late, so I turned around in the hopes that I could catch her before she left so that we could hit another bar. What happened next I swear Hollywood couldn’t make up.

I found her passed out behind the wheel of her car. Not nodded off, not resting her eyes from a long day. Completely and utterly passed out. The sub-zero windchill and the sobering reality that I can’t tell if she is still breathing snapped me back to reality. I had to open her door and shake her awake when my window pounding and phone calls didn’t do the trick.

Sidenote here, I have a very healthy understanding of my state’s drunk driving laws, and while she could have gotten off, she would have definitely been charged after the police were called by the aforementioned families in the arcade seeing a running car with someone passed out behind the wheel. I woke her up, took the keys out of the ignition and took her back to my place where she passed out again.

I put her to bed and slept on the couch for fear of her not remembering anything that happened and getting the police involved when she woke up next to a stranger. She woke up the next morning like nothing ever happened. Small talk ensued on the way back to her car, and after I left I tried to figure out what the hell had happened the night before.

I thought to myself that someone who passes out behind the wheel of her car that quickly has probably had this type of thing happen before. A quick Google search of her name pulls up MULTIPLE arrests (and a really hot mug shot) for drugged driving in a state where weed doesn’t count as drugged driving. Great, so this has to be one of the big boys (meth, heroin, pills, coke). I won’t pass judgment here because shit happens, but this girl obviously still had a substance issue and I was also a little concerned. If she did drugs in the arcade bathroom and, had we been pulled over on the way back to my place, I would have some explaining to do due to constructive possession laws in my state if she still had drugs in her purse.

Stupidly, I decide to go out with her again thinking that it may have just been nerves or a bad reaction to vertigo medicine, and I was again thinking with the wrong head. We set a time, and I wait. And wait. I headed towards where we were going to meet in the hopes that I would get a phone call while running errands I had to do in that area anyways. I got a phone call from her while in the store that I couldn’t understand. She was slurring her words and I couldn’t understand a word she said. She finally called back the next day and explained that she had been hanging out with some friends but couldn’t remember anything other that getting bombed while watching Game of Thrones.

After all of that, and an awkward conversation where I came clean about finding her mug shot, she claimed that ambien was the culprit. I got out of any further contact because I wanted no part of what appeared to be a downward spiral.

Lesson learned: listening to your little head can lead to some crazy experiences.

 

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Tales of Rock – Eric Clapton

Universally hailed as one of the greatest guitarists of all time, Eric Clapton spent much of his early career furiously inhaling massive quantities of alcohol and drugs, possibly worried the world’s supply was about to run out. Did it interfere with his music? Yes and no. In his own words:

“I’d wander off the stage and somebody would have to try to persuade me to go back on. There seemed to be a postpsychedelia drunkenness that swept over everybody in the entertainment business during the early 70s. To be on stage, you were almost expected to be drunk. I remember doing one entire show lying down on the stage with the microphone stand lying beside me, and nobody batted an eyelid.”

That’s right: Eric Clapton was just lying down during a rock concert and that was perfectly cool. Encouraged even. The amazing thing is, he probably just killed that set too.

A Typical Day If You Were Eric Clapton’s Personal Assistant

Eric Clapton: Look, I’m going to finish drinking this children’s pool full of rye whiskey, and you’re going to get 80 feet of high strength fishing line, then learn everything you can about the art of puppetry, and meet me at the show in three hours. OK? Break!

You: Man, there has got to be a better use of my Liberal Arts degree.

 

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Tales of Rock – Brian Wilson Gets Kicked Out of the Beach Boys

He asks others in the studio if there are any more “hash joints” left and idly comments that the LSD is starting to kick in, but at the same time rules the studio musicians present with an iron fist; for example, he instructs a guitarist exactly which strings on the guitar he wants him to strum.

If you listen to the ancillary tracks on the superb 2011 reissue The Smile Sessions by the Beach Boys, you’ll hear Brian Wilson experimenting with drugs while in complete control of his music. He asks others in the studio if there are any more “hash joints” left and idly comments that the LSD is starting to kick in, but at the same time rules the studio musicians present with an iron fist; for example, he instructs a guitarist exactly which strings on the guitar he wants him to strum.

But holding such a firm grasp on his mind was another matter. Shattered by a lack of support from his fellow band mates in his new musical direction and driven mad trying to compete with the Beatles (Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was partly a response to the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds, which had been a response to the Beatles’ Rubber Soul), Wilson shelved Smile, which would have been his masterpiece.

Subsequent years were not kind to Wilson. He got seriously addicted to cocaine, his weight ballooned and he descended into mental illness and was put under the care of a manipulative psychologist named Eugene Landy.

In the early ’80s, he was fired from the Beach Boys; a once unthinkable move for a band built around his songwriting talents. He’s made many comebacks since, even rejoining the Beach Boys. Still, one can’t help but wonder what might have been if he’d recorded all the songs he’s written over the years that were only heard by those in proximity to the piano in a sandbox in his living room. For his part, however, Wilson doesn’t altogether condemn drug use; speaking to a Canadian radio station in 2011, he credited marijuana with helping him write Pet Sounds and LSD with an assist on “California Girls.”

I’ve never been a huge fan of the Beach Boys, but Brian Wilson is an absolutely elegant songwriter and musician. A musical genius. Please see the film, Love and Mercy.

 

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Tales of Rock – Nikki Sixx Had A Lethal Overdose

“Motley Crue: the band responsible for literally every stereotype about hair metal that you know.”

Judging by the above, the most dangerous profession in the 1980s — aside from pulling double shifts at Chernobyl — was being a rock star. After all, there’s Guns N’ Roses, Van Halen, Aerosmith, and, last but not least, Motley Crue: the band responsible for literally every stereotype about hair metal that you know.

In 1987, while touring with Guns N’ Roses, Motley Crue bassist Nikki Sixx teamed up with Slash to unwind by shooting some heroin, presumably because Game Gear hadn’t been invented yet. Unfortunately, because opiate fans aren’t renowned for their measuring skills, Nikki ended up overdosing and dying in Slash’s shower. All things considered, this is the closest thing to a hero’s death that Nikki Sixx could hope for.

Except, as the world would come to learn, Nikki Sixx cannot be destroyed by heroin. He was revived after two minutes of clinical death by two shots of adrenaline stabbed directly into his fucking heart. Ordinarily, this would be followed by a long period of bed rest and some self-reflection. For Nikki Sixx, this meant escaping his ambulance, hitchhiking back home, and shooting up more heroin. The incident resulted in Motley Crue’s Grammy-nominated song “Kickstart My Heart” so … win-win, we guess?

 

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Tales of Rock – How Rod Stewart Took Cocaine To Protect His Nose

“This post needs no introduction…”

If you were asked to name hell raising rockers Rod Stewart probably does not come in anywhere near the top of your list. However, although he has spent the majority of his career eye-banging your mother from his album covers, during his heyday he was up to his finely feathered hair in a hardcore cocaine addiction. However, unlike his fellow rock stars, Rod Stewart chose to shove his cocaine straight up his asshole.

In order to protect his nose from the harmful effects of snorting cocaine, Stewart and his pal Ronnie Wood would regularly buy anti-cold capsules and replace the medicine inside with a snifter of cocaine, then cram the capsules up their million-dollar buttholes and fucking party.

That means, at any given moment, the singer of “You’re In My Heart,” “Maggie May,” and “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” was dancing around with a Sudafed capsule full of cocaine rapidly dissolving in his ass.

I love you, Rod Stewart. I will tell a tale in 2018 that will involve you and will curl your hair!

Rod Stewart: “Can’t wait Eric, But really don’t give a shite!”

 

 

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Tales of Rock – Sid Vicious Charged With Murder

It was concluded that Vicious’ knife, which had gone missing along with Spungen’s money, was the murder weapon.

In the annals of rock musicians fucking up, few entries are more extreme than stabbing your girlfriend to death and claiming not to remember doing it later. In October 1978, bassist Sid Vicious—deep into heroin addiction; his band Sex Pistols having broken up earlier that year—woke up in his room at the Hotel Chelsea in New York to find his girlfriend Nancy Spungen (Philly girl) dead in the bathroom with a wound in her abdomen. It was concluded that Vicious’ knife, which had gone missing along with Spungen’s money, was the murder weapon.

Vicious was charged with murder and gave conflicting accounts of what had happened; he said he hadn’t stabbed Spungen, then that he couldn’t remember anything and then that they were fighting and she fell on the knife. He was arrested and charged with murder but not kept in custody and attempted suicide later that month. In December 1978 he got in a fight at a rock show and was arrested and jailed; bailed out in February 1979. The following day, he died of an overdose of heroin at a dinner party. He was cremated and his mother surreptitiously spread his remains over Spungen’s grave.

 

 

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Harper – 2014 to 2015 – Part 2 – Plane Explodes. No Survivors

Another tale of one man’s journey navigating his way through the dating scene in Philadelphia.

South Street

I once hung out with her on South Street. She bought little Indian finger bells to clear the aura or feng shui of a room she was working on. Then she bought a chair and had me carry it on my head across town back to her apartment. It really was the easiest way to transport it, but I looked like a wicker turtle walking around with that on my head. When I got to her place she gave me a glass of scotch. Then she asked me to turn a big rug in the living room. What am I, the hired hand?

She lived with two or three other people in this house in a crappy neighborhood. She said she used to have sex with her one roommate, but then he got a girlfriend and stopped banging her. So now she says she has to listen to them have sex in the next bedroom. She doesn’t like that. I think it’s funny that she thinks it’s ok to shit where you eat. We had a cig and then she took me up to her room.

For an “interior designer’ it was a bit messy. Her underwear on the floor and what not. She showed me that the room was broken into four “stations” and each one had different magic stones or crystals on the furniture in that space. It was supposed to give off different energies. Yea, just crazy shit. But I will tell you this… Crazy is only good in one room of the house and it’s not the kitchen. At least I got to take that kind of her crazy for a test drive that afternoon.

Seaport Museum

I was invited to an event at the Seaport Museum. I was with Harper on South Street. We were at a bar called Tattooed Mom’s. There was going to be tons of free food and booze at the event. It was if she wanted to get a few drinks into her before she went. Maybe she has social anxiety. But then she tells me she rode her bike to South Street. WTF? So I have to call an UBER, but one that is an SUV, because we have to pack her bike in the back of it. Then drive to her house. Then she has to get changed, so we can then get to the event. I was aggravated and pissed, but I still liked her.

So we finally get to The Seaport Museum. We’re late and you know how much I hate lateness. I get a drink and as I literally walk outside to smoke a cigarette, these dudes bum smokes from me. But before I can lie and say I left them inside, fucking Harper says, sure! Then looks at me for the cigs. I fucking hate that. I’m taking it on the chin for $10 a pack now. That shit isn’t cheap. These guys are around her age and she immediately starts chatting them up like I’m not even there. You treat her really well and she just goes and starts flirting with other guys. She’s awful.

I go inside to get away from these turds and to get another refill because I need it. I run into my pal Johnny R. and I’m happy to see him. He can see I’m stressed about getting down here and her behavior. We get some drinks and chat a bit. He’s with his girlfriend and another couple so he has to hang back with them. I run into another friend and he can see I’m stressed but the booze is helping like always. Knocking the edge right off.

I see another girl who is equally nuts that I know, and I just avoid her and get back to Harper. (See: Kylie – 2014 to 2015 – Broken Wing) She’s done chatting with the smoke bums and gives them her business cards. I know they’re just going to call her to try to bang her. But I can’t worry about that. I think I had such a good buzz on that night I almost bought her a painting she liked. I was not thinking clearly back then.

I once took her to Matyson (One of my favorite restaurants that sadly isn’t around anymore) and she acted like a drunk asshole. Spilling champagne, etc.

Horrible Night

One night we went to a nice wine bar called Tria near Washington Square. I knew the waiter so I got the hookup. She was somewhat well-behaved there but it seems the more she drinks, the crazier she becomes.

After that we went to Indeblue in mid-town. It’s a cool Indian bar. All I remember was her putting stupid cocktail napkins on her head and having me take her picture with the bartender, Awful. Then she wants to stop for one more drink at Fergie’s pub. We go in there and she makes everybody at the bar move down so we can sit down. She proceeds to make fun of the bartender, saying how she thinks he’s mentally dim-witted. She starts chatting with some older dude on the other side of her and then said she was leaving. She asked if I was going to leave as well, and I told her I was staying. She left and I was already chatting with a pretty black girl to my right.

Once she came over to do tarot cards with me and started rearranging the furniture in my house. Oh, and drank non-stop. Insane! Who does shit like that?

I heard from a good friend of mine that on one of her interior design gigs, she rolled a chair into a closet and onto a $5,000 wedding dress. That was after she just dropped her keys onto the client’s Steinway piano when she came in. She didn’t get the job.

I can’t talk about this idiot anymore. It’s making me angry just writing about this lunatic.

This could all be chalked up to a few things. Mental illness mixed with alcohol and drugs.

 

 

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