California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – My Altamont Moment

We were playing this gig at the Roxy one night. May have been ’83 by then. Girls were never a problem. Anybody who doesn’t believe guitars are chick magnets has obviously never strapped on a guitar before. Anyway, we played all over the state, working pretty steady, staying in all manner of “band housing”. We were at a better-than-average club and doing our normal thing.

This particular night the bar was having a drawing for something, I can’t remember what. We were going to have a longer break than usual after one of our sets so they could use our PA to do the drawing. I went to the bar and was getting a coke. A rather attractive girl asked me if we did a certain song she liked, to which I nodded and replied “next set, I think”. Our drummer was standing there waiting on me, as he wanted to get in a game of pool while we waited for the drawing to get over. We went to the tables and he racked up the game. I was lining up my first shot when I heard “hey, asshole”. I, of course, looked up to see who was calling who an asshole. What I saw was what turned out to be the butt end of a pool cue coming at my face at rather high velocity. It caught me on the bridge of my nose. I’m done. I’m collapsed on the pool table, screaming, blood pouring from my face. The drummer tackled the guy swinging the cue as he was lining up for another whack at me. Then the singer (not a small guy) jumped in. They, with a bouncer, dragged the guy out thru the kitchen and behind the bar where they damn near killed him. Turns out the attractive girl who asked me about the song had an extremely jealous ex-boyfriend who was in the bar and saw her talking to me.

A couple days later, after the swelling went down and my eyes were able to open, she took me to dinner. She was really embarrassed over the whole thing. Just dinner, too. She had another boyfriend already, a cop. Who just happened to be the responding officer that night who ended up arresting ex-boyfriend for assault. Guess there were a few too many witnesses for him to claim self defense.

Rock n’ Roll!

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Lisa – Save That Line

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Sauced

“This isn’t what rock and roll is all about,”

That night in Hollywood, the band was playing the Roxy, and after sound check I had gone to the bar to play the poker machine. I made a huge mistake and had some bad shellfish earlier,”  The raw fish made my stomach churn and roil. I felt what I was sure was just a substantive fart building up, and I let ‘er rip. Unfortunately, I got more than I bargained for and my bowels voided themselves at that moment. There was at least a solid cup of shit. My stomach rumbled again and my gut expelled another wave of noxious waste. It was everywhere. It was, like, a quart of diarrhea. Soiled, shit-stinking, and sick, I retired to a lounge are upstairs and laid down.

Several hours later, I was back in action, hanging out with some of my band mates  in the venue’s VIP section. But the scene was grim, said bassist Frank: “No talent here; not a looker in the lot.” I grabbed the tour manager and headed to the bar next door, where I was soon approached by an enthused fan. “I think she’s half-Mexican, but she’s pretty hot,” he says.

“Yo, I know you’re in one of the bands,” the girl proposed. “I’ll do anything if you get me into the show.”

Now, you might think you know exactly what happened next, but if you’re picturing a sordid, back-room exchange, you’d only be half-right. I handed the girl “a shot of insanity hot sauce,” which she put down without issue. Then she took another. I escorted her backstage to the VIP section and went back upstairs to watch TV, while the girl proceeded to attack with gusto the green room’s generously stocked open bar.

Two hours later, between sets and I run into hot-sauce girl.

“This is the guy who got me in!” she screamed, hammered after a go at the open bar.

She threw her arms around me and shoved her tongue into my mouth. We weren’t really making out, more like she was molesting me. She was sloppy, but that was hardly a deterrent. Wanting privacy, I took the girl through the back of the venue to a quiet area, pulled open a door, and stepped into a small room. Even playing rough house rock and roll, making out with some drunk ass slapper in the middle of the VIP area is frowned upon.

I realize we’re in the trash room.  We’re literally surrounded by gargantuan piles of trash, heaped high and probably smelling like the contents of my underwear earlier that night. (I had cleaned myself up and had changed by then and was feeling much better) Things started getting hot and heavy between us, and suddenly, the girl stopped the action to make a request. “I’m on the rag right now,” she said, before asking me to place myself someplace fairly uncomfortable. She asked me to fuck her in the ass.

That was the first time I had ever done that. I was a little concerned about the two shots of hot sauce I had given her earlier circling back and burning my little German knockwurst.

I think she was from Puerto Rico.

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Alayna – The Phlebotomist

I went out with a phlebotomist a couple of times. On the third date I invited her to go with me to dinner at a good restaurant about 90 minutes from where we lived in L.A. I said we’d be back by 10. The unstated purpose was to see if we could have a pleasant sustained conversation, both ways and a nice dinner. Not a very high bar.

On the way there, she asked me if I did drugs. No, I replied. I said I was the squarest person she was likely to meet. She then proceeded to praise the prescription drugs she could get *for free* from the hospital where she drew blood. I have no idea if she was pulling my leg of if that’s for real with medical people (maybe someone can enlighten me). So that was strike 1.

Strike 2 came about 20 minutes later when she told me that she had connections to the Mafia. I looked at her like she was from Mars and she said, “What?” She then proceeded to tell me that her brother was a dentist and it was well known that dentists were heavily in with the Mafia and it was a profitable way to launder money. Again – no idea if it’s true. But that was strike 2.

The final strike happened in the last 15 minutes of the 90 minute trip to get to the restaurant. She proceeded to tell me that she had anger problems. I said, everyone gets angry. She replied with an example. She’d pulled into a gas station to get gas. Just as she was pulling up to a pump, a trucker came in to unload fuel to the gas station, blocking her way. She said that she got out of her car, walked up to the poor schlub and started shouting and telling him to move his effing truck.

Well that started me to thinking: She and I are out on another date and she starts yelling at a guy in a motorcycle gang. He looks at her and tells her she’s a scrawny little chicken and to buzz off. She starts yelling even more. Now – there are two likely scenarios. #1: She comes at me and starts asking if I’m going to let this oaf get away with insulting her. #2: The guy gets off his bike and walks over – not to her – but to me and says, “Buddy, get your b*tch to shut up or we’re going to have real problems.” That’s strike 3.

We had a pleasant dinner, a fairly silent drive back home. I gave her a peck on the cheek, said I was busy for the next few weeks but we could get together sometime after that. I never called nor saw her again. Hopefully, any contract her Mafia friends might have had on me has long expired. 🙂

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Samantha

I met this girl one night at one of our shows. She seemed pretty cool, but a little on the weird side. But she had good taste in music and was into all the same metal shit I was into, so I went with it.

We went on a few dates, made out once. I took her out to dinner and then we went to a gay bar for some karaoke. She left me to go chat with the boys at the bar while I sat alone at a table.

They kept buying her drinks and she got more and more drunk while I sat there sipping my beer waiting for her to come back. Eventually a group of college-aged lesbians walk in and she immediately wanders over to them. They all go back outside for a cigarette. I sigh, and finish off my beer. My date and one of the other lesbians come back in and walk towards the back of the bar towards the bathrooms. They stop, and start making out against the wall.

I left, but my date followed me out. She cried and begged for me to not leave her there and that she was drunk and made out with strangers sometimes. All romantic feelings were crushed right then and there, but she and I still hung out as friends for about a month. Then one day she made the moves on me. I declined. She punched out a window and then ran out into the middle of the street and laid down. I drove away and cut off all contact.

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Date or Babysitter?

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 -Amanda – Not The Best Date

Amanda was a very hot girl who agreed to meet me at the bar I worked in when I finished and then we would go for drinks after. I was running late however so I was in the office cashing up and said I’d be down in 15 minutes and she should get a drink at the bar.

I had met her at one of our shows. She took a shine to “the guy with the black guitar.”

Maybe she was nervous or something because she pounded an entire bottle of wine and got completely wasted then when I came down she started screaming at me, telling me I was missing out and she had worn “special underwear” for me. While screaming at me she walked away backwards and fell face first down an entire flight of stairs, knocking herself unconscious. As she fell, her dress went up over her head, and showed everyone in the bar her “special underwear” which was her and my name crudely stitched on a pair of pink panties.

Hot right?

It gets worse.

I called her an ambulance as she was in a state but she was very confused and though our date was still happening. She got out her make up and stated trying to put on, smearing blood and snot all over her face. She was very unsteady and couldn’t concentrate or walk straight but I stayed with her as she tried her best slurry ‘date chat’.

I was helping her walk to the ambulance when she half fainted and fell, The doorman and I managed to catch her before she hit the ground and he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. She came to long enough to throw up all over herself and the doorman, he slipped on it and managed to SMASH her head off a car hood, knocking her out again and once again showing the special underwear to the gathered crowd.

It gets worse.

She was out for the count and I knew very little about her apart from her name, so they asked me to go with her to the hospital. I agreed and we headed off. When she came to in the ambulance she was extremely confused and thought we had been on the date and it had gone so well we were heading back to my house for sexy fun times. She tried to take her clothes off and kept trying to unbutton my jeans, doing her best sexy face at me with her smashed up face covered in blood and vomit.

Double hot.

Still not done.

When we got to the hospital she couldn’t remember anything so they took her off to treat her. I then sat in the waiting room until I was promptly accosted by 2 policemen. She had woken up, and told the nurse that she thinks I beat her up. So I spent the night in the police station being interviewed about why I beat a woman half to death. I had to eventually get my boss to show the police the cctv of her falling down the stairs, and from outside before they let me go.
All in all… not the best date.

 

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