The Time I Hung Out With a Rock Star - Twisted Sister Edition

I lived some prime years of my life through the decadent age of hard rock and heavy metal that dominated the music landscape in the 1980's. It was an incredible time. The music was loud, the clothing was loud and the hair went all the way to 11. Anything worth doing was worth overdoing.

I followed those bands with the big hair and the black leather and the flashy guitars like they were a religion. I bought the rock magazines and studied the articles. I tore the glossy photos from the rags and plastered the walls of my bedroom with them. I bought cheap mall knockoff rock star clothing and frequented every local music store dreaming of the day I would be able to afford a sexy looking $700 guitar that would make women melt without even playing a single note.

My dedication to the music, the bands and the scene led me on many great adventures. I frequently sought out the bands when they were in town. I would stalk their tour buses and wait for the opportunity to hang out with anyone from the band.

It worked many, many times and I have these stories to tell. Like this one time when I hung out with Twisted Sister:

It was 1984. Twisted Sister was the biggest thing in rock and roll coming off the strength of their hits We're Not Gonna Take It and I Wanna Rock. The Sisters were doing this big homecoming show at the Nassau Collesium out on Long Island. It was a small venue as arena's go and the place was going to be packed.

Everyone who owned a pair of acid wash denims, a bandanna and either black motorcycle boots or well-worn Converse were going to be there. I had to get in but I couldn't scrape up enough money for a ticket before the show sold out.

I was determined to be there to see Dee, Jay Jay, Eddie and AJ in all their drag queen-on-acid glory. I scraped enough money together by the day of the show and prayed it would be enough to buy a scalped ticket.

I ran into several people trying to scalp tickets. I wasn't just going to buy from just anyone, there was an art to this. You had to know what you were doing or you were going to pay too much money, buy a fake ticket or just flat out get robbed.

I ignored several shady guys asking if I had an extra ticket. They were definitely scalpers but I could tell they were working the crowd as a team. One guy distracts you haggling over ticket prices while another stands out of view. The decoy gets you to show which pocket your money is in and then, BAM, the pickpocket is gone with your money and you can't even feel it. They are good, I'll give them credit.

I found a small group of people all huddled together. They looked harmless and were asking the requisite scalper question, "Do you have any extra tickets?" They looked very innocent, like good church going people. I approached them.

"I don't have an extra ticket," I said, "I was hoping maybe one of you do?"

I couldn't have known this was a trap. One I was not prepared for. They began attacking me, their weapon: guilt.

"Don't you know scalping perpetuates impoverished people!?" One of the group barked at me.

"Scalping is degrading to women! You're a chauvinistic pig!" another cried.

"You're promoting a capitalist agenda. The rich are getting richer and the poor get left behind!" Yet another chided.

I was blindsided. The last thing I was expecting in this transaction was to be pummeled with political and social agendas. I didn't even give a shit, I just wanted to see Twisted fucking Sister rock.

They kept laying into me with their accusations and judgments. My head swirled. People were starting to look are me with disgust as they walked by the scene.

I heard a group of really hot girls all dressed in the tightest and shortest mini skirts and stiletto heels call me a xenophobe. I had no idea what that even was and I wasn't sure they did either. It still cut my ego just the same.

I could feel myself changing. I felt myself growing socially progressive views on feminism, race relations and the absurdities of a trickle-down economy. Only moments ago I only wanted to rock, not caring a thing for my fellow man and their plight on this Earth. Now I wanted to grab someone by the collar and browbeat them with my feminist agenda.

I was ready to promote my new social awareness when I was pleasantly surprised to find myself surrounded by five large women. I felt proud that these women who were taller and uglier than the social norms would dictate felt comfortable enough in their femininity to cast off the hateful stares of bigoted men and proudly strut their beautiful bodies for the world to see.

And then I realized the five women were Twisted Sister.

Dee Snider slapped me hard across the face, "You're not an SJW!"

Then the rest of the band shouted, "You're an SMF!" in unison.

Jay Jay French tore off my jeans and ripped open my shirt. AJ Piero lifted me up and Jay Jay slid me into a pair of skin tight spandex with pink leopard print. My bulge stood our prominently in them. Eddie Ojeda came up from behind me and tied a feather boa around my neck and some pink and neon green scarves around my waist.

Then the five of them jumped me, pinning me to the ground. They were all attacking my face. Finally the attack stopped and they picked me up. Dee held up a mirror to my face. I looked like a street walking whore. I had heavy blue eye shadow, black eye liner, fire engine red lipstick on and beaming cherry blush rouge on my cheeks. 

I never felt so manly in my entire life. I looked like one of The Sisters. They made me a rock star! They made me a sexy mother fucker. I was an S-M-F!

They gave me tickets to the show. I got to see them from the third row. There was also a backstage pass laminate and I go to go hang out with them after the show. Dee Snider is a really cool guy, smart as hell. We talked about male pattern baldness, the rate of fluorocarbons getting into our ozone layer from the heavy use of AquaNet and we even discussed feminism and how much he loved and supported women in his own special way.

I didn't know what a social justice warrior was in 1984. Nobody did. I came face to face with a monster that nobody realized existed. Fortunately Dee Snider and Twisted Sister were there to fight them off and teach us what was really important... Rock N' Roll. 

It was a magical night hanging out with a bunch of dudes dressed up like a bunch of women. Nobody slapped a label on it or cast any judgement other than it was a good time. I miss those days.

That Time I Hung Out With A Rock Star - Motley Crue Edition

I lived some prime years of my life through the decadent age of hard rock and heavy metal that dominated the music landscape in the 1980's. It was an incredible time. The music was loud, the clothing was loud and the hair went all the way to 11. Anything worth doing was worth overdoing.

I followed those bands with the big hair and the black leather and the flashy guitars like they were a religion. I bought the rock magazines and studied the articles. I tore the glossy photos from the rags and plastered the walls of my bedroom with them. I bought cheap mall knockoff rock star clothing and frequented every local music store dreaming of the day I would be able to afford a sexy looking $700 guitar that would make women melt without even playing a single note.

My dedication to the music, the bands and the scene led me on many great adventures. I frequently sought out the bands when they were in town. I would stalk their tour buses and wait for the opportunity to hang out with anyone from the band.

It worked many, many times and I have these stories to tell. Like this one time when I hung out with Motley Crue.

It was 1987. Motley Crue was touring the country in support of their new album, Girls, Girls, Girls. They were going to be playing the arena here in New Jersey. Their buses had come in to town a day early. It was a prime opportunity to hunt someone from the band down as a day off usually meant they would head out for a night on the town somewhere.

The area around the arena was an urban jungle, blacktop and highways for as far as the eye could see. Hiding to stake out the tour buses was going to be tricky. I used the only camouflage I knew would work. I dressed up like a slutty groupie.

It worked, the guards didn't bat and eye. The roadies didn't bat and eye and before I knew it I was being invited for blow and blow jobs onto one of the cavalcade of buses amassed by the loading docks of the arena.

I had to work fast. I excused myself into the cramped bathroom on the tour bus I had been ushered into. I didn't know if I was going to be expected to blow Vince Neil or Tommy Lee or some nameless roadie. It didn't matter, I wasn't blowing anyone (years later I would concede it may have been okay to blow Tommy Lee seeing as how his dick got so famous over that Pamela Anderson thing, but in a really not gay way, ya know?)

I began wiping off the thick layers of red lipstick I had applied when hissing and rattling had started. I paused, pressing my ear to the door. It was such an odd sound, like a giant snake baby with a toy rattle. I could hear something rubbing along the floor, like a snail with a sandpaper foot. Then the rattling sound, this time gentle like it was trying not to rattle but could not help itself. Then a loud, annoyed hiss that sounded like it was right outside the door.

I stepped back from the door and looked around for a window or something that I could climb the fuck out of the bus. Fucking bathroom was all privacy, a great place to take a groupie, which I begun to notice the telltale smell of excited vagina permeated the air. Was it the lingering smell of tour bus love from the night before or whatever was on the other side of the door smelled like?

 I didn't have to wait to find out the answer. The tiny bathroom door exploded and splinters flew into my face. On the otherside of the obliterated doorway was a fucking Medusa! Not one like from Clash of the Titans but like a mocked up 80's version of a Medusa. It's snake skin hair was teased up, the snakes held shivering in place by what must have been a case of AquaNet hairspray to hold them firmly in place. Their creepy little tongues flicking in and out, the only part of their body not frozen in place. It wore a pink boustier top and black leather mini-skirt that revealed too much even for a Gorgon.

I wasn't sure if I should scream for my life or hit on it. I didn't have to wonder long because Nikki Sixx's skull n' crossbones bass guitar slashed the slutty monster in the head and split its head in half. The body writhed like a chicken with its head cut off. I backed all the way against the shower stall trying to avoid the Medusa's tail whipping around, bashing everything it came in contact with.

"Fucking Tiffany." I heard the sultry voice of Nikki Sixx say before he came into view.

He poked his head into the doorway as the gorgon's body dropped dead still. "You okay, kid?" he asked me.

"You're Nikki Sixx!" I said forgetting what had just happened.

"That's me, got blow?" he asked.

I looked down at my feet, embarrassed I didn't have any tribute for the rock god, "No man, sorry."

I expected him to throw me off the tour bus. Instead he apologized to me for having to deal with Tiffany who had apparently been infatuated with him ever since he slept with her during the Theater of Pain tour. Every time he came through New Jersey he would have to duck her. He'd finally had it and laid the trap for her.

"Hey, you wanna hang out? We're not playing tonight. Me and Tommy were going to head into the city and tear up this fancy steak house that loves our money more than they loath our bad behavior while we're there. Should be a cool time."

"Would I!" I bellowed.

"Hey, why are dressed up like a slut anyway?" he asked.

I had completely forgotten my disguise. I was searching for an explanation, and I had nothing. My mouth hung agape.

"Don't worry kid. I get it. I used to dress like that and go see Mott the Hoople and shit. You better get that gear off before Vince sees you. He'll try to fuck you for sure."

I heard Vince climb on the tour bus, "Hello L.A.!" he yelled.

"We're in Jersey, Vince."

"If you know where we are then you're not fucked up enough." he said.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me. I saw the bulge in his pants stiffen.

I pulled my wig off in a blur and wiped away my mascara with the back of my arm.

Vince laughed, "I've fucked worse."

Nikki pushed Vince back. He told him to lay off me. That's when Vince noticed Tiffany the Medusa on the floor bleeding out it's acidic green blood which had begun to burn a hold in the floor of the tour bus.

"Ahh geez Nikk. Another fucking monster? You gotta get a new dealer, man" Vince chided.

Nikki laughed, "I'll put my monsters up against the monstrous looking women you had piled up on your bus last night!"

Vince smirked. He shrugged. That was all the defense he could mount.

Nikki decided to invite Vince out to dinner with us. He took Nikki up on the offer and said he would go wake up Mick Mars and get him to go too.

We went to the most posh steak house New York City had to offer. We spent the night smashing wine glasses filled with wine from a bottle that cost more than I made in a year of work. I chewed the must succulent cut of steak I ever ate in my life and played "See! Food!" with Mick Mars, who only growled at me the whole time. We had a food fight with some well-to-do CEO of some big important company. The staff threatened to throw us out at least a dozen times, each time Nikki would just throw a stack of money at them and we would party on.

Eventually the booze got to be too much. The drugs began to pile up and disappear just as quickly. I eventually blacked out and woke up to find myself in a train station somewhere in New York. It took me the rest of the day to navigate my way home. I crashed on my bed and woke the next day to wonder if it had really happened at all.