I have come to realize that I check out [Miss Ginger's] blog a lot.  Maybe too much.  But hell, I have to live vicariously through someone that has a life.  She just happens to be the lucky, or unlucky depending on your point of view, victim. 

So this morning I come to check everything out.  If you read her blog, you'll understand this next part, but I'm not going to borrow that too.  I was going back trying to remember all the musicians I have met.  There are a lot.  I lived for music in my younger days.  There was a family friend at Sony, someone I met & hung out with at Warner & the fact that I worked at Z-Rock in Dallas for some time.  Not to mention I was so well liked at one of the clubs that always hosted national acts, that I came & went as I pleased at any time of the day.  I think I've only ever paid to see a handful of shows & those were all when I was in high school.  Translation..... I use to have a life.

I carted people around, dragged some out of strip joints so they could make it on stage within a reasonable amount of start time & went to industry parties.  Those were the best.  Open bar & I was underage.

It was while I was working at Z-Rock in the early 90's that I came to know the existence of a little band by the name of [Type O Negative].  It was just before Christian Woman really hit.  Well, in Dallas anyway.  I was obsessed.  Their front man, Peter Steele, was the epitomy of my perfect man.  Tall, dark hair, light eyes & a voice to die for.  Especially the voice.  I was smitten before I ever saw a picture.

When they came to town & played a crappy little hole in the wall called The Basement, I was of course there.  I waited in line like everyone else, but was pulled out & taken in by one of the people I worked with at the station.  I got to be right up front.  I thought I had died & gone to some twisted version of heaven.  I also got trampled.  Such is life.  After the show, we were standing around talking as usual.  So I'm standing their flapping my gums, back to the side door, when all of a sudden there is something huge standing beside me.  It was something out of a bad movie.  Cue the slow motion as I turn.  Look up.  I think I pissed myself.  There in all his glory stood Peter.  Me, being the monumental dumbass that I am, just stood there gape mouthed.

That's right kids, I couldn't say a damn thing.  I think he liked tormenting me.  The people from the station were laughing.  In hindsight, I think one of the DJs set me up.  It all worked out too perfect.  He chuckled at me.  I went back into the club.  A missed opportunity kids.

Now that I'm older & wiser *snicker*, I would like to do things differently, given the opportunity again.  Say a nice bottle of wine & conversation.  I'd like to pick his brain.  Although, I think mine would be the one getting picked.  Oh well.  It still remains that after all this time, I still have the hots for the guy. *shrug*

Word of the Day
deleterious - deh-luh-TEER-ee-uss - adjective
harmful often in a subtle or unexpected way