And that was the first time I saw my Mother punch my boyfriend in the face.
Let’s put it in reverse and start from the beginning, shall we?
It started out innocently enough. Sometimes, Lori and Mark and Bobby and I did what passed for entertainment in Sayreville back in the day, we drove around town with a six-pack or two blasting really cool, mostly obscure music also known as Punk Rock and it’s roots. The New York Dolls, Alice Cooper, Silverhead, Mott The Hoople, The Stooges, The Sweet to name a few, as well as Ramones, Dead Boys, Buzzcocks, Sex Pistols, Heartbreakers, you know, all the good stuff.
There wasn’t much to do around town, the drinking age had just been raised (I was grandfathered in so I was able to drink at 18) but there wasn’t a rock scene to speak of much closer than New York City.
I have no idea who came up with the harebrained scheme but it wasn’t me. I think.
One minute Lori was dropping us off one at a time at our respective houses, next thing I know she and I were back in her little Volkswagen sneakily on our way to CBGB’s.
Without our boyfriends.
Well, it’s not like any of us were engaged or anything.
It was a Friday night, but there wasn’t anything big going on at CBGB’s that night band-wise. There weren’t a lot of people there but the ones who were there were the crème de la crème, at least in my big blue eyes.
I remember sauntering in, Merv in his yellow hardhat near the door giving us the nod that meant ‘walk right in and sit yourself down’ as Lori and I walked in, looking for an empty seat at the bar. I figured we should go say hi to Cosmo but it wasn’t to be.
That’s about the time I felt a leather-clad arm wrap around my waist and pull me in, planting a kiss on me while ruffling my hair.
It was him.
I mean THE Him, as in Steve, the man/boy I lost my virginity to.
Yeah, I know, everyone called him Stiv but his name was Steve and he was the lead singer for my favorite band, The Dead Boys.
*Sorry Mama, I can’t censure myself, and besides, it’s not like it’s a big secret! Besides also, remember, you went out with musicians before you got married too, so apples and trees.*
I guess it was Rock Star Night because Cheetah Chrome and some of the rest of the Dead Boys were there, as well as Joey Ramone, a bunch of roadies and other bands but the truth is all I knew was Stiv pulled me on his lap and talked me into sipping his Margareta (I hate tequila!) and my mind went blank. In my defense I was only 18 with a history of nearly zero boyfriends… yes I know, Bobby, but we were dating, we weren’t exclusive yet (um, I think).
I was young, innocent, inexperienced, infatuated, and my Rock Idol was asking me to come back to The Diplomat Hotel with him and a few of his friends for a bit.
Lori, in the meantime, had managed to hook up with Joey Ramone in her tiny little Volkswagen. I was on my own for awhile anyway so away we went.
One of the best parts was sitting in the back seat of Stiv’s friend’s car singing along to Staying Alive by the Bee Gees. Well that and his hand on my leg, but I digress.
We hung out for awhile as they all snorted coke and I said “no thank you” then went back to CB’s within in hour.
Lori was gone.
She left me in New York alone.
She left me in New York alone and we were on a sneaky mission!!!
I was so dead.
I guess I have to weigh the good against the bad, so the good outweighs the bad, at least in my memory.
Imagine, you’re 18 years old and the Rock Star you lost you virginity to a few months ago hails a cab and brings you back to his room at The Diplomat Hotel to sleep over and take a train home the next morning. Imagine lying next to him while he plays Iggy Pop’s Kill City over and over, you know, the one with the song “Johanna” (which my Mother really wanted to name me), imagine him saying all the right things, recognizing and acknowledging my innocence, talking and treating me gently and sweetly (at least that time and I really am going to Hell aren’t I?), as he continued to do for years. But again, I digress.
I don’t know why I didn’t think of it, but I should have known.
After sitting with Stiv making phone calls (no cell phones back then kiddies) to make sure someone could pick me up at the bus station I hopped in a cab, got on a bus where I proceeded to tell a complete stranger my entire night and finally, there was my friend and savior, JB (RIP), waiting to pick me up.
He dropped me off in front of my house and like a scene from an Afternoon School Special about abusive boyfriends, Bobby’s car came flying down the street and I mean flying. He slammed on his brakes and sprang out of his car, hand around my upper arm pulling me into his car, screaming at me incoherently.
That’s when it happened.
My Mother, the one I’d lied to by telling her I was sleeping over a girlfriend’s house, flew out of the house, grabbed my other arm yanking me away from Bobby and then she let loose with an Irish Temper fueled punch right to his face.
I’m not talking ethics or morals or who was right or wrong, but let me tell you, it’s kinda awesome to see your Mom punch somebody in the face on your behalf when they deserve it. And Bobby deserved it, as you’ll find out…to be continued…
AUTHORS NOTE: I wrote this bit for the daily prompt, but in all honesty, I’ve got a WIP going on offline, non-fiction, because you know me, it’s all about me, me, me! Right? (be careful how you answer that) Point is, I guess this is kinda a first draft of something I have up my sleeve because after all, they say write what you know and what do I know better than my past? Especially since it really was pretty awesome!

Sometimes, we act on impulse: it could be something as small as ordering that special dessert on the menu, maybe asking out that cute boy or girl, or as large quitting your job and selling everything you own to become a shepherd in New Zealand. What’s the most crazy, outrageously impulsive thing you’ve ever done? If you’ve never succumbed to temptation, dream a little. If you gave yourself permission to go a little crazy, what would you do?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us IMPULSE.

{July 9, 2013}   CBGB : The Movie (Uh Oh)

Apparently I used to be cool.
It’s true. They’re even making a soon-to-be-released movie about it.
It’s called CBGB: The Movie, and it’s kinda freaking me out.
First of all, they don’t usually make movies about the club you hung out at when you were barely legal, and even if they did, what are the chances that they decide to place the movie timeline over the exact same period of time you were going to said club averagely three or four times a week?
To top it all off, it’s due to be released in October 2013.
Bless me Father for I have sinned, my first time at CBGBs was on October 2nd,1977 to see the Dead Boys and The Steel Tips FTD. The former band was a band out of Youngstown Ohio moved to NYC to be rock stars and the latter band turned out to be from NJ like us (my best friend wound up marrying the bass player and the drummer was no other than Patrick McDonald, the genius behind the “Mutts” syndicated comics and books, also I heard they’re making a movie out of Mutts- yay Patrick!).
So in the way of googleworld or bingland, I was looking for something and found something else.
I saw a poster for the upcoming CBGB movie and my heart nearly stopped.
Now I knew they were making a movie about CBGBs and The Birth Of Punk but I figured it was one of those ‘independent’ movies that nobody ever sees because they only seem to play them in obscure little art house movie theaters.
But no, that would be too safe.
Now I get to worry my brain over each and every little thing I (allegedly) did back in the heyday.
I saw two short clips, both reenacting specific nights I can honestly say ‘I was there’ for.
So if ‘I was there’, at two random clips from a movie, well, lets just say I’m almost afraid to see the entire movie.
Oh by the way, I’m not delusional and I understand this is a movie, albeit a movie about one of the most formative parts of my life, but from the research I ended up doing yesterday, this movie is as realistic as you can get without a time machine and a bring-em-back-to-life boat.
I’m talking details, down to the actors wearing the exact same clothing reenacting the exact same things that happened and even, from what I’ve read, using the exact same original bathrooms.
No, you don’t understand.
The exact same bathroom. Complete with the original exact same graffiti.
Do you know how weird it is to see some of the graffiti that you yourself were responsible for all these years later?
CBGBs bathrooms were infamous and indescribable, something that can’t be explained but only experienced.
There was as much action going on down in those basement bathrooms as there was onstage upstairs.
I can’t imagine how weird it will be to see people I knew intimately (one person in particular, in every sense of the word) being portrayed by actors. The cast is kinda stellar, Alan Rickman, Stana Katic, Rupert Grint, Justin Bartha, Mickey Sumner, Malin Akerman, Ashley Greene, Johnny Galecki, Joel David Moore, and Taylor Hawkins to name a few.
It’s kind of a little bit insane to me, the idea of my very own past being captured on film forever. I wonder things, like will they get the gum-chomping down just right? Will the little mannerisms of certain people I knew so well be portrayed correctly?
Will there be peanut butter?
Believe me, I’ve seen things that could make a grown man cry and done things that, well, were really fun for a teenage girl who entered the scene as an innocent virgin and left the scene a not-as-innocent, no-longer-a-virgin young woman with a wealth of memories filed under the heading You Can’t Make This Shit Up.
So the big question is, will any of my antics make it to the big screen?
Well I kinda hope not, but I’ll have to wait for the movie to come out and keep my fingers crossed that some of my escapades were buried along with the bodies.

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I’ve been going through a lot of old stuff lately and there they were, a few bits of physical evidence of The Best Years Of My Life.
The Ramones.
A guitar pic and 2 photographs of The Ramones playing at CBGBs and yes, I am in both photos, front and center. The first photo, super-young me in a white shirt sharing a chair with my first boyfriend Bobby (RIP) at my first-ever time at CBGBs and the last photo, taken a few months later at another Ramones show, still-young me front and center in my black leather jacket staring adoringly at what I thought of as just another local band I liked. The guitar pick used to have a lot of companions but they got lost in the shuffle over the years.
There is too much to say right now and my head is in the wrong place to do it justice so I’m taking the easy way out for the moment. Suffice it to say that I was there. Boy oh boy was I there!

I heard recently there is a movie coming out called CBGB, I’m curious to see how accurate it is. It’s going to be weird watching people I knew portrayed by actors who probably weren’t even born while all this went on; just the other day I saw some show about the last 24 hours in the life of Sid Vicious. It was kinda weird, knowing I’d been hanging out with most of them just 24 hours before his last 24 hours. Let’s just say at least they got the names right.

Now that I’ve babbled incoherently I’m looking forward to unscrambling my brain soon, I’ve got a lot of amazing memories from those days and I gotta be truthful, not a one of those memories would ever be for sale.
Those days are priceless.

et cetera