A Night With an Idol

When I was in high school, Billy Idol was probably one of my ultimate fantasy men. That sticky uppy hair. That sneer. That way he punched at the air in time to the music. The way he looked when crooning "Eyes Without A Face". I honestly hadn't given Billy Idol much thought since then, other than during my last relationship (my ex named himself after Mr Idol when performing stand up), but somehow ended up with two tickets to see him at Hammerstein Ballroom last night.

If you had told me that everyone and their mother was attending this show (literally...there were little kids there, with their parents) and that almost every single one of my friends was fighting me for the extra ticket, I wouldn't have believed you. But holy crap, Billy Idol is one popular motherfucker. People of all types were shoving their way into the venue, to get as close to his plastic face and overly gelled hair. It was insane.

There were tons of old bitches and assholes, such as myself, reliving their high school years...and some of them clearly still dressing the part. We saw lots of dudes with Steve Stevens hair,wearing their sunglasses at night, and chicks in leg warmers, paint splattered clothes, bad leggings, and ankle boots. On the flip side, there was one dude in a pink shirt and flipped up collar, who was playing air guitar with gusto. I'm horrified to say that I was finding myself strangely attracted to the pseudo heavy-metal looking dudes, it seems that I still have a thing for guys with crazy hair (ed note: um...who didn't know that?)as I found myself trying to stand close to them and smell their shampoo. Well, the ones that actually showered, of course.

The concert itself was pretty fun. Billy puts on a good show-he does like to change his outfits several times throughout (and at one point Steve Stevens did a really long guitar solo, probably to enable Billy to not only change his ensemble, but to touch up his plastic face which may have been melting under all the lights). He does also like to show off his incredibly pasty white, hairless chest, and flex his non-muscles.

He played some new songs, but mainly stuck to a familiar playlist, including a lot off of Rebel Yell, some Gen X stuff, and all the poppy crap that got played on the radio when I was in college. His final song was "Mony Mony" and I was absolutely MORTIFIED that he indeed added in the chorus "get laid, get fucked". I just looked at Kristen in horror. All we could do was laugh.

I'm not sure I would have paid for those tickets myself, but hey, there are worse ways to spend an evening than a night with an Idol!

Why Today Feels Like Torture

Funny how a benignly mediocre day can seem horribly awful when preceded by four or five truly awesome days.

Truth is I really did need a night to myself. My apartment was a pig sty, my laundry needed doing, my blog needed updating. And there's a Hills premiere to watch!

Weds night after a kind of stressful workday (ok, it was really stressful, and deserves its own post, someday when I feel like retelling it), I ended up meeting S&M at happy hour in his work hood. He and his buddy Jon were sucking down cocktails like they were going out of style, and I had a lot of catching up to do.
Several vodka tonics later, I sure as fuck was caught up, and proceeded to smoke all of S&M's cigarettes, and hit on the bartender, who it turned out was born in 1986. Fuck. Me. I had never felt like SUCH a dirty old lady as I did at that moment...well ok, that's sort of a lie, but either way, IT FELT SO WRONG! So for the rest of the night I called him Little Baby and left it at that. Hot or no, 22 is just, WRONG.

All the while, was receiving invitations via text from several others-a pool party in the East Village, relocated Media Meshing at Tom and Jerry, more drinks with Drunk Brunch and co at another East Village location...I was weighing my options when S&M and I realized that we were too drunk for life, and needed to go home. I was tempted to crash at S&M's for the night, but of course, I had another idea up my sleeve....which came into fruition later in the night, and well into the morning. ;)

Rainy lazy Thursday was my sister's birthday, and I found myself at the Boat Basin enjoying some Electric Lemonade. That shit is ridiculous, by the way, because it's like drinking slush puppies but with vodka, and 2 are pretty much lethal. So needless to say, when I finally found myself home, I crashed like a little baby on crack.

Friday I got drunk with my family at Turkish Kitchen, then met Lesty and her beau back at my place for a bottle of wine, Freaks and Geeks, and when the wine ran out, root beer and brandy cocktails. Don't knock it til you try it-they actually weren't that bad. At least, no one was complaining!

Another super late night with a repeat performance from super late night caller and super fun activities-my couch hasn't seen that much action since my cat stopped humping his blankie-and then it was Saturday.

Saturday was a girly day spent with Wins. Naam Yoga, brunch, Billys cupcakes, shopping, pedicures, and Vicky Christina Barcelona which was absolutely one of the best movies I've seen all year, no shit. Penelope Cruz was incredible, as was Javier Bardem and really every single person that appeared in it was flawless. I LOVED it. Although, I admit, due to the previous night's activities, I may or may not have fallen asleep in the last 10 minutes of the movie. And I may or may not have been snoring. Oops.

Thankful for the nap, I had to hightail it back to Brooklyn to meet up with a friend at Franklin Park for a few too many Original Sins and Chevellas takeout. Tried to keep it early as on Sunday I piled into Kristen's car with Ha Ha Sound and my sister for a day in the Catskills, tubing down the Esopus Creek. I have done this a good handful of times in my life, and it's always awesome to see a new person's reaction when going down that crazy creek in an inner tube for the first time.

There was a very dramatic saving of Kristen's tube by HHS. I watched in horror as she flipped, got caught in the current, and her tube started to drift away. I wanted to be the hero of the day so I jumped out of my tube and dragged it to the side of the creek in the hopes that I would be able to catch hers, but I sadly watched it continue down the river. HHS jumped out of his tube like he was saving a life, and somehow managed to snatch her tube up in one quick movement, and got himself and both tubes safely to shore. Craziness!!

I was feeling all sorts of cocky as by close to the end of the run I was the only one of the four of us that hadn't flipped...and just as I was about to gloat, I hit a gigantic rock and FLIP. Right over. Tube over my head. Knee bashed into a rock. Holy fucking ow.

HHS suggested that we head over to an amazing little pizza place called Winchells, which we did, gladly. A couple glasses of wine helped ease the pain of my bloated knee, but the true panacea was definitely the Gelato place we hit up a few miles down the road. A medium cup of Tiramisu and Pistachio gelato hit the spot, and for a split second I definitely remember thinking that I wanted to stay in the Catskills pretty much forever.

So as you can see, my very eventful last few days are making this very dull, nothing day seem like hell on earth. But the Hills are on now. So I'm out. ;)

For the Record

So it's been brought to my attention that I haven't been blogging much lately. Yea I know I know...it's a combination of too much going on and not much going on, if that makes any sense.

I've been getting used to having two cats running around, and oh God do they run around. Bong has acclimated himself quite nicely to the situation, and he and Igbot are having a ball. Just like their Mom.

I've been running around myself, doing this and that. Summer share in Montauk kicked in. National concert at Summerstage. French Kicks at Empire Fulton-Ferry State Park. Frozen hot chocolate at Jacques Torres. Sunrise bike rides with the Brooklyn Tri Club. Sweet and Vicious before it closed. Drinking too much. Spending lots of time with friends. One in particular who keeps me up late. Definitely good times, those late nights :)

Texts and gchats from the same guys over and over (Blue Hair and Boring Guy, for those keeping score) but never amounting to anything, which is amusing yet retarded. Clearly they are keeping me as their "just in case" girl. Clearly I'm doing it right back.

Tomorrow I'm going tubing upstate. I'm pretty fucking excited for that.

I guess I'm just dropping by to let you all know that I'm alive and pretty fucking ok.

Where the Wild Things Are

Under the bed.

That is where the latest wild thing has been for 2 days now. I can't get him to come out. It doesn't help that his little brother keeps stalking him.

The latest in the cat drama is as follows:

Douchebag never got back to me about when he was planning on bringing Bong over, so come Weds or so I shot him an email asking what was up. In it I also happened to mention that I had some of his stuff, and he still had some of mine, and perhaps we could trade stuff while he dropped off the cat.

He blatantly ignored my email, but texted me and said, "oh, sorry, I should have confirmed Saturday at 11am with you."

Yea, he should have, considering I already had plans...but I cancelled them and agreed to the time.

Wouldn't you know it, come 10:55am Sat am, I get a friggin Facebook message. The cat is hiding. He won't come out. Oh, and the Douchebag forgot his cell phone, so he can't call me.

I messaged back, "Borrow Victor's phone and call me with a status, please."

Facebook message back:"This is gonna take a while. Go about your day."

Arrogant prick. Now I'm being dismissed to go about my day. So that I did.

I had a perfectly amazing time with the other Cheese, biking, kayaking in the East River, drinking frozen hot chocolate from Jacques Torres and laying out in Brooklyn Bridge Park. Hours upon hours went by with no word from Douchebag. I got an invite to join Kristen and some friends from out of town to drink at Water Taxi Beach, so I got myself showered and was just about ready to leave my pad when I see an unfamiliar # come up on my phone.

"It's me, the Douchebag. I've got Bong, I'll be there in half an hour."

Um. Ok. Guess Water Taxi Beach will wait.

I hate the fact that I was nervous to see him. I hate that I still worry about his opinion and that I feel the need to impress upon him. I slightly hate the fact that I asked my friend S&M to be with me when Douchebag arrived and pretend to be my husband (he was all for it, but I changed my mind about that, not that S&M wouldn't make a great husband, but a girl can only sink to a certain level of insecurity!) I cracked open a beer and waited outside on my stoop.

Douchebag showed up an hour later, cat carrier in tow. We barely exchanged hellos. I don't know, for 2 split seconds I actually thought that maybe he had changed, gained some humanity or perhaps gotten over his animosity towards me. But no. His arrogance and disdain for me was quite apparent. I would like to point out that I had fully intended on inviting him upstairs for a beer and having some sort of catch up...because that's what sane people do. But his body language and sarcastic tone were very clearly saying "back off bitch." So I asked him to help me carry all the stuff and the cat upstairs.

"You might want to give him a bath." he pointed out. I asked why, and he replied, "Bong's been living in Victor's basement for the last 3 months." He couldn't look at me when he said it.

You fucking sonofabitch. You give up the cat and instead of calling me immediately because you don't want to deal with me, you let the poor creature live in a dank, dirty basement? For 3 months???

"Why didn't you call me?" I asked.
"I called you NOW, didn't I?" he scowled.

I wanted to scratch his eyes out.

Instead, I asked why he was separating Bong from his buddy. He wouldn't answer. "Douchebag," I said, "You owe me at least that."

"I moved in with someone who already had a cat, and she didn't want three. So I had to get rid of one."

a) He is such a fucking PUSSY that he let this stupid bitch talk him into getting rid of Bong? b) he moved out of the apartment that I was so sure he was going to die in, a tiny box of a place that he and I lived in together for 6 years...because he refused to move to a bigger space and pay more money? c) he takes the one cat that is afraid of his own shadow, sticks him in a basement, and then sends him off to me, to confuse him further? d) he fucking lives with someone?

Yea, I think "d" got to me the most. Fine, I admit it.

Either way, this news disturbed me to no end, and after I started banging around some shit, I literally began to start herding him out of my apartment, for fear that I would punch him in the face. I really wanted to punch him in the face, dammit.

As I led him to my door, he suddenly says "Oh yea, I have your stuff, but I didn't bring it with me, and I want my stuff back. So can I have it?"

You fucking asshole. You blatantly ignore my email..and now you expect that I just have your fucking stuff neatly piled up and ready to go? Blow me.

"Yea, I don't know where it is. I'll be in touch," I opened my front door and showed him the way out. "Take care."

He looked at me as if I had three heads. I'm not sure what more he wanted to say or wanted me to say, but I wasn't interested in finding out. So out the door I threw him.

Aargh.