Happy Halloween

@ whispergirl-MERRY CHRISTMAS! I promise to kick ass this year! You read my mind! Speaking of that-congrats(big time) on your court case. Way to go-big! Oh and on stealing me away? Take me away! Skate me away ! I heard Lady Ante. this morn. ‘Just a Kiss’. Love that one. Enjoy! Jaap

@ whispergirl-I hope your X-Mas was delightful! Mine was great! Worked a little. got some nice things as well. I’m gonna put ‘Truman’ on my kindle. I’m soo w/ you on kicking it for the new year. I’m very motivated in my business-we will do it in our own different worlds. Just tell me what you need from me-I will always have your back! How was Sherlock? I hope you had fun w/ your friend. Hey! Check out you tube today. They have a brand new VH video I believe its called ‘Long play’. I saw it on my FB page this morn. It looked cool! I gotta go and take care of bus. I hope to hear from you always-time for 012 to kick in! Lets do it!

J: no I take it back, mine was late, yours was midday. I thought you would be eating then. Thanks for thinking of me on Christmas.

@Musicalmike: okay. Here’s the meeting, limited solely to that meeting and what I think I can tell. Afterall, I don’t tell other people’s secrets. It was the Saturday before Thanksgiving, 1982. I’ve since looked up the date; it was November 20. If you don’t remember my earlier stories with J, those are important to this story. So I have to repeat some stuff for the back story. My family had lost our drilling rigs (those are the tall derricks that drill or work over oil wells, worth millions even then) in the summer of 1982 and sold what was our oil exploration company to its partner. From about senior year of college through most of Sophomore year college, I lived as a rich girl with one of those last names lots of people knew. Everywhere I went, I was just “let in”, every night club, every restaurant, every store. I sat in dressing rooms on the second floor of Neimans (sometimes just for entertainment with girlfriends who wanted to tag along) trying on couture or furs. I wore high heel shoes to school because I always had to look good. People talked about everything I did. And up to that summer, I was absolutely never alone. Sophomore year, I had a 1,200 square foot apartment and there were often parties there. I would wake up with people I did not know sleeping on the floor. My love interest lived across the hall and he was worse. In fact, often the parties were joint. I was never sure who my friends were because people’s faces took on a different expression around me. I did have that one girlfriend though, and when I met her, I largely left the party world because all that I wanted to do was to figure out how to be a person. As far as school goes, I was a geology major, which I loved. I actually wanted to work in alternative energy and was extremely good at it. The teachers did not care about my “schtick” and just taught me. Oddly, my father wanted me to learn the way he did, so I never really had a lot of free spending money, and I paid for my tuition, so school was everything to me. And I had decided in first year college, I would go to law school; I did not want to be one of those rich kids who just gets everything because daddy gives it to them. I wanted my own power. And by sophomore year, I was learning how to get it, and I was learning just exactly how hard I would have to work to do it myself while having a name that people knew. In fact, I often made up other names. In the summer of 1982, before the 13 cars were sold, I took the best one to see a concert driving 200 miles to see that concert, not Van Halen. I left to go back to my folks’ house too late for safety, and was driving fast. I got stopped my a cop; when he looked at the car registration (titled in my father’s drilling company), he knew who I was and gave me hell. He said a lot of crap about being a rich kid (not knowing what we and the entire industry were going through or that my father made me pay for my tuition and books and spending money). I got sick of it, and said “I should have flown”. He thought I meant “drive fast” and said no on a plane (a little sacractic) and I might (okay I did) call refer to him as Bourgeois (not the best thing to do, but I was getting a ticket). I wanted to hide. Then, about one month later, my mom and I went to the stores we always went to and everyone was whispering as we walked by. After that, I really wanted to hide. So I cut my hair really short, you know how the main charater in movies goes into the bathroom with scissors when she is at the end of her rope. I knew my hair stylist, and he helped make it into something. He remains a person my entire family knows to this day. The style I chose, that he made, was the girl in “Cat People” (a picture I brought from the cover of vogue while his assitant cut the hair of this amazingly beautiful girl with long blond hair who stared at me as my stylist-friend — the best in Dallas, cut off what remained of my messed up hair). The hair cut made me look young, and was very different than most girls in 1982. And I could hide and work on becoming me away from what everyone had grown to expect from me. I was Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. I could hide. And hide I did. In school, I made only one B after that, meaning all “As” except one B for the last two years. I had two majors, adding a Finance degree with the geology (because there was never going to be another job in geology not for 25 years). The professors took me very seriously. I vowed to make my name (which is my father’s name too, but it’s mine) something really different, really good. And I knew it would take school.

I was working too. I lived in a cool really small apartment, and I worked or studied all the time. I lived on so little money. That earlier life ended. Completely. But I still had some cute outfits. I had two girlfriends. The one I talked about earlier (her grandfather owns banks, her father was oil too, but the longline family money made them okay, plus she was to marry one of the richest men in town). My other friend grew up in my HS neighborhood, but we met at college. She is highly educated now too, and I haven’t talked to her in more than 20 years. She and I were the ones who would go out. And she loved Van Halen as much as I did. With money I could not spare, I bought a ticket in the first few rows for the Austin concert, November 20, 1982. Being that “thing” I once was gave me great talent to attract attention to myself, and somehow transferrable talents with scalpers, so I got a ticket the day-of. I hatched a plan.

The plan. We were in Austin, and Austin was small, but had started to have nice things. Before, not so much. There was a new hotel on the river. I believed, because it was new and really nice, that Van Halen would be staying there. So after clawing my way to front row (with friend), I said at the start of the first encore that we would leave because I wanted to get to the hotel. So, looking back the entire time, we grabbed each other’s hand and ran out past all the people and to my car to drive to the hotel. We got there well before any of the other few hundred people who had the same idea got there. There was a little bar. (Legal drinking age was 18, BTW.) The bar was trying to be high-end, but it was new (so it needed people from the local “scene”). I was wearing a white two-piece skirt outfit by a woman who designed those things that were popular in Neiman’s type store then and gold shoes. My hair was short, but slightly grown out. I was not what a “groupie” looks like. The bar-hostess seated us, but told us they did not want to serve college kids. My outfit was not college kid typical, nor was my friend’s. At some point, about one drink in (and I was drinking slowly because I had only enough money for one more) people from the band showed up. Two of them (meaning the crew or bosses or whatever) sat at a table next to mine (the tables were round). They were listening to us, but I did not know that then. Also, and not what the hotel wanted, fans were showing up, especially female fans, and the hotel was kicking them out. No person who looked like a fan was able to get into the bar, and it was getting noisy. The wait person came over and said, we are kicking out groupies and while not asking, insinutated we should leave. (I think this came as a surprise to the hotel that they would get this attention.) Well, here’s where the first story comes in. I said, what you think I’m a groupie? All with as much ‘who do you think you are’ attitude as I ever used (and I had that in spades). The wait person started stuttering. (See I told you I’m Blair.) Then she said I, I…I’m sorry, I just have to. I said, let me speak to the Maitre D. She went away and brought him back. Of course. He, standing alone, apologetically asked us to leave because we are of the age of the people they are trying to keep out. I said to him I had three points. I was very nice, but spoke in a way that told him I would have my way: first how could I be one of these so-called groupies since I got here well before they did? Second, I pulled the don’t you know who I am card, and said words to the effect of if you want my friends in (whereever they were who knows) he should not kick me out, and finally I said “can you do something about this noise, it’s just terrible, letting a wild rock band stay in the hotel, what kind of a reputation do you want”???? Academy Award now, really. He said, I’m sorry miss, I really am, okay of course you can stay, I just need to ask you to keep drinking, we will allow you, and I’m sorry about the noise, we are working on it. Then, one of the men next to me said something like, and he was a laughing at me, how did you like the show? I said, I liked it very much, in the softest voice I had telling him not to “call me out”, at which point he asked us to join him. So we did. You should have seen that Maitre D then. The “laughing” man asked me next something like are you always like that, (that ballsy behaviour works ya’ know) and I said yes, absolutely totally working it acting like I had to think about it (and nervous out of my ever loving mind because I was sooooo verrrry out of my league). He ordered more drinks. I asked what he did. He told me. It was well placed. So I took my shot, and said I wanted to meet David Lee Roth. He asked me why. And I said the first thing that came to my mind. I’m sure it should have been something outrageously sexual, but I was a lot more show than anything — still, despite the crap that went on around me, very much an innocent. If you’ve ever read the Jane Austin book, Emma, I was (and remain) Emma (with just a touch of Blair). My answer (and I still remember it, word for word): because I see something in his face, something I think I would like. I think I would like him. He said what does that mean, like him how? I said like him, like him. Okay, well, I was 20 afterall. So like that, he said okay. I said okay what? He said okay you can meet him.

Not telling a little part here, except that the hotel was an atrium; you could see every room and the lobby bar area from the floors. We went to a door. The man from the bar knocked. I waited. That time warp that is the same when you are in a car accident, really slow. Dave answered the door. The soundtrack to me mind, yes that’s is him, yes it is. Yet he looked radically different, younger, a more innocent himself; there is no picture that will ever do that justice. And even though there was this chaotic screaming that came from the bottom floor of the atrium, there was a silence for me. I spoke first. I said hi, he said hi and then do you want to come in, holding the door open. You could hear the screams over the silence as he closed the door; the hotel had lost control. Inside it was quiet. There was a small hall to get past the bathroom, and past that, there were people there, around the living room area of his suite that viewed the water (about 10 floors up). We walked there. He got me a chair, placing it into that mix, and asked if I wanted a beer. There were beers in an iced-cooler (that I think is the funniest part). He took one, opened it and handed it to me. I sat next to him in the chair he had placed for me. There were about four-five other people in the room, one of which was a woman in an animal print cat suit. She had long hair and was very welcoming. They all got up and introduced themselves. I remember no names. Someone said a curse word; Dave said, hey no cursing, I have a lady present. I fell all over myself, no that’s okay, please act normally. But they did what he asked, and he never once said a curse word. I had to fight not to say them. They all had impeccable manners and Dave was an amazing host. We talked like any group talks, first about me — to place who and what I am; I said I was a 20 year old college student majoring in geology and was pre-law, might as well go with the truth. Dave wanted to know about geology because apparently he was going on a trip and he said he would add some geology. (I was really into it; and I gave him a lesson about how the earth is built with a little chemistry, whatever. Just look how a man will indulge a woman, even that man.) He said he was reading 1984. I said (all cocky-like), what you did not read that in high school? He made a funny joke about smoking pot in high school. He wanted to talk about the book (what happens), but he had not finished it, and it’s not polite to ruin a book. I was so impressed. I knew nothing of Van Halen history; I did not know he was smart. And that book is very serious. I said only it’s a tough book, trying not to give it away. I would bet he shakes his presents too. For a while, as a group, we talked about all kinds of stuff. They talked some about the show. It was just like being at any party. We talked a bit about personal stuff, again like you would in a party setting. I was relaxed and had a good time. At some point, I had to use the facilities, much like I do now. So I excused myself to the bathroom. That changed the dynamic of the party. No, not what you are thinking. But the rest is my story. The rest became one really cool thing after another where I got my own personal conversation with this man named David, not a rock star but a man, who for that time was my friend, a friend I would never see again, and whom I’m sure has forgotten everything about me. But I did not forget. That conversation gave me little things I have carried, little things he said that I would pull out of my memory in the darkest hour. I hope that man gets everything he wants. And with that, I really do need to go, no really, I really do. Merry Christmas Musicalmike.

Oh, and I`d be lying if I said I didnt get jealous/PROTECTIVE when others “flirt with you on the main page(s)… Hey, I just want you to be my Van Halen (David Lee Roth) sister, I can imagine how my buddy Jaap feels… Hahaha.. Thanks for always recognizing me in your posts up front. Makes me feel special. And Im sure all the other guys are like, “who`s this Musicalmike dude??” like you said, its our secret handshake.. Hee hee.. Again, love ya both Jaap and whsper! *hugz* (For old times sake) “You think you got the interest – come on and take the time – `cause you know – I wanna be – Yours in a simple rhyyymmme – WOW!! HA – HA – HA!!” as Dave said at the 2007 reunion press conferance: “Yeah, thats how you spell that!” =\//-/=

Let`s do it.

@ whispergirl-Yes I did feel this one-definately. But I’m going to pull myself out for a minuete, and maybe shed some light here. Dave will remember that night. Yes, he has met millions, but he called you a ‘lady’. At that point he just seperated you from 10 million people(male and female). A true ‘warrior’ recognizes and know when they are presence of another. You are a warrior-not just another ‘drop/dead gorgeous’ face. You were(and still are) set to A Heburn, Donna Reed, Saundra Bulloch(sp) type woman. ‘Don’t cuss in front of the lady.’ I agree. He’s had enough of todays ‘Jersey Shores’, Kim Kard. and others. That night he saw his equal. Moreover, the guys who brought you to him-they heard your story, and girl you know how to live, talk and write a ‘story! In short you are one in 10 million. That giant ‘ego’ of yours? Well, you need it. Its the one that got you your court settlement. Your gonna need more when you embark(successfully mind you) w/ your bro in business. I sure as heck need mine! Not to dominate people, to survive. Thats why your ‘kick ass’ comment resonated w/ me! Those guys told Dave all that they heard-he knows, he’s smiling. That night you rocked his world-he won’t forget. Never say never Christie. Are you gonna be front row @ ‘The Staples Center?’ Do you want to be? If so hang on to that beautiful dress. I am climbing Christie. You and I have been on this planet how many days now? I don’t feel old-I feel strong. I don’t necessarily need people to see me-just you. So tell me what do you see? Because I’ll be looking to see you.

J: thanks. I could only hope you are right. You actually sound like him. Your two questions, and then I must go to work (with my injured Chihuaha). First, yes, I want to be front row. Not in that dress though; I’m not sure what yet. Second, You. You are bittersweet because everyone “worth it” is. In my life, I go from one thing to the next, and I have difficulty hanging on to what exists at the first place. I don’t want you to go away, but everyone does. That’s bittersweet. But it never stops me from “the time”. It did not before, it wont now. I’ll write tonight. Thanks for your support. I was about to go ask MM to pick you up off the floor. And my entire world was blue collar. In society, they called us (the women and kids) oil field trash (perhaps because in the late 70s – early 80s we had the most money). We had to be one notch above the bankers’ kids and CEO kids to be considered ladies. My training was very strong. And when nervous or in a new situation, that’s how I act. He said it before I said any more than hi. I talked to my sister yesterday about all those cable shows about Dallas, such as Big Rich Texas. Those women are embarrassing. I asked if society has turned into that, are those girls debutantes or Junior League. And she said no, and went into a really sarcastic rant about how they could never be in and they just are bar trash who married some rich guy. Some things never change, J. Even my sister and she was too young for what I went through. Oh, how’s my bull; I think the spelling should be “Tea”, appropriate for this theme now. Take care and thanks. Chihuahua dog and I are off to work.