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August 30 - September 8, 2022
Whenever I was hungry, he would buy me a burger at Ben Frank’s or Canter’s and try to talk me into giving him a tumble.
Yikes
I was thrilled because I always loved a new club. Beverly and I dressed up as man and wife one sultry evening and decided to check out the brand new band, the Doors.
A bunch of pretty ordinary guys came onstage and proceeded to go into a pretty ordinary number when a guy in black leather slithered on and filled the place so completely that everyone else might as well have been in the La Brea tar pits.
The Doors
He moved with the unnatural grace of someone out of control, grounded only by the fact that his feet happened to be on the floor.
Jim Morrison put into words all those deep, dark feelings of angst that we thought were unspeakable.
Trimar
As we collapsed to the floor, out of breath, we heard a pounding at the door and dashed to cover ourselves with Sandy’s fake-fur couch cover. Two gruff voices demanded entrance, insisting on having a piece of what they saw being flaunted in the picture window. When we refused them, one guy tried to break down the door while the other started on the windows.
Um wtf
It seemed like I was always in the danger zone without knowing how I got there.
WS capitalist patriarchy
I could hear the rest of the band tuning up inside and desperately hoped that Jim would arrive, sans redhead, scoop me up, take me BACKSTAGE, and kiss my lips off. And that’s exactly what happened.
we talked about Trimar. He said it might be “hurting our heads” and gave me a lecture on drug abuse, telling me the persona he put forward was an elaborate act, and he really wanted to be noticed as a poet.
Irony?
He took a full bottle of beer and threw it into Miss Lucy’s face tonight, and when she screamed, “That wasn’t very nice!” he looked up painfully and said “I know.” Why did he do it?
The group seems to have given up worrying about him.
When we were sitting at his table tonight I had my eyes closed and was listening to the music when I heard him mumble “I’m going to take over . . . out of sight,” and then he reached over and slapped my face real hard and yelled “Get it On!!!” All I wanted at that moment was for him to beat the hell out of me . . . Did I really? I guess I was in some kind of teenage masochistic mood that night.
We have very different romantic fantasies lol
I still saw a lot of Beverly, but she had allowed her sad side to overpower whatever joie de vivre I was able to inspire, so I was slowly seeking a divorce. She had discovered the numbing joy of downers
Sparky and I called each other “Doll” because of the women’s-prison movies that we watched and mimicked together. There was one incredibly horrific B feature called Caged!
Sparky
Gallo.
Omg
One of the girls on the four-poster was only twelve years old,
Bruh!!!!!!!! This fucker sounds like some Epstein mf
Three frizz heads
Um
Jimi Hendrix
I made some Valley girlfriends who were a couple years younger than me so I could show off some of my newfound incredible hipness.
She must have blown her alibi because she sobbed, “They know everything!! They’re sending the POLICE to come get us!!!”
Groups aren’t important, hippies are just as phony and screwed as execs.
I need something to sustain me other than cavorting up and down the dirty streets, begging and dying for a smile and a kind word.
I ran into John Densmore of The Doors, and for Bev it was sad; he wasn’t too nice to her, and she takes these things so hard.
All of us girls had a slight orgy in Vito’s bus.
???
The “slight orgy” we had in the bus involved all of us girls taking off our see-through blouses and kissing each other’s bailies.
We spotted a couple of marines in uniform at a bus stop and all pressed our tantalizing titties against the windows and watched their faces change color and their eyes bulge out like horny toads. I’m sure it will be something they’ll tell in the old folks’ home in the year 2010:
all five of us hitchhiked holding hands, even Christine. Well, she wouldn’t really hold your hand, but she would let you hold hers, always remaining aloof and slightly suspicious.
fifty-cent special effects: ribbons around wrists and ankles, tatty silk flowers, pieces of lace in strategic spots, antique panties worn over other garments, piano shawls, slinky teddies, hand-embroidered tablecloths, and the occasional silk umbrella.
We were causing such a commotion that within weeks we had our very own camp crawlers, but it was always the five of us at the center, holding on to each other, hoping to inspire or annoy onlookers.
It was easy to dig up a pad around town in a day or two for seventy-five a month, no first and last, no cleaning fee, and no questions asked,
Lmfao
The whole setup instantly changed my mind about domesticity: You could be a rebel, a profound thinker, and a rock and roll maniac and still eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, have a baby, and drink a nice cup of tea with your friends.
I would kill and murder to get myself into a certain enviable situation, and then feel like I was the only person in the room who should throw in the tattered towel and go home.
I’ve got to hand it to myself, though; I waded through those feelings of complete and utter inadequacy and gritted my teeth, waiting for the most celebrated celebrity in the room to bust my butt and tell me I was out of my element: “Go back to Reseda, NOW!!” But it never happened and slowly my fraudulent composure started breathing by itself. I acted “as if,” until I was.
Half of me was thrilled to be helping to pull in the new era, and the other half wanted to be wrapped in swaddling clothes, sucking my thumb in a safe, predictable place, dribbling tears into my Pop Tart.
Renaissance Pleasure Faire
Haha
The GTOs hung around with an eleven-year-old beauty, Bart Baker, and though I had never been intimate with him, a couple of the girls confessed to heavy petting with the beautiful blond prepubescent.
Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Sean’s mom was a famous blond actress and would flip if she suspected me of any hanky-panky, and one night as Sean and I discussed his history homework, his mom got on the phone and told me I wouldn’t be hearing from Sean again. And I didn’t.
Ummm yeah cuz that’s fucked up
June 6 . . . He died DIED. Two days ago he gave the world the peace sign and now he lays dead. I’m going to carry this with me until I die. The sting of a distorted country.
Oh, Rodney, if you introduce me to Mick Jagger I’ll let you meet my little sister And she’s only twelve years old!
Um
LOVE ON AN ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD LEVEL
Why are all these people pedos?
really had to hold myself back from running on stage and grabbing his lovely penis. . . . Ha, I’ve matured. I used to do just that!! Ha Ha!
Did you?? Where’s that?
August 22 . . . My daddy is driving mom nuts; we’re going to have to move out of our beloved house because he hasn’t struck it rich in the gold mines yet. I feel so bad for her, she loves the house so much. Oh well, I guess my childhood is being sold with the house.”
Last night Pink Floyd came over
The Plaster Casters were two girls so desperate to get near their rock idols that they devised an extremely enticing approach: They would give the idol some scientific head or a handjob, plunge the erect quivering member into a bucket full of slimy white goo called alginate, yank it out the moment it got soft (instantly, I would imagine), pour a mixture of plaster into the gaping hole, and leave it there until it got hard. While the hardening went on, the idol had the opportunity to ravage the Casters, which is what usually happened. Afterward, the girls would peel away the alginate, and lo
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Alice Cooper.
A whole new redneck world opened up in front of me; songs about trains and bars and jails became my new Top 10, and all I wanted to do was impress Chris with some country knowledge. If I could drop the title of Loretta Lynn’s latest effort in one of our piddling conversations between sets, I felt a silent humble victory. I wore less and less makeup and took to frequenting Nudie’s, a country-western clothing store, looking for the odd cowboy trinket to countrify my outfit.
My mom was agog at my brand-new calico consciousness. She moved through each phase with me, but I think the Burrito phase was an acceptable one. At least outward appearances would suggest that I had normalled-out a little bit.
After the concert, which left me panting, we went directly backstage and announced to anyone who would listen that the GTO’s, Frank Zappa’s all-girl group, were in the building and wanted to meet the Jeff Beck Group.
