I Remember You
I’m writing from the Michelangelo Hotel in a hotel room my aunt’s got because she comes from LA to NYC all the time on business and they don’t care if my mom and I come stay here as well. Woo. The shower alone is worth it, and to not subject my mom to my tiny apartment for too long is a relief.
um
Otto got to town late Friday night so I met him and three of his buddies out in the East Village and we went to many bars. We had much fun. I just uploaded a photo gallery of twenty buhgillian images. It tells stories.
I ate olives and nuts to stay alive. We laughed much. And then, at about quarter to four in the morning, as we were dancing to I forget what really bad/good music that makes 30-ish white people go nuts, a very tall walking spectacle came in. I was trying to jog my alcohol heavy brain pan.... Poison? no… holy shit. I remember you. Ayyyee reeeemember YOOOOOUU! It was (i insist you look at this link cuz it’s a fan site) Sebastian Bach of Skid Row.
Do I even have to say how hilarious and bizarre it was? And how great it was that Otto’s friends kept snapping pics the whole time? In my drunken state I was hell bent to say something to him. I simply had to. And I was also too drunk to think of anything except the plain truth. I yelled up, into his ear behind the crazy main of hair. “I thought you were SOO COOL when I was twelve! For a talent show me and my friends were gonna BE you guys. I was gonna be YOU! I thought you were such a badass!”
all past tense. heh
rrr I think that’s exactly what I said. He said something like “you’re awesome!” I don’t really remember, but he was very friendly and totally nice about the whole thing, gave me a hug that lifted me several feet off the ground and said he wanted to buy me a drink. teehee. But then the bar was closing, he kept getting mobbed and me and the mens decided to go.
It was starting to get light outside when we left. My mom was coming into town the next day so I asked for my camera back and grabbed a cab and told Otto to not sleep in a park. They were making mad talk about “let’s not go home” and still had lots of energy. I clearly remember climbing into bed after washing my entire body in rubbing alcohol and laughing loudly. Then I realized I didn’t have my camera and yelled a profane phrase or two, but figured it was a problem for the next day.
It was such amazing fun even without meeting sorta famous hair band dudes who were very friendly and gracious in the face of former fan past-tense praise. So good to see Otto, who’s been a great friend for years, and his friends were such funny guys.
How nice were they? They all stumbled into Brooklyn the next morning to escort Otto on his camera-returning mission. We found a bar that was showing the Portugal vs Greece soccer game (they are quite passionate about this game, I know not of sports but wanted them happy) and also had amazing food. We had a fabulous hangover feast, fretted for Portugal and shared more amiable moments until I had to go home to be ready to await the arrival of la mamasita.
My NY state uncle Ed picked her up from JKF and brought her to us and we all went for dinner. She was in Brooklyn about an hour with my uncle coaching her to say “yo” after any given phrase and I heard her making up a quiet little ryhme. “I’m in Brooklyn, yo. You can call me yo but don’t call me ho”. I fell over. I’m so proud. We also coached her when she should and shouldn’t hurry across the street and she’s doing pretty well.
Yesterday my Aunt Gina got to town and we had a great dinner, she’s spoiling us with this hotel and her expense account, and Mom and I about to go check out some museums and walk off the Italian, and wine and pastrami and pastries and lobster and pate and all the other things I’m not even making up that we’ve eaten since she’s come here.
Otto, if you remember details I don’t, I hope you posted today!
Like my soddened brain stores much of anything these days! I do know that the three guys you were with thought you were the cutest one in the bar. So it was no surprise that the visiting rock star might have wanted to make you Mrs. Sebastian Bach (at least for the night, maybe). Ha! We felt like the Viking had come for our woman!
you were totally making out with mr. skid row.
that’s probably what spawned (pun intended) all the other bar make-outs).
:)
no way dude, as charmed as i may have looked, i left before he actually bought me the drink.
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