Tough Day

Uggh....I haven't blogged for so long and deleted many posts from last year (okay, all posts from last year). But I'm laughing today b/c my friends yesterday said that when they blogged for the first time this past week, they felt so.....dirty.

.....I'm feeling dirty.

So, we lost someone pretty close to us this past Saturday - which, when I read the mass card I realized, only because it was right there in black and white, that it's also the same date as my daughter's birthday. Damn, that's gonna be a bittersweet day from now on, as will be July 4th.

When I moved to Philly in June of 1986, I immediately fell into the Philly punk scene, as I lived directly behind the Crypt. And actually, since my uncle Dave Carroll was a big reason for this upstate NY girl to move to an affordable and kinda happening city - well, I was officially considered, as my son's former preschool teacher says, "punk rock aristocracy". I'll admit - it's had its perks (and I've always been a fan of my uncle - he rocks). Before I met some of my closest and oldest punk friends in the city, Dave got me a gig as a bouncer for the Ramones at a show at the Chestnut Cabaret. I remember trying hard to scare off people who were trying to make their way backstage. Some of these characters ended up being my future bandmates just a few months later.

In September of 1986, I "ended up" at Temple (I could have gone anywhere, but I "chose" Temple -true and another story for another time). One of the first people I met was my friend Jim Roadie - same guy I chased away the Ramones show. It wasn't hard for us spikey hair, leather-wearing kids in their late teens, very early 20's to get to know each other and hang out each day (end eventually create a "Jolt" tree - made up of branches of such soda cans). Ah, the formative years.

One of the first shows I saw back then was a Stalin's Daughter show, also at Temple - and all the usual suspects were there. Some of us already, immediate good friends. Some new introductions. I think that was the night when I first met Rick. I remember thinking that this guy was really cool - really slick (well, his hair certainly was), and I loved the jaded songs he was singing. From that time on, well, the rest is history.

I'll skip a bit ahead to the future and maybe revisit on another day, but Rick is gone and I feel like a big piece of my life goes with him. It's not that we talked every day, or saw each other every week, but we kept in touch for all 21 years. And he was always welcoming, always friendly and we could always knowingly share some great history and reminisce on good times, as well as talk about the present and future. A lot of Rick's friends have said this for days - that was always the great thing about Rick - no matter how much time went by, you could always instantly reconnect as if no time had ever passed.

When my buddy Ray died in August, I was wishing for just 5 more minutes. I am feeling the same way right now. 5 more minutes to say: thank you. I am very thankful for the time I shared with both of these gentlemen. And what true gentlemen they were - kind, caring, compassionate. Qualities which shouldn't be so freaking rare these days.

Damn. Damn Damn Damn.

I had such a headache yesterday and woke up w/ one again today. So much water under the bridge. (Or as my best friend Robert says - so much bridge under water.) I felt beat up yesterday, and it felt harder last night when the dust started settling. I keep pinching myself - did this really happen? Yesterday I thought, if we walked out of Sue's house, would it really mean that Rick died, and that we'd have to start a new day without him?

F**k. This sucks. But thankfully I am surrounded and have reconnected with many good friends with whom I never want to lose touch. And you all have my official 5 minutes: I love you, and thank you (soak that in for another 4:58). I'm thankful that most of us can embrace each other, regardless of how much time has passed. Makes it easier to get through any tough day.