After winning and finally collecting on the game show money, I needed to get back home (to NYC). The towers were down, my mom was a Complete mess and I was living off of Palm Springs w/ my grouchy brother.
Lisa called. Lisa is the one who also called me at 7 am (Los Angeles time) on Sept. 11th to tell me about the crash.
She was over Los Angeles now and what was my deal.
We drove cross country. It was a lot of fun and tough on my ass. I drove the whole way sans liscense. Like, not misplaced, but, taken away from me.
We had her 3 cats and Ruby (all rescued) in the back.
Here's a great description of her. A visual.
Remember "Like a Prayer"? Madonna with the black hair? That's Lisa.
Yet she has fierce tats on her arms (which she can not wait to get lasered off) and she is skinnier.
She talks with the greatest NY accent, she is the Worst waitress of all time and every Hetero guy within 2 miles (including musicians) was in love with her. "Ah, screw him, he lives in Malibu and he acts like a beatnik."
She calls me Mikey and I like that.
I made about 40 cassettes for the road trip and the car only had a CD player. We listened to a lot of Moby and that great CD of Grunge people doing "The Carpenters" songs.
She always had her shit together at Largo, so it suprised me to learn on our journey that she was a recovering heroin addict and alcoholic. (Like 6 years sober)
Maybe I'm (cough...cough <---there is a bug going around) an okay example of someone who is remaining sober?
She's back to using. She needs my help.
This is me. I don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, yet I drop everything for my friends.
"Don't flatter yourself Mickey." I'm not. I kind of like Super-helpful Guy. My costume involves a monocle.