I just did an interview where the host was talking about mismatched libidos and how so many couples are “lopsided” when it comes to sexual desire. I personally can attest to this being a common problem, since I hear from so many people on a daily basis who ask me how Hot Rawks can help them improve their sex drive.
I’d like to quickly address this issue, mainly because I want to state that although I am the proprietor of an herbal supplement designed to boost sex drive in men and women both, I am not out there simply trying to pimp a product. I created my company, Raw-Nation®, to promote a lifestyle…one that encourages health, wellness, and vitality.
Raw-Nation® has a mission statement that goes as follows:
“We explore and develop new ways to combine sustainably harvested, superior goods to enhance and improve your quality of life. We focus on pure, naturally derived supplements and sensual products designed to enlighten the body, mind, and spirit with desire and vitality. We want to share our zest for raw, organic superfoods with the world, and inject passion into young and old alike.”
Now, does that sound like a company trying to fill you with chemicals and laugh all the way to the bank? Hardly. We have built our company based on passion for a healthy lifestyle, and a healthy lifestyle includes having great sex with your partner!
EAT CLEAN. This doesn’t mean you can’t ever eat crappy food. We all appreciate indulging from time to time, but you also must remember one thing: You are what you eat. If you consume junk on a daily basis, your body will not be running at the capacity it was intended to. Eat less processed foods, limit animal products, and omit sugary sodas as much as possible. Fuel your body with organic, raw fruits, vegetables, nuts/seeds, and whole grains. Eat protein-rich quinoa and organic oats. Drink lots of pure filtered water and limit alcohol consumption.
MOVE THAT BOD. Move it or lose it, buddy! You absolutely must find time to exercise on a regular basis, even if it’s just a brisk walk or a short bike ride. Movement not only helps burn off fat, it also alleviates stress, aids digestion and loosens joints. (translation: your tummy will be flatter and you will have more mobility…catch my drift?)
ADD THE RIGHT SUPPLEMENTS. I need to emphasize the “right” in this statement. There are so many supplements to choose from, how can you possibly select what’s best for you? Now this particular subject could be an entire blog on its own, but I will keep it simple here and say that although there isn’t a one-size-fits-all mentality on herbal supplements, there are a few that should help just about anyone. These are: probiotics, digestive enzymes, fish oil (hexane-free and molecularly distilled only), B vitamins, and superfoods. Superfoods are compound foods and herbs that loaded with multiple health benefits. Hot Rawks include some very powerful superfoods, by the way. Hot Rawks is an herbal, whole food, super-nutrient supplement that has an array of health benefits including increased stamina, endurance, sexual fluids, and desire. It is not a natural Viagra. It helps men and women both by adding herbal compounds that work deep within the body and helps balance hormones naturally. Plus, the added benefit of intense natural lubrication is certainly welcomed in the bedroom…by both partners.
SMILE OFTEN. Attitude is everything. If you spill your coffee, does it ruin your whole day? Or do you chuckle at your clumsiness and move on? You might be thinking, “What in the world does my attitude have to do with my sex drive?” My answer is, “Everything.” You see, the ability to laugh at life and handle stressful situations will dramatically improve your mood. A good mood is a state of mind, and in that state of mind you will be much more open to a sideways romp with your partner.
“Open Up and Say Raw!”®
This is the time of year I pull out my goals that I wrote back on January 1st and see just how many of them I’ve actually accomplished. I also like to really reflect on the last twelve months and determine what lessons I’ve learned and how I will apply them to the rest of my life.
Normally my goal setting is casually done in about 20 minutes on New Year’s Day. I make myself some hot tea, sit down in front of my laptop, and quickly type up my intended forecast for the upcoming year. I usually have a general idea of what I want to see happen so it’s really only ever been a matter of simply transferring those wants to a Word document. This past New Year’s Day I went about it a bit differently…
At that time I was kinda dating a guy that lived in New York and we had attended a New Year’s Eve soiree in the city the night before. We had a great time at the party, but for some reason I was feeling extremely disconnected. My business was starting to take off and with that came all the predictable headaches and tribulations that accompany growth. I was also experiencing major anxiety about a lot of personal things in my life. I felt a desperate need to be alone with my thoughts, so that night I slept on his couch.
There I was, on a couch in a big dark room in Brooklyn. The Christmas tree still stood erect in the corner, and I remember thinking how beautiful it was when it was illuminated and glowing, with loads of presents under it and images of countless smiles reflecting from the shiny bulbs that hung from it. Now it sat in the same corner of that same room, but dark and dismal and lonely with no presents left under it. For a moment I related to that tree. I felt like my brightness had been temporarily dimmed, not because I wasn’t capable of shining, but because I needed to turn the switch back on and illuminate myself once again.
I opened my laptop and instead of quickly typing my resolutions, I dug deep and really got specific this time. Instead of saying something like, “Spend most of my time with positive people”, I would clearly state, “I will finally release any and all negative people in my life and will surround myself with power and positivity. I will be unstoppable because there will be absolutely nothing that can stand in my way. If anyone in my life is having a negative effect on me, no matter how small or trivial it may seem, I will learn to weed them out as quickly and efficiently as possible. My powerfully positive attitude will prevail.”
The goals I wrote were as detailed and specific as I could make them, and while some were a bit lofty, all of them were attainable with the right amount of hard work and determination.
I tediously worked on my goals until the sun came up, then I showered, packed, and went to the airport. As far as I was concerned, that was going to be the last of Brooklyn Boy, not because he wasn’t a great guy (he still is), but because I couldn’t afford to have one single person or thing distract me from what I needed to accomplish in 2011.
I’m not going to list all of those accomplishments here, but I am going to tell you that although it wasn’t easy, I was able to somehow manifest each and every one of them.
Here’s what I’ve learned about specific goal-setting and the power of meditation: getting what you truly want oftentimes takes losing what you think you need. I’m going to say that again: getting what you truly want oftentimes takes losing what you think you need.
That being said, 2011 was undoubtedly the most challenging year of my life. Looking back retrospectively I now realize that the toilsome challenges had to take place in order for the rewards to come to fruition.
In only twelve short months, I went through a series of events that would normally take an entire lifetime for one to experience. Everything from heartbreak, betrayal, death in the family, new business partnerships, legal issues, law suits, marriage proposal (I refused), an insane amount of travel (I was on an airplane almost every single week), being forced to deal with some major issues from my past (but finally able to put it all behind me), victimized by a professional con artist, stalked by a creeper, and LOTS of other insanely difficult situations…all the while trying to somehow be a decent mother to a 12-year-old boy. Whew.
However, 2011 has, by far, also been the best year of my life! I’ve been blessed with new relationships and a flourishing business and I’ve been able to experience things that I would have never dreamed possible. I have overcome so many obstacles and cultivated such tremendous personal growth that I am practically an entirely new person. It was as if I did a hardcore water fast and my body detoxed at a dangerously uncomfortable rate, clearing out old diseases and rapidly dissolving scar tissue, finally revealing a healthy and vibrant body. Having also been through the pangs of physical healing myself and knowing the symptoms firsthand, I must admit that emotional healing is a hundred times more rigorous and challenging, but brings the lasting reward of wisdom and a much better life.
So how can you reach your goals in 2012? I attribute my monumental 2011 to the way I approached my goals and then refusing to lose focus on them. You’ve got to be specific with your goal setting and never, ever abandon those goals. Write them out in detail, meditate on them daily, and make sure you are ready to deal with the obstacles that could surface when your goals start to manifest. Remember that any suffering you will most likely encounter is only temporary. A caterpillar, no matter how exhausted from struggling to get out of its cocoon may be, never decides to give up. Don’t allow yourselves to quit before becoming the butterfly you were meant to be.
Happy New Year and Carpe Diem!
It’s no secret that I am a rocker chick to the core. The mere thought of a deafening guitar riff and a thunderous drum beat, simultaneously booming from an amplifier with sub woofers bigger than my house gets me feeling all kinds of turned on. My friends know this about me, so it only made sense that when one of the biggest new anthem rock tours came through my hometown, I was contacted immediately by my buddy at the radio station, and the conversation went something like this:
Friend: “Julie, are you interested in accompanying us to the Rock Allegiance Tour, complete with backstage access and press passes?”
Me: “No, I have to wash my hair.”
Me: “I will be too busy feeding my cat.”
Me: “Glee comes on at 9, so it’s really not an option.”
Me: “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?? OF COURSE I’m in, you asshole!”
Friend: “Thought so. Pick you up at 8.”
So, now the real question came to mind: what the hell do I wear? I was obviously going to be schmoozing with these dudes in a fairly intimate atmosphere, limited to press people and sponsors, so I didn’t want to look like a whorish groupie. I also didn’t want to come across as a conservative prude (not that I’ve ever been referred to as that in my entire life, but for some reason it was a concern weighing heavily on my mind). I skimmed through the dresses hanging in my closet and finally decided on short and tight with not much cleavage. (My rule of thumb is to show one or the other at any given time: legs or tits. Never both.)
The Rock Allegiance Tour included a slew of newer anthem bands and boasted the slogan: “Loud Riffs, Cheap Tix”. Their lineup contained up and coming hardcore bands like Drive A, Crossfade, RED, and P.O.D., but the headliners of the show were no doubt what I was anticipating the most.
First of all, I must say that Buckcherry is one of the most underrated bands of this decade. They have been around long before “Crazy Bitch” ever graced the Top 40, and their gritty, raw, old school cock rock gave them a special place in my heart that was normally reserved for 80’s ringleaders such as Guns N’ Roses and Motley Crue. Their front man, Josh Todd, is a scrawny, sexy, tattooed little beast who bounces across the stage, peeling one layer of stylish clothing off at a time…all the while singing about cocaine and sluts. Two words: pure awesomeness.
Papa Roach, in my opinion, arguably gives one of the best live performances of all time. I am not kidding. Yes, I said Papa Roach. I’ve seen everyone from Prince to AC/DC, and let me tell you, Jacoby can catapult an audience into another dimension. Not only is his unleashed energy exorbitantly intoxicating, it’s contagious. Before you even realize it, you are jumping up and down, screaming in unison with the chorus as he pumps his fist in the air and sprays saliva all over his microphone. He ignites so much fire and passion into the crowd, you think you’re on a fucking roller coaster.
We got to the show early so we could mingle with the bands prior to their performance. I was encouraged to bring t-shirts, hats, and bottles of Hot Rawks to give to each of them, so I drug a suitcase full of paraphernalia into the VIP area.
Each band came into the pressroom separately, so we had a limited amount of time to chat and get pictures with them. I had to spark their interest with Hot Rawks within the first few minutes, or else I would lose the opportunity forever.
The pressroom was quiet, cold, and excessively bright with unflattering florescent light. It reminded me of my elementary school cafeteria and I suddenly realized why my 4th grade teacher had looked so damn ghastly. I quickly swiped my face with more bronzer.
The first few bands filed in as if they were cattle, and quickly took a seat behind the designated pop-up table. Each band member had their own Sharpie, and the handful of people in the room would line up to get autographs on their Rock Allegiance posters and shirts. When the musicians had all scribbled their illegible signatures on everyone’s keepsakes, they stood up to take pictures with each of the fans and members of the media.
Sure, I was wearing something that caught their eye, but I knew I had to be witty to grab their minds and really make an impression. I walked up to the table, and when they would start to flirt I would flatteringly respond, “I am confident you are already a stud in the bedroom, you know, being a fabulously sexy rockstar musician and all, but I figured you, of all people, would appreciate Hot Rawks. It is almost as powerful in the bedroom as you are onstage…but not quite.” Then I would wink and hand them each a bottle, with my business card attached. They would immediately start skimming the label and laughing amongst themselves. “Hell, yeah!! Let’s take some right now!” was the most popular response. Josh Todd, Buckcherry’s frontman, looked at my business card and said, “Are YOU Julie Wilson, the Founder and CEO?” I smiled and nodded.
Of course we all sat front and center for the entire show, and each of the bands recognized us , pointed, and smiled. One very excited guitarist even pulled the Hot Rawks out of his pocket and thrusted the little black bottle in the air. No one in the audience could tell what the fuck he was holding, but they screamed as if it was the Holy Grail.
After the show was over, we were invited to continue the shenanigans in a much more relaxed atmosphere. Many shots were consumed and pandemonia ensued. We were popping Hot Rawks like Skittles and laughing till our faces hurt. Before I knew it, we were all eating pancakes at 4am.
Needless to say, the tour left our fabulous city and continued on to the next destination. I had no idea where they were going, but I felt as if I had made the most of my short-lived marketing opportunity. They were definitely going to remember Hot Rawks, and like most of the celebrities I’ve dealt with thus far, I was certain they were going to contact me for more.
Sure enough, I got an email the next day from one of the lead singers. He thanked me for the Hot Rawks and said they appreciated hanging with some real people for once. Then, prior to signing his name, he said this:
“Let us know if you ever want to come to another show. We will miss hanging with all of you at our next gig in Mineral Wells, WV. Hope to see you soon, Beautiful!”
I about choked when I read it. I couldn’t believe it. I took a sip of coffee and typed this reply:
“Mineral Wells, West Virginia??? That is right next to my hometown of Parkersburg! What a fucking coincidence!”
Twenty minutes later, my phone rang.
“Is this Julie Wilson?”
“You’ve GOT to come join us for the West Virginia show, and invite any family or friends you have up there to join you. We will give them all VIP access and backstage passes. The only thing I ask is that you take some of us out on the town the night before the show. We actually have a day off and we are stuck in a small town with no clue what to do. If you are really from there, come and show us around!” It was a voice from one of the headlining bands.
“Seriously? But it’s like a 5-hour drive…” I grimaced.
“Listen, if you can’t, I understand, but we need a tour guide and I can’t think of a better one than yourself. Besides, you’ve got us all addicted to Hot Rawks now and we will need a much larger stash to get us through the rest of the tour! Don’t make me beg.”
This would normally NOT have been as tempting of a scenerio as is seems, mainly because I am a 34-year-old single mother and CEO who can’t just follow bands around like a fucking groupie. That being said, I remembered it was my cousins 30th birthday the next week, and intimate VIP passes to one of the only live rock shows that would grace Mineral Wells, would be about the best present EVER…plus, I hadn’t visited my hometown in awhile, and this would give me an excuse to get up there and hang with some of my peeps.
“Ok, but I can’t promise anything over the top. We will be attempting to party in Parkersburg on a Monday night…this isn’t gonna be easy.”
I packed my suitcase full of Hot Rawks, Patron, and slutty attire, then headed up to show some famous rock stars how to have a good time, West Virginia style.
I arrived at the historic Blennerhassett Hotel around 3pm and was immediately greeted in the lobby by my new friends. After conversing for awhile, we decided to venture out into the world and see what trouble we could get into. My hair had been tied up in a loose bun for the entire road trip, so I let it down and shook it out into a tousled mess. I was wearing a True Religion denim skirt and brown cowboy boots. It was hot and humid as hell so I had removed my blouse and was donning an ultra thin wife beater. The guys were heavily tattooed from earlobe to ankle and wearing a variety of thick silver jewelry, cargo shorts, and Converse in a rainbow of colors. The passers-by were gawking and we hadn’t even left the hotel.
Thirty minutes later we are shopping at the same mall I used to stroll around when I was in high school. I hadn’t been to that mall in over 10 years, and the nostalgia was intoxicating.
We walked into Buckle, and we all started rummaging through their selection of jeans. A pretty little blonde with a nametag that said “AIMEE” walked up to us and timidly said:
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Actually, I am from here,” I smiled and she grinned back. I shifted my eyes over to the long, fuzzy-haired drummer who was standing across from me. “They are just visiting for a few days…”
“Well you don’t look like you’re from around here!”
“I moved awhile ago, but I grew up here and graduated from PHS.”
Her face lit up. “What year did you graduate?”
“Ummm. ’95.” I said in an undertone.
“Really?? My dad graduated in ’93!!! Maybe you know him!!” she was gleaming.
It was time for a drink.
After having a few beers with my cousins at a local dive bar, we decided it was time to head back to the hotel to get ready for a night on the town, I was still unsure exactly where to take these guys, and I was counting on my family to help me out.
We started with dinner and wine at the Blennerhassett Hotel. It was rather ironic, sitting with these tatted out rockers and sipping fine wine while chatting about politics and business. The one thing I’ve learned throughout my travels is to never judge a book by its cover. More oftentimes than not I’ve hung with rough-looking rock stars who were really just eccentric businessmen, living out their passion and following their dreams. They listened intently as I told them about how I started my company, and how Hot Rawks came about. It is moments like these that are rare for a small business owner. The largest talent agency or PR firm or marketing company in the world could probably not have given me this kind of one-on-one opportunity. In my opinion, this how you get celebrities to want to help promote you, when they get a chance to find out there is credibility behind your product, and passion behind your brand.
Okay, back to the evening…we had already consumed several bottles of wine and a couple liquor drinks, so we were all feeling tipsy and ready to go. My cousin suggested a couple of bars, but the musicians were dead-set on a titty bar. Shocking, I know.
“Um, the strip clubs here really aren’t that great, trust me,” my cousin explained, “especially on a Monday night…”
“We don’t give a fuck! We have a free night…Take us to see some titties!”
Their wish was our command.
We piled into two taxis and instructed the drivers to take us to the best strip club in Parkersburg. We ended up on a gravel parking lot in front of a square, concrete building in the middle of nowhere. There was a marquis sign facing the road that that was missing some letters, but I was still able to make out the words:
“ALWAYS H R NG. DR NK SPEC ALS N GHTLY.”
They were apparently out of “I’s”. (In some instances, having no “I’s” might not be a bad thing.)
There was a placard affixed to the front door that read, “Ring Bell for Admittance”
The security guard who was accompanying us for the evening (let’s call him Tiny, for sarcasms sake), placed his enormous index finger over the cracked plastic button and pressed it gently.
We heard a bunch of rattling and clicking go from top to bottom on the other side of the door, as if we were waiting in front of some inner-city apartment while they dismantled a multitude of locks prior to letting us in. Even Tiny looked a bit panicked.
The door finally swung open and a petite 40-something woman with shoulder-length blonde, frizzy hair smiled and welcomed us inside.
“I need to see some I.D. please!” she boomed.
We all handed her our licenses and she positioned a pair of reading glasses over each one to inspect the dates.
“That’ll be $5 each please,” she said matter-of-factly as she handed back our identification.
She took our money and disappeared behind the back door. We were all standing, tightly cramped in a tiny foyer between the front door and the door to get inside the club.
Suddenly we heard a buzzer go off and the same girl opened the inside door.
“Come on in and take a seat anywhere!” she said through a beaming smile. She was actually quite pleasant.
I took a look around the place. It was dimly lit (thank God), and had a stage that lined the left side of the building. The “stage” also happened to be the top of the bar. I could see the rows of liquor bottles that lined the opposite side and two weathered-looking cash registers. Barstools lined the other side of the bar, and card tables with plastic chairs were positioned towards the front of the stage. Even further to the right side of the building were several pool tables and something that resembled a pinball machine.
When our rugged looking rocker crew made an entrance, every single person in the whole club stopped to stare…all 6 of them.
We picked out two tables in front of the stage and made ourselves comfortable.
“We need drinks, asap!” Tiny said.
The waitress scurried up to take our drink order. It was the same blonde girl from the front! After she took our order, she literally hopped over the bar (in a short neon skirt, mind you) and proceeded to MAKE our drinks.
“Is she the only one working here?” the drummer asked, laughingly.
Just then a curvy little brunette wearing a black dress that was cut all he way down to her belly button, came out of the back and walked up to the jukebox. (Yes, I said jukebox). She punched several songs and then strutted over to our group.
She took a seat and propped her elbows up on the table.
“Hey. Where are ya’ll from, anyway?” she batted her eyes in the most animated way. She couldn’t have been a day over 18 years old.
We proceeded to chat with the young girl and she even danced for Tiny. The drinks were going down like water, and we were making my cousin do tequila shots off of Blondie’s chest. We were all laughing our asses off in drunken bliss…
Suddenly, the guy sitting beside me grabbed my arm and said, “did you just see that??” He pointed to the floor by the wall.
“See what?” I asked.
I looked down to see a mouse scamper along the floor by the bar and then bolt under our table.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!” I screamed and jumped up onto my wobbly plastic chair in such a panic that I couldn’t hold my balance. Think about it: I’m drunk and I’m wearing stilettos. I jump up onto a plastic lawn chair. Do you see where this is going? I toppled over and landed onto the guy beside me. We ended up on the floor, laughing so hard that we couldn’t even muster the strength to get up. We were crying at this point, and Tiny resembled a human Empire State Building, hovering over us and trying to help us up.
We finally pull ourselves together and get up off the sticky, nasty floor.
“I think that Mickey is telling us we don’t belong here,” my cousin said, still laughing uncontrollably.
We paid our tab and got the hell out of there.
I still keep in regular contact with my rock star friends (which I now refer to them as “RawkStars” since they are avid Hot Rawks customers). They are still traveling and touring like crazy, but the one thing they all agree on is they have yet to have a titty bar experience more memorable than that Monday night in Parkersburg, WV. J
During a recent interview, I was asked the following question:
“When did you really start noticing significant improvements in your overall well-being once implementing the well-documented changes in your diet and lifestyle?”
During a recent interview, I was asked the following question:
“When did you really start noticing significant improvements in your overall well-being once implementing the well-documented changes in your diet and lifestyle?”
My mind immediately flashed back to the summer of 2004, when I was diagnosed with “borderline Crohn’s disease”, “Spastic Colon”, and “Chronic Irritable Bowel Syndrome”. I was living on prescription medication and sustained myself by eating Goldfish crackers and Diet Dr. Pepper. I was more than sick; I was severely malnourished.
The intense pain I experienced on a daily basis came to be a normal, natural reaction that I became accustomed to. In fact, I really don’t recall a day during those years that I didn’t suffer. Pain, bloating, fatigue, sallow skin, yellow eyes, dull hair, and exhaustion were the best words that described me in my twenties.
The doctors of course gave me a dim outlook, reminding me every time I would go to see them that I could only treat my symptoms with drugs and try to eat as bland of a diet as possible. Oh, and the other thing that was preached at me was not to eat raw vegetables and fruits. Swear to God.
As you can imagine, my condition worsened, and by spring of 2006 I couldn’t take it anymore. The pain was so intense that it kept me awake at night. The medication wasn’t working, and it made me feel like shit. I was done listening to my doctors.
I went to the local bookstore and perused the aisles for anything that would strike my eye. I had already tried just about every gimmicky diet you could possibly imagine, and none of them had any effect on my symptoms. The only thing that seemed to work to my advantage at all was when I avoided animal products, so I started picking up books that focused on a vegetarian diet.
I found a book by former supermodel Carol Alt entitled, “Eating in the Raw”. I opened it up and plopped down on the cold, hard carpet at Barnes and Nobles. I skimmed through the first few chapters and I was immediately intrigued. Everything she was talking about just made so much sense.
I bought the book and read it, cover to cover, within one day. She spoke about the importance of enzymes and how cooking our food destroyed most of its nutritional properties. She stressed the importance of not tampering with our food, leaving it raw, organic, and unprocessed. She also shared her story in which she referenced a book that was written by someone named David “Avocado” Wolfe.
An hour on Google and a couple hundred dollars later, I had ordered a library of books from this peculiar “Avocado” fellow. Little did I know this would be the day that would change my life forever.
I received the books and immediately dove into them. I was sucked into every chapter, soaking in every word and embracing the information. I had never heard of a “raw food diet”, but the more I read, the more convinced I became.
I decided to try it and went 100% raw overnight. I stopped drinking coffee, alcohol, sodas, and only drank pure spring water and raw fruits, vegetables, nuts, and cold-pressed oils. I also periodically fasted on fresh green juices and herbal tea. I became a master “salad creator” and would spend hours slicing and chopping fresh produce, juicing vegetables, and preparing new raw dishes. I also did an intense parasite cleanse which I feel might have been the most important step of all.
As much as I’d love to tell you that I felt fabulous immediately, I didn’t. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I got weaker, sicker, and experienced an onset of symptoms that were worse than ever before. However, I didn’t give up. Continued research had taught me that this was a sign of major detoxification, and a rise in symptoms was common since diseased tissue and toxins are released into the bloodstream for removal through the skin, lungs, and bowels.
I was steadfast and focused. I wasn’t giving up, and thankfully within a couple months my symptoms started easing. My skin cleared, my eyes sparkled, and the pain in my intestines? Gone.
I implemented yoga and meditation and started taking strong herbal supplements such as Probiotics, MSM, Reishi, Turmeric, Chlorella, and Fish oil. I felt better than I had ever remembered.
Adderall. Xanax. Ambien. Zoloft. More than likely, anyone reading this article immediately recognizes all of those words. Those words, along with a plethora of other pharmaceutical terms, are now a common fixture in the English language. We are introduced to these chemical substances from the time we’re born, and anyone not having taken some sort of prescription drug in the past 6 months probably leans toward the minority.
Is anyone else petrified at how medicated everyone is? Does anyone else see the dangers lurking behind every little amber-colored bottle in your medicine chest? I am dumbfounded at the number of prescription drugs that are out there, and even more so at the number of people I personally know who talk about their current medications more than they talk about their own kids.
Our bodies were miraculously created to cleanse, detoxify, and adapt. We can occasionally consume a harmful substance if our immune systems and organs are pure and strong since our body will process and remove the toxic substance out of the body as quickly as possible, but if our delicate systems are overloaded with chemicals and foreign substances, the body cannot process it quickly enough. So what happens? The substances are stored in the liver, pancreas, nervous system, fat, and brain. Your body becomes a cesspool of toxins and free radicals that are bouncing all over the place, destroying everything in their path.
Feeling forgetful? Let’s take a pill. Stomach upset? Pop a pill. Headache throbbing? Pill time! Low libido? Oh, there’s a pill for that too. Do you see what’s happening here? Your body is telling you something isn’t right by constricting blood flow, slowing digestion, and jolting the nervous system, yet we take that little piece of paper to the local pharmacy and fill yet another bottle full of poison.
Ever heard the term, “survival of the fittest”? As living animals, we were designed to procreate. This means we are born with a strong inclination to mate, right? Now think about the last time you were sick. Maybe you had the flu, or a bad cold…did you feel like having sex? Chances are, probably not. Your body was too busy working on healing itself to worry about sex. In theory, this same process happens when the body is constantly trying to purify itself of toxins from prescription drugs. Your libido is smothered, sperm count lowered, and eggs are weakened. It makes sense that approximately 9 million couples have turned to fertility treatments in the United States alone!
I am not saying that prescription drugs cause infertility. I am also not saying that we should never swallow another pharmaceutical pill as long as we live. I think that there are certain instances where these drugs can benefit us, as in pain management and certain antibiotics. For example, if I am passing a kidney stone that looks like a porcupine I would consider taking something to ease the pain until the stone passes. Also, let’s say that I was diagnosed with Lyme disease. I would definitely want to take an antibiotic to control my condition!
What I am talking about is the overuse and daily dependency on chemical drugs for every single ailment. I am talking about the number of people who use their everyday drug regimen as a “crutch” for survival. So many people feel as if they can’t function or complete their everyday tasks without swallowing handfuls of chemicals. This simply isn’t true. In fact, quite the opposite effect is taking place.
I can’t write this without also mentioning the amount of processed food and drink we’re consuming in addition to all the drugs. The plants and animals we eat are contaminated with a concentrated amount of poisons, which has a negative effect on our bodies as well. When are we going to realize what’s happening here? When are we going to start making better choices? When are you going to treat your body like the luxury vehicle it is?
You want to lose weight, have a sharper mind, a soaring libido, and a body free of disease? Then quit medicating yourselves with drugs, chemicals, poison, toxins, bleached/processed foods, and sugary sodas! Eat clean, pure food and take high-quality herbs. Drink clean water and exercise regularly.
Listen to me now: Stop trying to fix the symptoms and start trying to heal your body! This nation’s dependency on pharmaceutical drugs is alarming and quite literally sickening.
You are what you consume. Every second your body is regenerating itself, sloughing off cells and making new ones. What are you swallowing as fuel? What are you made of?
Even unconventional, seemingly no-care folks like me get embarrassed.
Anyone who has ever worked a tradeshow knows how utterly exhausting the days can be. You stand on solid concrete, covered in one-inch carpet, donning 5-inch heels for 8 hours straight. You have to talk and laugh and shake hands and repeat your pitch a thousand times to a shit-load of people, and you’re more than likely hungover while doing it, (most tradeshows are followed by cocktail parties that seem to go into the wee-hours of the night).
I was working one of those shows, promoting Hot Rawks, and had attended one of those after-hours social thingy’s. I was tired and a tad drunk, but still felt compelled to sit in the lounge of my hotel and have yet another glass of wine with myself before heading up to my room.
“I’ll take a glass of GOOD Cabernet…and please make sure to serve it in a glass,” I said to the bartender.
“Sick of the boxed wine served in a plastic cup at the convention hall?” he responded as he proceeded to open a bottle of red.
“How’d you guess?”
He nodded at my nametag, still in full view.
After finishing my wine, I stumbled to the room and collapsed on the bed. My feet were throbbing and my body was buzzing. Just as I was about to pass out, I was startled by the alert of a text message coming through my phone. It was my current love interest, requesting a steaming hot session of phone sex. I hesitated for a moment, then felt overwhelmed with the desire to do just that. (I call it the Hot Rawks/red wine sure thing factor)
So, I started by sending him a pic.
Fast forward. It was another agonizing day of schmoozing, selling, and standing. My business partner had asked some associates to come to dinner with us, and they had agreed. We were both tired, but that’s par for the course at these events.
After the show, we met out in front of the convention center to share a cab with them. Since there were four of us, my partner sat in the front seat and I sat in the back, sandwiched between two men we happen to do a lot of business with. Might I add that these men are seemingly conservative guys, very well-spoken and gentleman-like.
The following conversation went like this:
My business partner: “So how’s the show going for you guys?”
Gentleman on my left: “Going very well. We have made lots of contacts and this has been a great show. How about you guys?”
Me: “It’s gone well for us, too. We are excited about the partnership with a new distributer. Things couldn’t be going better!”
Gentleman on my right: “That’s great! Hey, I heard about your display in the new product showcase! I can’t wait to see it tomorrow.”
My business partner: “Hey, Julie took a picture of it on her phone yesterday! Julie, why don’t you show them the picture of our display?”
Me: “Ok, great idea!”
I proceeded to dig my phone out of my purse while the two business acquaintances patiently peered over each one of my shoulders in anxious anticipation of the photo I was about to show them.
I opened the “My photos” tab on my phone. Keep in mind we are all three sitting, cramped, in the back of a taxicab. The guys are hovering, and watching my phone with the type of fixation that’s reserved for needlepoint sewing, or brain surgery for that matter. What happened next was so unbelievingly mortifying I can’t even translate it in words. Let’s just say that there I was, sunnyside up, bare-breasted and posing seductively. Oh….my….God.
I slammed the phone down on my lap but not before both gentleman got a good solid look at my mammarys, in full view in all their glory.
“Well? Julie, did you show them? What do you guys think? Looks great, doesn’t it??” my business partner said, emphatically.
“We spent a lot of time on that. It’s a real piece of work, isn’t it?”
“Well?” he turned around to see the three of us, doe-eyed and speechless.
Guy on my right: “She’ll look for it later, won’t you Julie?”
He turned and looked at me and shot me a sympathetic half-smile, in an attempt to reassure me that there was no need for the embarrassment I was flooded with.
I cleared my throat, “Yeah, I’ll show you later. Besides, pictures don’t do it any justice…you really need to see it in person.”
Guy on left: “I bet we do.”
So, lots of folks are intrigued and interested to hear my Motley Crue experience. Since the story is quite entertaining, I figured I would blog about it. Warning: this story is fun, and it is 100% TRUE. I swear on my life.
Several years ago, Motley Crue went on tour and decided to grace Greensboro, NC with their ominent presence. My friends and I were not about to pass up the opportunity to get dolled up in leather and headbang to “Kickstart My Heart”, so we got tickets the day they went on sale.
I’m not sure if it was the $15 draft beer at the Coliseum, or the 1982 energy pouring from the stage, but we were on fire that night. Life was good, and we were looking like we belonged in the “Girls, Girls, Girls” video.
Ironically, we all felt the need to pee during the last song of the evening (“Home Sweet Home”, for those of you who are curious). So, we marched out into the corridors and went into the bathroom. We were drunk, but functionable. When we exited the facilities, there was a very large man covered in tattoos waiting for us.
“Hi ladies. Do any of you want to meet Motley Crue?” he boomed.
We all looked at each other and shrugged.
“Why not?” I spoke for the group.
We giggled as we trailed behind this beastly man.
“This is bullshit. We aren’t meeting the band,” my cousin said, nonchalantly, “he’s probably taking us to meet the roadies and the manager. This is gay.”
“Nah, I’ll bet we’re gonna at least see ‘em. Let’s check it out,” I responded.
We continued to follow tattoo guy all the way around he Coliseum, and down the stairs to a little room that was nestled perfectly on the side of the stage.
He opened the door for us and pointed inside.
“Go on in and help yourselves to whatever. The band will be back shortly. Well, everyone except for Vince. He’s going back to the tour bus with his wife.”
We followed each other in the room and he slammed the door behind us.
There was a table set up with all kinds of food….cheese, grapes, lunch meat, it was a smorgasbord of shit. There was a bar with every kind of liquor you could possibly imagine. Oh, and girls. Lots of them.
“Hi, what’s your name?” A groupie girl donning a tiny Tommy Lee t-shirt and a huge hairdo stuck out her hand as if to introduce herself.
“I’m Julie…” I said and shook her hand.
“This is so cool! We’re gonna meet Motely Crue!” she said, in the thickest Southern accent I’ve ever heard.
I looked down to see a white Styrofoam cooler that was sealed shut with masking tape. On the top of it was a warning written in Sharpie: Tommy Lee’s ONLY. Keep Your Fucking Hands OFF.
My cousin saw it, too, and immediately opened it up. Inside was about 24 Coronas, all of them already opened, nestled in ice, and a lime wedge was placed perfectly on top of each bottle.
“Want one?” she said as she grabbed several.
“But it says it’s Tommy Lee’s, what the fuck are you doing??” I said in an anxious tone.
“Who cares?? I want one.”
Right at that time, the door busts open and a very hyper Tommy Lee comes flying in the room.
“Mother FUCK! I love my life!!!!!!!!!!!!” he proclaimed at the top of his scrawny lungs.
He slammed himself up against the wall, and then took a plateful of food and tossed it against the other wall.
Then, Nikki Sixx and Mick Mars followed him into the room. They were much more reserved.
“Dude, chill the fuck out,” Nikki Sixx said in his sexy California voice.
“Performing gets me psyched!! Gahhhh!!!” he yelled and then suddenly stopped as he looked around the room, “Dude, where did all these fucking hotties come from?? I think I love Greensboro…”
He winked at his manager then walked towards me and my friends and bent over to open his beer chest.
“What the…?” he said, as he noticed the cooler had been opened and a few beers were confiscated.
He looked up to see my group, sipping on the Coronas that had been very clearly labeled as HIS.
“Hi. Corona is my favorite. You want one?” my cousin said, as she grabbed one out of the ice and handed it to him.
He remained speechless for about a minute, then all of a sudden snarled a half-smile and held the beer up as if to salute us.
“I like these girls!” he said, looking around the room, and chugged the beer.
I breathed a sigh of relief and chugged mine in unison.
This particular Motley Crue tour was themed after a circus act, and was entitled “Circus of Sins”. They were all dolled up in ruffled, rockstar attire and were covered in white makeup and blood-red eyes. Tommy Lee had sweated off most of his makeup and resembled a melted, demonic mime. I watched him in amazement as he ran around with the energy and tenacity of a teenager.
“I gotta pee…” my cousin said as she tapped me on the shoulder. We pushed our way through the backstage mob and made our way to the private facilities. She went into one of the stalls and I proceeded to apply lipstick in the mirror above the sink as I spoke to her about the events of the evening.
“Can you believe this shit??” I said through a chuckle, as I rubbed my lips together.
I suddenly caught the image of Tommy Lee behind me in the mirror, with his index finger pressed against his lips, communicating to me his wish for me to remain silent.
“This is hilarious! I swear no one will believe us!” she said from the bathroom stall.
I looked over to see Tommy Lee, standing on his tip-toes, looking over the top of the stall and watching her as she spoke.
“You know what’s even more hilarious?” I responded.
“What?” she said as she flushed the toilet.
“Tommy Lee is watching you take a piss right now.”
She screamed at the top of her lungs and Tommy started cracking up laughing. She walked out of the stall and he put his arms around both of us.
“You girls have to check out our tour bus. You’re gonna love it,” he grinned.
A select few of us filed out of the coliseum and into the back parking lot. The tour bus door was already open, and a short blonde guy was standing in the door.
“Come on in, ladies! Just tell me what you want to drink!” he said. He had a twinkle in his eye that was trustful, in a weird way.
My friends looked at me and shrugged. Why not? You only live once.
We all crammed in the bus and found a spot to sit. It was huge inside, complete with flatscreen TV’s and a mini bar. The sofas were made of leather and the windows were tinted black. This damn bus was nicer than my house.
Tommy Lee sat down next to me and cracked open a bottle of Jagermiester, took a huge guzzle, then passed it to me. I took it and then hesitated. I glanced at my friend. She gave me a nod as if to say, “Jager will kill any germs that guy is riddled with…” So I took a swig. And coughed.
All of a sudden, we felt a jolt. We were all shoved forward and grabbed onto one another in unison.
I looked out the window and noticed the scenery was moving past us.
“Are we…..moving?” my cousin asked, awestruck.
“Yes, we’re moving! We are taking this party to the Grandover Resort! Hell yeah!!!” the blonde guy (who, come to find out, was the band manager) yelled as he took a swig of the Jager.
“Oh shit,” my cousin said and then she gulped.
We walked into the hotel and everyone who worked there stopped in amazement. They watched us as our “group” walked through the lobby and piled into the elevator. Tommy Lee was still holding his drum sticks, pounding the air. His manager was drinking Jager from the bottle, and the rest of us were stumbling behind like crazy, slutty groupies. It was awesome.
We got to the 14th floor, which was completely rented out for the sake of privacy.
The room was obviously a suite, two stories of rock star bliss. I saw Tommy Lee’s suitcase, open and baring all. I was tempted to grab something out of it, but wouldn’t allow myself in fear of bad rocker karma. Candles were flickering everywhere, and music blasted in the background. The phone rang.
“They’re telling us to keep it down,” the blonde manager said, as he muffled the phone against his chest.
“Fuck them!” Tommy said and grabbed the phone and slammed it down.
“Who wants a shot??” he yelled, and we all volunteered.
Two more hours went by….drinking, cameras flashing, laughing, eating. And finally, at 4am…we called a cab.
I had been wearing a cowboy hat all night, and Tommy Lee ripped it off my head.
“Wow, you really have a beautiful face,” he said, as he admired me through glazed eyes.
“Thank you,” I smiled.
“No, seriously…I don’t normally like brunettes but damn.”
I turned to walk away from him and he grabbed my arm.
“Do you have a kiss for a rockstar?” he said.
“Nope, but a hug I can handle.”
I squeezed him and then broke away quick as my cousin was pulling me out the door.
“You girls are something else…” he said as he shook his head and watched us as we walked all the way down the hall to the elevator.
There is a huge misconception among many of my newer acquaintances that I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and that life has always been somewhat “easy” for me. Hence, building a business from scratch was not as complicated a task as it would’ve been had I endured different circumstances.
First of all, I am not writing this to have pity or get recognition for pulling myself out of a burdensome situation. I do not give a shit what people think about me, but I realized that by sharing my story, I could possibly motivate another single mom to attain her goals. I simply want to share the fact that anything is possible, no matter what cards the game of life happen to deal you.
Growing up, my family was pretty well off. We weren’t wealthy by any means, but I never went without necessities and was always able to participate in extra curricular activities with ease. My dad made decent money, and me being the only child, I benefited as expected.
When I turned 18 I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of my hometown of Parkersburg, WV. It was a great place but I had bigger plans for myself.
I packed my car and headed to North Carolina with two of my cousins. We all resided in a one-bedroom apartment (how the hell three girls managed sharing a one BR apartment is still a mystery to me today). I got a job waiting tables but my plans were to save as much money as possible and move to New York City. That was my dream.
Then, I met “him”. He was extremely charming and I was young and naïve as hell. He convinced me to marry him, rather quickly (I was 20 years old. Gulp.) For reasons I won’t go into here, I knew within the first few months I had made the biggest mistake of my life. I filed for legal separation and moved out.
About a month later I found out I was pregnant. I will never forget that day. It wasn’t a joyous moment for me. I tearfully begged for the test to be negative. Why me? Why now? I felt as if all of my dreams, goals, and aspirations had been ripped out from under me and stolen for all eternity.
Hesitatingly, I went back to my husband. Not because I loved him, but because I felt as if I had no other choice. My dad had suffered a great loss and my parents were in a terrible situation financially. I had no insurance, and I couldn’t rely on anyone to help me at that time. Besides, I knew that going back to the father was the best option for the baby.
Fast-forward one and a half years later. My life was crumbling around me. I was in a miserable marriage. I wanted to escape but I had no money and an 8-month old baby. I felt trapped in a quagmire of misery and sadness. I was depressed beyond belief.
One day, it hit me. If I stayed I was going to lose every bit of zest for life that I had. I was already close, and as uncharacteristic as it was for me, I had almost given up. How would my son look at me if I crumbled? How would I ever teach him to stand up for true happiness and be something extraordinary if I, myself, settled for miserable mediocrity?
I packed a suitcase and with a baby on my hip, I left. I will never forget that day. My husband looked at me as I walked out the door and said, “What is this, a joke? You’ll be back, crawling on your hands and knees, begging me for my help. You just wait!”
As I walked to my dad’s car (I didn’t have one), he stood in the doorway and laughed.
“Do me a favor,” he boomed, “When you get out on your own, call me and we can compare bank accounts!”
His laughter grew faint as we drove off into the dusk.
I never went back, and it wasn’t easy. As I mentioned earlier, my parents were experiencing financial turmoil and I was not experienced to work anywhere other than the service industry. I wanted to go back to school but it just wasn’t possible.
I finally landed a job working for a newspaper company as an advertising sales rep. I got a good reference from a friend who worked there and was able to get my foot in the door. My measly start-up salary, combined with a couple nights bartending, was enough to get Cameron and I our own apartment.
I couldn’t afford a crib, or a bed for that matter, so the both of us slept on a futon. I had a small television but no cable. I remember taking Cameron to the Laundromat and reading him stories. He used to scoot on the lint-coated floor as I would fold our clothes. There were many weeks that groceries were scarce. I cried myself to sleep numerous nights.
I finally swallowed my pride and went to apply for government help. I still wasn’t making much at the newspaper, and we could barely live off what I brought in from bartending. When I arrived at the welfare office, the woman looked me up and down as if I were from another planet.
“We have nothing for you,” she said through a snarl.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We can’t help you. You have a job. I’m sorry.”
“I have a job?” I repeated, in bewilderment.
She explained to me that as long as I had some sort of income, there was nothing she could do. Her attitude infuriated me, but rather than get upset and discouraged, I suddenly felt motivated. I was too good to accept a handout, anyway. What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t belong here. I was supposed to be a successful businesswoman living in Manhattan! I was supposed to be feeding the economy, not draining it!
From that point on, I dove into my job and really started busting my ass. I would arrive at the office early, and stay late. I picked up additional bartending shifts and saved every penny. I finally worked my way up to sales manager and eventually, after four years of working my ass off for the newspaper, was offered a golden opportunity by one of my best advertisers, Harley-Davidson.
That’s right, I had landed the role as marketing director for Harley-fucking-Davidson. Hard work and determination had far surpassed a college degree, and for the next 6 years of my life, while working for the best motorcycle company in the world, I learned more about business than any University could’ve come close to teaching me.
When I made a decision to start my own company, I didn’t have tons of money in my bank account. I didn’t have huge investors with deep pockets. I didn’t have government grants or a rich uncle. But what I did have was a work ethic that had been ingrained deep in my head, a burning tenacity to create something great, and a deep desire to go to sleep at night knowing that the grueling past ten years were not done in vain, but merely a learning curve in the circle of life.
I’m obviously leaving out many, many details in this story, but my main goal in sharing this is to let everyone know that nothing in life that is worth anything, whether it’s financial freedom or just plain happiness, is ever easy. It takes work. Hard WORK. The great thing is that most people just aren’t willing to put in the hours it takes, so if you are, you’re already ahead of the game.
Sometimes I secretly think about the day I will go to my ex-husbands house, knock on his door, and when he opens, look him in the eyes and say, “Wanna compare bank accounts now? I’m ready…”
But I won’t ever do that. I just don’t need to.
It was Saturday night, I guess that makes it alright…
I had just gotten wind not even a week prior that the Almighty Purple God was adding yet another city to his most recent tour and that city just so happened to be good ol’ Greensboro, NC.
I was thrilled and immediately made a decision that no matter what else was on my agenda for that night, my schedule was about to be clear.
Several of my friends agreed that seeing His Highness perform live was indeed the opportunity of a lifetime, so a last-minute concert crew was formed.
We started the evening at a friend’s house, drinking “Raspberry Beret” shots and dancing to Erotic City. I was dressed in my hottest 80’s attire, complete with a tight mini-dress, white leather jacket, and dangerously high heels. Meow.
We got to the Coliseum and piled into one of the suites. I could barely contain myself as I looked with anticipation at the stage, which was skillfully shaped in the symbol that was once Prince’s name. A lot of fans never understood why he did that, but the marketing side of me always understood at how utterly brilliant that strategy actually was.
Think about it: When he changed his name to a symbol, he was suddenly referred to as “The Artist Formerly Known As Prince”, which eventually turned into, for simplicity sake, “The Artist”. Years later, after everyone was programmed subconsciously to relate the term “Artist” with “Prince”, he dropped the act and went back to being called Prince. Pure fucking genius.
Anyway, I had a few beers in the suite but was purposely pacing myself as to avoid a foggy mind that wouldn’t be able to capture the events of the evening in full capacity. I was about to see one of my favorite iconic musicians perform right in front of my very own eyes, and nothing was going to hinder my abilities to recall every miniscule detail.
The lights dimmed and we scrambled to our seats. My friend and I had gotten tickets amazingly close to the action, right on the rail! I could barely stay seated as I squealed like a giddy little school girl.
The opening act was the beautiful and talented Chaka Khan. She was wearing over-the-knee leather boots and a kickass rocker outfit. Her performance was stellar, and her voice boomed with clarity. I couldn’t help but screech along to “I’m Every Woman”, although I’m positive the guy sitting next to me wished I had decided not to.
The time had come for Mr. 23 Positions in a One Night Stand to grace the stage with his presence. Excitement was practically oozing out of my skin.
He started out with “D.M.S.R.”, then broke into “Pop Life” and continued on with a great set of old tracks. I was pleasantly surprised when he sang a much slower rendition of “Little Red Corvette”.
Finally, it happened.
A guy wearing a suit and donning a VIP badge came to the edge of my row and started flashing his flashlight on me. I looked at him as if to say, “Me?”, and pointed to my chest. He shook his head and reached out his hand. I made my way over to him and grabbed a hold of his outstretched hand.
“You wanna dance onstage with Prince?” he yelled over the screaming audience.
“Sure….I guess so,” I said through a smile.
He grinned at my sarcasm and led me through the crowd.
We somehow made it through the swarming mass of people and arrived at the stairs next to the stage. The security guy had to yell at a woman who simply refused to budge out of the way.
“Back it up….back it up…..BACK IT UP!” he screamed. She finally obliged but not before flashing me a very dirty look.
I climbed up the stairs and immediately felt the glare of thousands of people. It was a pulsating vibe I cannot even begin to explain. The only time I remotely felt this kind of magnetic energy was years ago when I was invited to dance with N Sync, which embarrassingly pales in comparison to sharing the stage with His Purple Majesty.
I joined the select few lucky ones who were already on the stage and started doing what I do best: dancing my ass off. As the crowd cheered, I felt invincible. I was sharing a spotlight with Prince for Christ’s sake! I put forth my best moves, and when I finally made eye contact with the legend, he smiled and winked. That’s right, Prince fucking winked at me. I could’ve stopped right there, threw my hands in the air and collapsed in ecstasy, but I kept on dancing. I looked up into the massive audience and felt their vibrating excitement pouring onto the stage. It was intoxicating. I took a deep breath and stepped back, only to realize there was no more stage.
I suddenly fell about eight feet down to the concrete, and during my fall it felt as if I was in the air for 20 minutes. My arms flailed, my feet kicked in the air, and the only thought that went through my head was, “Don’t lose your shoes!”
I landed on my ass, thank God, since that is by far the most padded area of my body. I was dazed for a moment and then a young gentleman who worked for the Coliseum came over to help me.
“Are you okay??” he asked as he bent down to assist me.
I was in pain for sure and didn’t know what the hell could be wrong with me, but I had one of two choices:
Whine about my ass and ribcage hurting like hell and be escorted back to my seat, or suck it up and get back onstage to finish my one-time opportunity to perform with Mr. Pop Life. I chose the latter.
I ran back up the stairs and joined the other lucky ones as if nothing had happened. After a few minutes of shaking my booty it was almost like getting a runner’s high…I had danced right through the pain.
They finally escorted us down from the stage and the same young suit that had pulled me out of the crowd grabbed my hand and led me to a very tall gentleman who had been standing right beside where Prince performed in front of the stage.
“This is the head of security for the tour,” he said, waiting for me to introduce myself since he had no clue what my name was.
“Oh, nice to meet you, I’m Julie.” I gulped hard as he shook my hand since the right side of my body was throbbing in pain. I smiled.
“You looked great up there girl!” he said through a flirty smile.
“Thank you, I had so much fun!” I responded. I realized he must’ve not seen my fall. Thank God.
“Are you interested in going backstage?”
I hesitated for a moment. Not because I didn’t want to go backstage, but because I was unsure how much longer I could hang. Most backstage parties I’ve attended before were not for the injured.
“Of course I am, although I have a pretty large group with me,” I responded.
“Okay, well we know where you’re sitting. Stay put after the show.”
He led me away from the stage and I dashed back to my seat. My friends were freaking out.
“What the hell?? Are you okay? You fell so far down to the ground…Oh my God!” They were all shouting in unison.
“I’m fine! I’m fine! I just danced onstage with PRINCE! I will be fine!” I kept reassuring them.
“Are you in pain?” one of my friends asked.
“Nah,” I said. Then I grabbed a beer and chugged the whole thing.
We enjoyed the rest of the show and when it was over, I didn’t stick around. I was starting to get drunk but I knew that once the buzz wore off I was gonna be in major pain.
We piled out of the coliseum and drove back to my friend’s house where we put on Prince tunes and relived the concert all over again. I ended up dancing till about 4am.
My assumption about the way I would feel the following morning was correct. Come to find out, I had broken two ribs, broken my tailbone, fractured my pelvis, and had pinched nerves in my arm. Not to mention I was covered in bruises from head to toe!
Everyone keeps asking me if it was all worth it. What a stupid question, of course it was worth it! I get to say that out of 20,000 people, I was one of about 20 people that got to go onstage with Prince…and out of those 20 I was the ONLY one to fall off the stage and live to talk about it. Of course, that’s how I roll. I refuse to do anything half-ass, even if it means busting my ass. ?
The bright side is I can say that attending the Prince concert actually turned me purple. Can anyone else say that?
So, take my advice: When you fall down in life, get the hell back up. You will have a much better time that way.
It was a cold February in 2005. I was having some problems in my marriage and felt as if heading out of town for the weekend would cure everything. I called my cousin and she agreed that New York City was just the medicine I needed. We booked our flights and within a few hours we were pounding the pavement of this luscious city.
We ventured down Broadway and decided a show was in order.
“What do you want to see?” she asked me.
“Not sure, let’s mull it over in the next bar.”
Without hesitation, she ducked into the next drinking establishment and before we knew it we were downing Irish Car Bombs with some locals.
“We wanna go to a show tonight,” I announced to one of the smiling, red-faced gents we were sharing drinks with.
Before he had a chance to answer, a tall young guy with tousled brown hair and a giant Adam’s apple chimed in, “You need to catch a burlesque show. It’s the new hot thing around here. My roommate performs at this great little place called The Slipper Room, you’ll love it.”
“Whoa…burlesque, new?” my cousin asked, sarcastically.
“Well, it’s kinda being reinvented. People like the tease…” he responded.
I looked at my cousin and she shrugged slightly as if to say, “why not?” I nodded back.
“So, where is this Slipper Room place, anyway?”
That night we got all dolled up in our best NYC hooch attire and caught a cab to the Slipper Room. It was a quaint little place that was whimsically decorated with old paintings and dusty velvet curtains. Votive candles sat atop each round table, and a large bar made from mahogany wood lined the entire back wall.
We found a table near the front and claimed it.
“I like this place,” my cousin said through a smile.
The lights dimmed and the sound of a saxophone drowned out the crowd’s babble. We watched intently as the curtain slowly lifted, exposing a toned, fishnet-covered leg, one inch at a time.
I was hooked.
Exactly one year later, I was holding auditions to create my own show in North Carolina. I put ads in every paper and on Craigslist, searching for classy dancers that were desperate to perform.
I was scorned and laughed at for my attempts. Naysayers were telling me that no one would support that kind of show in Greensboro, and that it had been tried more than once, only to flop on opening night.
I ignored them. I was going to do something totally unique, and I was going to do something else that no one had done before: donate the proceeds to a charity.
After months of auditions, costuming, and rehearsals, we had finally prepared a great little show. I had named my troupe The Stiletto Starlets, and was submitting press releases everywhere I could imagine. I happened to get a half page feature article in the local paper, showcasing my troupe and our charitable efforts. It was entitled, “Burlesque Comes to the City”, and under the heading was an ultra-large picture of yours truly, donning full burlesque attire. I’m sure my mom was proud.
We pre-sold 250 tickets for $30/each, and 50 VIP tickets for $45/each. Flop? Hardly.
The craziest thing is that the charity we pre-selected to receive the funds sent me a letter only two days prior to the show refusing the money. It was the MS Society, and they didn’t want any part of what we were doing. Their letter basically said, in a nutshell, the following:
“We appreciate your choosing us, but after much careful consideration, we feel that burlesque is demeaning to women, and do not want your money. Thank you.”
I was flabbergasted, especially since I had sold the tickets on the pretense that the money was going to the MS Society. Gulp.
I had to embarrassingly address the audience the night of the show, but luckily everyone agreed to vote on a new charity. Brenner’s Children’s Hospital won the vote and we sent the money to them.?
This worked out to my advantage because when the press caught wind of the mishap, they were all over it. My troupe got even more exposure and therefore pushed me to put on yet another successful show just five months later.
I’ve been swamped with my new company and have since retired from my stint in show business, but the valuable lesson I learned was to never let anyone stop you from pursuing what you want to do. The only way you can ever fail is by not giving it a shot, and by listening to others who, quite frankly, just don’t have the balls to do what you can. Period.