“We’ll see,” was always my mother’s answer to everything.  “We’ll see.”  It drove me crazy!

Awaking that Christmas morning, I raced down to the living room and frantically searched for a small gift wrapped cassette box.  My first act was to rummage through my stocking which hung on the back of the green and white couch with care. But all that was in there were the usual; lime scented Speed Stick deodorant, a box of TDK blank audio cassette tapes, one of those Lifesavers holiday books and a large blue can of Aqua Net hair spray.  No Like a Virgin. 

My next stop was the mound of presents under our 4-foot artificial Christmas tree perched on top of a coffee table where my parents placed it each holiday season.  Mom and Dad gave up on a real Christmas tree before I even turned 10.  By the time all my siblings had moved out, they downsized to a fake dwarf sized pine that was easily stored in the basement with the ornaments still on it.  My parents weren’t opposed to Christmas; they just were over making a big deal of it.

The new compact tree allowed Christmas to begin with 10 minutes of prep time a couple weeks after Thanksgiving and conclude in about the same time on January 1^st.  I was somewhat embarrassed by the puny tree that my parents always positioned in front of our large living room window so all our neighbors could get a glimpse of my identical holiday shame year after  year.  But that disgrace was always diminished a bit on Christmas morning if I got what I wanted.

In 1984, all I wanted was to find Like a Virgin tucked somewhere under the coffee table holding our fake tiny tree.  In my house, gifts were actually placed under the coffee table where the Christmas tree stood.  Unconventional, but it worked – if I got what I desired.

I started hunting through all the presents, discarding bigger boxes in search of smaller packages that might hold Madonna.  After getting to the bottom of the pile, a small cassette sized gift finally made an appearance.  That better be it!  The gaudy wrapping paper was hastily ripped away.

I tore through the ridiculous amount of wrapping paper for such a small gift until her eyes seductively peered out at me.  More giftwrap came off, revealing a sepia toned photo of a wondrously wanton woman lounging in a sexy white wedding dress, heavily made up and clutching the Boy Toy belt around her waist with her white lace gloved hands.  There it was – my very own copy of Madonna’s Like a Virgin!   The cassette made me the happiest kid on Serven Place that Christmas!  Maybe even all of Clifton, New Jersey.

My parents truly loved me – even if they didn’t give me the kind of Christmas my friends got to enjoy.  So my stocking was hung on the couch and my presents were under a coffee table.  It didn’t matter.  That year, I had something better than a real tree and stockings hung in appropriate places.  I had Madonna.

Some 25 years after that Christmas and many components of my holiday have unbelievably remained unchanged.  My mother continues to put up that same 4-foot fake Christmas tree which she still situates on a coffee table in her new house in a Jersey shore retirement community.  She still hangs her stocking on the couch with care.  And when you ask her something she will still inevitably say, “We’ll see.  We’ll see.”

I also still have that Like a Virgin cassette my parents gave me in 1984.  Of course, I now also own the album on compact disc and digital download. But that cassette has followed me everywhere – numerous family vacations, through high school, into college, to California and back, along with many moves throughout the state of New Jersey and now in New York City.  I guess, in a sense Madonna has followed me around too.

Just this past Christmas, she made a grand reappearance at my holiday celebrations.  This time around, I wasn’t just getting Madonna – I was giving her too. 

First, I gifted Kathy Madonna’s new greatest hits collection.  “I really wanted this,” my sister smiled.  Of course she did.  She’s been a Madonna fan for as long as I’ve been.

Then to my grand-niece Madelyn, Jamey and I created an adorable baby t-shirt for her.  On the front was a retro picture of my favorite singer.  Underneath it read, “I was born a Madonna fan.”  Madelyn did, after all attend a Madonna concert while she was still in utero.

Happily, this wasn’t the end of Madonna’s holiday visit.  When Jamey and I traveled to Dallas to spend some time with his family who had flown in from all over the country to get together at his Dad’s house, she met us there.  

One night after a particularly delicious family meal, Jamey’s younger brother Ryan resolved to keep the festivities going by starting an impromptu dance party in the living room.  As we all busted our best moves, Ryan spun the best upbeat music he could find on his iPod.  When he turned up “Into the Groove” I screamed the loudest and danced the hardest.

As the party began to die down with a few relatives quietly sneaking off to bed, Jamey announced that it was about time for us to hit the sack too.  Ryan ran over and cued up “Open Your Heart.” 

“One more song,” I ecstatically implored and continued to boogie.  After that, we were again about to say our goodnights when “La Isla Bonita” started to play. 

“I love this song,” Kate, Jamey’s sister-in-law shrieked and we all danced some more.  Now it was time to go to bed.  Ryan played, “Music” then “Borderline” followed by “Vogue.”  Jamey showed Ronan, his 6 year old nephew some Voguing moves.  As usual, I pretended to know the dance Madonna made famous. 

By now it was almost midnight.  Kate declared that she and Ronan needed to go to bed.  Jamey once again announced our departure.  Ryan played, “Like a Virgin”.   Hearing the first few chords, I was immediately transported back to 1984 when, basked in the dazzling lights of the small fake Christmas tree in my parents’ living room, I listened to that song over and over again.  I couldn’t go to bed.  Not yet.  And if Ryan kept it up, I might never get the chance.

But “Like a Virgin” ended and I just couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore.  I had to call it a night.  As Jamey and I wished Ryan a good night’s sleep, the last man standing moaned about not wanting the night to end.  “Just one more Madonna song.” 

Laughing at his ploy to keep me from calling it a night, I wondered, ‘Was I that easy to read?’  Did everyone know how to keep my feet moving and body grooving?   Did they realize that just one mention of her and they’d have my full attention?

I hoped so.

“Alright,” I contentedly agreed.  “Just one more.”  Ryan played “Holiday.”  I could have danced all night.

A few days before New Years Eve, I went down to visit Mom.  The tiny fake Christmas tree from my youth twinkled in her living room.  It looked exactly the same.  The ornaments even seemed to be hanging on the exact same limbs.  Actually, they probably were.

Mom cooked me my favorite meal – chicken and ham roll-ups.  While chatting after dinner, I told her all about the Madonna stories I’d been writing.  While relaying my account of the time when Dad took me to a local record store to buy my first Madonna poster, a flash went off in her head and she scurried off to the garage.  Mom returned moments later with what looked like a long white cylinder.  “I forgot I had this,” she happily exclaimed.  “But I think you might want it.”

She handed it to me.  “It’s a poster.”  But…it couldn’t be the poster I was just talking about.  No.  That was long gone.  It had to have been.  “Open it,” Mom championed. 

I unraveled the poster and immediately caught glimpse of a wild mane of hair. I couldn’t believe it.  It was the Desperately Seeking Susan poster my father bought me almost 25 years ago. 

“How do you have this,” I bewilderingly asked.

She revealed that before they moved from our house on Serven Place, Dad discovered the poster neatly rolled up in my upstairs closet.  “He wouldn’t throw it out.  He knew how much you loved her.” 

I laughed remembering the night he bought me that Madonna poster. “Why do you like her,” he grimaced back then.  Yet, when Dad found it in a closet years after I moved away, he realized how important Madonna had become to me and knew not to throw that Desperately Seeking Susan poster away.   Though it was just an old poster with tape marks and pushpin holes; to me it was an heirloom.  A long forgotten treasure I thought would never be seen again.  But there it was, unexpectedly returned to me.  Tears of gratitude welled in the corners of my eyes.

“Thanks Dad,” I softly whispered looking up to an urn on the top of a china cabinet where he now spends his time.  The urn was wrapped in one of my niece Samantha’s hair bows that my mother happened upon soon after her passing.  “The two of them can keep each other company,” Mom supposed as she draped the bow over Dad’s urn.

After a silent prayer, I ambled to the living room and placed the poster under the small Christmas tree on my mother’s coffee table.  It was an even better present the second time around.

That night I dreamt Dad and Samantha were somewhere heavenly listening to Madonna songs together.  Sammi danced and twirled to the music while my father cheered her on.  I longed to be with them. 

Returning to my apartment in Manhattan on New Years Eve, which coincidently lies somewhere halfway between Madonna’s first place of residence on East 4^th Street and her current multi-roomed show palace overlooking Central Park, Jamey informed me that he taped Desperately Seeking Susan and wondered if we could watch it before the ball dropped in Times Square.

“It’s been years,” and seeing that poster my mother gave me stirred an interest in watching it again.  It was very odd that he wanted to watch the movie because I hadn’t yet had a chance to tell Jamey about the poster.  He had no clue.  Maybe this was my father’s doing too.  I silently thanked Dad again then turned to my boyfriend.  “You wanna hear something strange?”

A few hours before the start of the New Year, our neighbors Rebecca and Jessica who I met through Jamey’s best friend Steve a couple years earlier, stopped by and we all thoroughly enjoyed Desperately Seeking Susan.  I forgot how unbelievably quirky and delightful the flick was.  Madonna was certainly a mega star in the making back then and it’s easy to see how a kid my age could’ve become so enamored upon first glimpse of the movie. Back then, I watched it nearly every time it aired on cable and was able to recite the entire movie.  And there, just a bit before New Years, I realized I still could.  “Wow Qraig,” Jessica laughed.  “You really do like Madonna.”

“Was there any doubt?”   My love and appreciation never wavered.  Since that fateful spring day in 1983 while sitting on my neighbor’s lawn when I first heard Madonna sing, there has never been any hesitation about that.   From Like a Virgin to Desperately Seeking Susan, Erotica, Evita and “4 Minutes.”  Plus every song, album, concert, movies and television appearance in between.  My devotion hasn’t wavered.

No matter what changes the world has seen or the incarnations both Madonna and I have transformed through, it’s nice to know that even after all this time Madonna is still the soundtrack to my life.   It’s even more refreshing that everyone I cherish realizes it.  Whether I’ve known them all my life like my mother, or just met them only a few short years ago such as Rebecca and Jessica, people understand that Madonna continues to play an integral part in my existence.

In many ways, Madonna has shaped my life and made me who I am today.  My friends and family know that.  Old school chums and best buddies accept that.  Ex-lovers and current ones grew to acknowledge that.  College roommates and fraternity brothers learned to count on that.  Lisa Marie Presley discovered that.  Siblings continually appreciate that.  Nieces and nephews revel in that.  Mom knows that and Dad did too.  Actually, it appears like he still might.

In fact, it seems like everyone recognizes this detail about me.  Well, just about everyone.  There is one person that isn’t aware of this fact.  And it’s time that changed.

It’s about time she found out.  Everyone else is fully aware of my admiration and I believe it is about time she knew too.

I love you Madonna.  I always have.  Every since the first moment I heard you sing “Burning Up” you have always been with me one way or another.  And you’ve made it all worthwhile.

I just thought you should know.

  #    #    #

This time around for the Sticky & Sweet Tour at the Izod Center in the Meadowlands, we had a few other fans aboard for the ride. There was Jamey – a holdover from the Confessions tour, his best friend Steve – “It’s not bad really”, along with our friends Heidi and Erin who were both Madonna concert virgins.  Oh, and there happened to be one other person there for the concert experience of their life, though she wasn’t a ticketholder.  It wouldn’t be a problem.

The night started off like any true New Jersey concert experience would with tailgating in the parking lot.  The crisp October air couldn’t keep a plethora of other Madonna revelers from enjoying our parties of sub sandwiches, chips, dips, cookies and beer.  As this was the tour to support her new CD, Hard Candy we popped that into the player and indulged in the sweet sounds of Madonna blasting from our car stereos.  We danced to “4 Minutes”, “Give It 2 Me” and “Beat Goes On”.  We eat to the beat too.  We were all having a great time – even our ticketless friend.  “She’s dancing up a storm,” Allison chuckled.

When we were officially tailgated out, the 8 of us easily entered the arena with only 7 tickets.  The hallways were bustling with Madonna lovers – some were dressed like past incarnations of the singer, others wore concert tees dating back to The Virgin Tour.  “Wow, that’s so amazing,” someone said of my ‘classic’ Erotica shirt featuring Madonna as a short haired dominatrix wearing an eye mask and brandishing a whip.

We hustled down to our seats with all the beers and souvenirs we purchased.   Though we had only 7 assigned seats for the sold out show, all 8 of us got to sit with no problems. “This is going to be great,” Heidi proclaimed.

“Just wait and see how great it’s gonna be,” I replied.  “Madonna never disappoints.”

And as the concert got underway, my statement rang true.  Madonna appeared on a giant M-shaped throne while singing “Candy Shop” a track off her new album.  She slipped in some greatest hits – a funked up version of “Vogue”, “Human Nature” featuring Britney Spears and even “Into the Groove” that she sang while jumping double dutch rope. 

We couldn’t contain ourselves as we whooped and hollered all the way through the show.  When Madonna broke into one of her classics, “Like a Prayer” retooled as a massive thumping house-music anthem, we all starting jumping up as down almost as much as Madonna and her dancers were on stage.

The only one not jumping and going crazy was Allison.  It wasn’t that she was having an awful time.  Quite the contrary.  My niece just wasn’t thrashing to the music because she just happened to be 7 months pregnant.

Yes, it was my soon-to-be-born great niece that we ‘snuck’ into the concert.  But it wasn’t like we were breaking any laws.  Women do it all the time.   Concerts, movies, plane trips, busses – pregnant ladies are always taking their unborn babies along for the ride.  I can think of no better event to take your unborn child to than a fun-loving Madonna concert.

Kathy might’ve taken her daughter to her first Madonna concert at the age of 6, but Allison, who has pretty much been a life-long admirer, took her daughter to her first Madonna concert before she was even born.  That kid was going to be born a Madonna fan!

As the houselights came back on two hours later but still too soon for us, we were floating on Madonna high while making our way out of the arena.  Outside, I turned to my niece and asked her the same question I asked over 21 years before.  “Did you have a good time?”

She rubbed her belly, “That was the coolest thing I have ever seen!” 

Two decades have passed since Allison and I first saw Madonna in concert together.  Though a lot has changed throughout those years; our love for the Queen of Pop remains.  Barring cancellation, nothing can keep us from seeing our idol perform live.  Not rain, simulated masturbation, the Pope, New York City, an impending marriage or even pregnancy.  Driving home and listening to Madonna on high, I knew whatever the future had in store, including motherhood, Allison and I would be seeing Madonna together for years to come.

A couple months after the Sticky & Sweet concert, Allison gave birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl who she named Madelyn.  We call her Maddy for short, which just happens to be one of Madonna’s nicknames.  Coincidence?  I’ll let you decide.

I’m already planning ahead to the next Madonna concert tour.  I bet we’ll all be there –me, Kathy, Allison and Maddy.  You see, nowadays Madonna fans aren’t just made they are born that way. 

That’s if I have anything to do with it, anyway.

Those things being my landlord, credit card companies and utility suppliers, all of whom expected to be paid.  Considering I’d just lost my job a few months earlier and was living off the sparse temp jobs that came my way, one that coincided with the time when bracelets would be distributed, I just couldn’t afford to miss even one day of work.  Not even for something as important as seeing Madonna in a live and intimate setting.  Damn my parents for not being wealthy!

While staying at Jamey’s apartment in Manhattan the night before bracelets were handed out, I took a nice long run by the Roseland past a line of people stretching down West 52^nd Street waiting under tarps, huddled in sleeping bags and crammed next to one another in beach chairs.  It was cold, dark and damp, but no one in line seemed tired or upset.  All were brandishing Madonna paraphernalia while chatting with one another, playing cards and singing along to Madonna songs that pumped out of their iPods and CD players.  I stopped at the front of the line and asked the first group how long they’d been there.  “Almost two days,” one of them jubilantly reported.  “Have fun at the show,” I smiled.  “You deserve it.”

My run back to Jamey’s was fueled by the annoyance coursing through me from the fact that I had to go to work the next day and couldn’t wait in that line during the cold, dark New York night with the rest of my Madonna brothers and sisters.  Retiring to Jamey’s comfortable bed for the evening, I damned the clean sheets and dry pillows.  There’d be so much I’d sacrifice for Madonna – if only my bank account allowed me to!

As luck would have it, the next day when people began collecting their Madonna bracelets, my temp job unexpectedly ended early and the entire afternoon was open with nothing to do but bemoan my luck.  “Why couldn’t this have happened a few days ago?” If that were the case, nothing could’ve stood in my way of standing in line for two days to see Madonna.

So, with nothing better to do until Jamey got out of work, I put on my running gear and once again ran by Roseland Ballroom.  This time, the line of hardcore Madonna fans was gone.  A few burly bouncers stood outside the entrance doors.  I stopped to ask one of them, “So are there any bracelets left for the Madonna show.”  Turning on the charm, I subtly flirted with the brawny guy full of tattoos.  Not overdoing it though; I just wanted a bracelet, not a broken limb. 

The big guy looked at me and laughed.  “Are you kidding?” 

I shrugged.  “It was worth a try.” 

On the night of the promo concert, I updated my Facebook status.  “Can’t believe I’m not going to the Madonna show at Roseland tonight.”  Within minutes, two of my friends replied.  “Guess I won’t see you there,” one said.  “I’ll be there!  I’ll tell you all about it,” typed the other.  Damn it!!!  They weren’t in line so how did they get tickets?  But more importantly, why didn’t either offer any to me?  I contemplated defriending them both. 

My phone vibrated with a text message my friend Frank.  “At the Madonna show.  Where are you?”

“Home,” I typed.

 “Madonna is asking for you!  Wish you were here.”

I wanted to write back, “Fuck you!  If you wanted me there so bad why the hell didn’t you get me a ticket using your music industry connections, you douchebag!  I thought we were friends.  Apparently, I was wrong.  Never text me again!”  But luckily that pesky 160 character texting limit put a stop to that.  Instead I typed, “Tell her I miss her.  Have fun!”

The next day, my friends who were lucky enough to have attended the show mentioned how awesome Madonna was.  “The new songs are killer,” said one.  “You missed a great show,” commented Frank.

Thankfully, it was soon revealed that Madonna would be going on a real tour with numerous stops in the New York City area.  And everyone knew for certain that I’d be there.  As Madonna sings in “Give It 2 Me” off Hard Candy, “No one’s gonna stop me now!”

For their sake, I hoped none of my friend’s ended up texting me from the front row.  Especially if I wasn’t there with them!

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Not only was it a great jam, but it was also getting major airplay – which wound up keeping me sitting in my car a lot.  Usually I was happily forced to sit and listen even after arriving at my destination.  Not that I minded, but there was no other choice.  I had to do this.

On this afternoon, I arrived at work about two minutes prior, but the radio station just started playing “4 Minutes” as my car pulled into the lot.  So, I had to sit and wait for the song to fully end.  If not, there would be nothing but bad luck for the tune.

This strange superstitious quirk in my Madonna song listening actually began quite a few years before a driver’s license was even issued in my name.  I’m not sure how it actually started, but one day I found myself not turning off the radio when a Madonna song was on.  It quickly became an everyday occurrence for me to wait until the song finished entirely and the dj started talking, a commercial played or a new song came on before the radio could be clicked off.  I had to do it every single time and soon couldn’t stop.

After obtaining a driver’s license, my radio listening disorder started to disrupt getting to school on time.  Even if I was late for my job as cashier at Acme Market, I couldn’t go in until Madonna’s song was done or there would be some kind of bad luck.  Over the years, this superstition caused me to arrive late for dinner engagements, job interviews and even birthday parties.

One time, while rolling  up to my friend’s place, “Deeper and Deeper” just began.  It was the extended dance mix too.  My friend, who was at the front door waiting eventually came out and tapped on my passenger side window.  I rolled it down with “Deeper and Deeper” still blasting.  “Are you coming in,” she shouted over the music.

 “When the song is over.”  She rolled her eyes and went back inside to wait.  Finally making it into the house, my friend was a bit confused and somewhat annoyed.  I tried to explain, but it just sounded all so silly.  Yet, I couldn’t stop.

It was after this incident that I forced myself to implement some new rules.  No longer was it mandatory to sit through every Madonna song until the bitter end – only new hits.  If it was currently on the charts, I’d have to listen to the entire thing – even if it meant sitting in the office parking lot or running late for a friend’s dinner party.  There was no other choice.

If the song was an older hit, it wouldn’t have to be listened to it all the way through.  So, if I arrived somewhere and “Like a Virgin” or “This Used To Be My Playground” was playing, it needn’t be listened to until the end.  It could be shut off so I could go on my merry way.  But I could only do that during a part of a song where Madonna wasn’t singing.  The radio could be switched off and the car exited, but only during a musical breakdown.  Otherwise, who knows what would happen!

Since these new rules went into effect, my driving life has become a lot easier.  It seems that my recalibrated superstitious ritual still works quite well.  Madonna is still one of the biggest stars in the world and her song, “4 Minutes’ climbed high onto the Billboard charts.  I’d like to think it had something to do with me not shutting it off during all the times it was on the radio – even if I was running late for work or meeting up with a friend.  In the song, Madonna states that we only have 4 minutes to save to world.  Well, in my case, I’ll gladly give 4 minutes or so to sit in my car listen to a Madonna song in order to secure a place for it at #1.

Madonna would do the same for me. If I ever learned to sing, wrote a song, got it produced and it turned out so good that it was played nonstop on the radio – Madonna would happily sit in her car and wait for me to finish singing.  I know she would.

Being a somewhat peculiar reason to eat a particular candy, I never told anyone why Hot Tamales were my first choice at the concession stand.  “I love Hot Tamales,” I’d just say.  “I always have.”  It’s not far from the truth as the taste always enticed my taste buds.  My sister Kathy was also a big fan so whenever she bought them, a few (or the entire box) would find their way into my mouth.  Still, the candy was never my first choice until finding out they were on top of Madonna’s list.

Eventually, picking Hot Tamales became an automatic choice and the original reason for buying them was no longer in the forefront of my mind.  I’d learned to love Hot Tamales on their own spicy merits and not just because Madonna enjoyed them.

Years later after incorporating Hot Tamales into my movie theater diet, the true reason I ate them once again became a hot issue.  It happened one afternoon while hanging out with Jamey and his best friend Steve.  Knowing each other since college, they were like two gay peas in a pod. They watched the same tv shows, listened to the same music, knew the same people and even quoted the same movies.  One of their favorite quotes incidentally came from Truth or Dare. 

It’s in a scene where Madonna was reintroduced to her childhood friend, Moira.  After the singer tells the world that Moira was the girl who taught her how to use a tampon and even finger fucked her – a fact that Moira denies remembering, the two meet in the hallway of a hotel before Madonna runs off to rehearsal.  In the short span of their time together, Moira asks her old friend to be a godmother to her unborn baby and gives her a large painting.  They briefly hug before Madonna scampers off.

Later, Madonna looks at the painting and reveals its title, ‘Madonna and Child.’  “No pun intended,” she quips.  With a slight inflection in her voice she adds, “It’s not bad really.”  That’s what Jamey and Steve always like to quote. 

If they are at brunch and Steve asks Jamey how his omelet is, Jamey could reply, “It’s not bad really.”  When they are listening to a new CD, Steve might remark, “It’s not bad really.”  If Jamey cooked a nice chicken chili for dinner, Steve will say, “It’s not bad really.”  You get the idea. 

It’s a rather catchy quote.  I picked it up myself and found it can be used in a number of situations.  At work, home, with Mom – it fits in many occasions.  You could even say it a bit sarcastically and still sound sincere.  “So Qraig, how is the new temp job?” 

“It’s not bad really.”

In any event, that afternoon we decided to go see a movie.  But beforehand, Jamey wanted to stop at the local Duane Reade and pick up a few snacks.  Besides the popcorn and fountain drinks which are overpriced but need to be bought at the theater, candy and other treats could be purchased somewhere else and snuck in.  I didn’t want to spend any entire paycheck on one trip to the movies!  The temp job didn’t pay that much.

It was there in the candy aisle when something magical happened between me, my boyfriend and his best friend.  As we scanned the sweet goodies, Steve cheered and grabbed for some candy.  “Hot Tamales,” he happily called out. 

“Just like Madonna eats,” Jamey added.

“Wait, what?” I asked.

Steve informed me that he and Jamey always got Hot Tamales when going to the movies together in honor of Madonna.  Jamey nodded in unison.

“Wow!” That’s why I eat them too.”

Jamey laughed.  “I thought that was probably the reason.”  He grabbed for a second box.

I couldn’t believe that there were others out there eating Hot Tamales for the same reason I ate them.  And one of them was my boyfriend!

It was at that moment when a realization hit me.  I had indeed met my soul mate…and his best friend.  To quote the immortal words of Madonna, “It’s not bad really.”

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When they realized adoption was on the forefront of both their minds, they charged forward with a vengeance.

Their quest for an African adoption hit a slight snag when a recommendation letter from a friend had not been received by adoption officials.  Our friends needed another letter or they’d risk not getting put on a list of prospective parents and having to wait years before they could reapply.  Unfortunately, the person who wrote the first one was currently out of the country.  That was where Jamey and I came in.  We gladly agreed to write them a new letter.  “Of course,” Jamey said.  When they told us the letter was needed the next afternoon we assured them it was no problem.

It was an easy letter to write.  This couple is one of the most caring, loving and compassionate that we know.  They dote on their daughter and give her all the love they can.  To quote our letter, “Whether it’s the affectionate bond they share with one another or the adoration they show toward their amazing 3 year old daughter, our friends never fail to impress with their genuinely tender and compassionate hearts.”

We ended our letter by saying, “We can strongly affirm that everyone in this adoption process would benefit – and they all deserve it.”

When finished, Jamey and I knew we created a masterpiece.  There’d be no way the adoption committee could read our heartfelt letter and turn down our friends.  Not that our letter would be the only deciding factor.  Our friends really are the most wonderful people out there.  But a glowing recommendation like ours in their file would only solidify the deal.

I told Jamey that if Madonna ever chose to adopt again, she should use us as references.  With letters of recommendation like ours, she’d never run into another adoption obstacle again.

In a sidebar, the journalist picked out some of the current stars of music and rated their chances of getting into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame when they reached their 25 year recording career milestone.

The writer mentioned singers like Paula Abdul and Milli Vanilli.  Their chances were rather low.  Up a bit higher were the likes of Bon Jovi, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Janet Jackson.  But, the one person who scored a 99% chance of being inducted was Madonna.  That made me happy until I noticed the year she qualified.

2008.  About 20 years away from that moment. 20 years!  I was barely 17.  20 years was twice my age plus three.  There would be whole other lifetime to live.  20 years!  It seemed liked forever away and I even wondered if we’d all be around, let alone Madonna and the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

Well, 20 years later arrived a lot sooner than anticipated.  We were all still here.  I was 20 years older though barely felt it.  Madonna was still around too and 20 years older though she sometimes didn’t act it.  So was the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame – but now 20 years later with an actual museum in Cleveland to call home.

On March 10, 2008 Madonna was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame along with: The Dave Clark Five, Leonard Cohen, John Mellencamp and The Ventures.  I tried my hardest to get press tickets to the event, even claiming to be a big time reporter for a friend’s upstart social networking website.  It didn’t work and I ended up watching Madonna make her speech from the place I’ve watched her many times before –my couch.  She thanked everyone who helped get her to where she was.  She forgot to mention me.

Oh well.

It’s amazing how I can still picture that moment – vividly remember reading that article and wondering if Madonna really did have a 99% chance – even 20 years on.  That writer got it absolutely right about her.

It’s probably a safe bet to say he got it right about Paula and Milli Vanilli too.

My last marathons – the 2001 and 2002 NYC Marathons were run in 4:58 and 4:28 respectively.  Back then, I barely trained, still smoked heavily and was about 50 lbs. overweight.  My body wasn’t in prime shape to run a marathon.  But I did.  Twice.

In 2005, I started running on a regular basis, quit smoking and trimmed down to 170 lbs.  So I was confident in my ability to run much better in the next marathon.  But, I just didn’t have a reason to want to do better.

Then Jamey came along.

Jamey and I had been dating for about a year.  Though we were having a great time together, one thing was bugging me.  It felt as if Jamey had done and continued to do a lot of impressive things in his life.  Me, on the other hand was pretty much a slacker. 

Jamey had a great job as a graphic designer.  Mine was about to be eradicated in a massive planned lay-off.  He toured the world with a semi-famous band.  I barely left the country.  He had an amazing apartment in New York City.  My apartment in East Rutherford, NJ was basically a hovel.  Jamey was an impeccable dresser with closets full of trendy duds.  My daily outfit consisted of same oversized jeans pretty which were worn even to work.

Out on a run, I heard that voice again, “We can do it.”

That voice convinced me to run in another marathon.

The National DC Marathon was my top pick for a few reasons.  First off, other marathons didn’t seem to work with my plan.  The NYC Marathon wasn’t an option as the deadline to enter had already passed.  Other marathons, like the Philadelphia and Chicago were still months away.  And though I was a proud son of the state, running the New Jersey Marathon didn’t sound like it would impress anyone.

I could’ve flown us somewhere exotic and really impressed the man by running in some foreign marathon, maratona or futás.  But considering my job was about to be eliminated in a few weeks, going broke to run 26.2 miles wouldn’t impress Jamey.  It might just scare him off.

“We can do it.”

So, I was absolutely thrilled when scanning a running website to find the inaugural National DC Marathon was set to take place in Washington DC at the end of March.  It couldn’t have been more perfect!

Another reason for choosing the National Marathon was we could also visit Jamey’s brother, sister-in-law and young nephews who lived in DC.  This was something Jamey loved to do.  Ever since they moved to DC, Jamey had been a regular visitor to his brother’s home.  Not having a car he’d usually trek down there by bus and never fretted about it since he adored seeing his nephews so much.  But finding out I had a car and didn’t mind driving down to DC for visits, Jamey loved going even more. 

Now I was giving him another excuse to go down.   I’d be doubly impressing Jamey.  “We can do it!” 

I registered for the race.

All was working out perfectly.  Well, except for the fact that it was mid-February and I hadn’t been training for a marathon taking place on March 24^th.  Though I’d been running consistently, that was much different than preparing for a marathon.  That involved speed work, increasing mileage and strength training.  But my mind was set to run the 26.2 miles in DC.  There were people to impress. 

“We can do it.”

So the evening after signing up for the marathon, I got home from work, changed into my running gear and ran for 2 hours.  There.  Training had officially begun.  That night I heard that little voice many times.

 “Baby we can do it.  We can do it alright.”

Though he was excited to see me run a marathon, when I first told him of my plan, Jamey asked, “Are you sure you are ready though?”

“Hell yeah!”  I decided to run home from work every night until the week of the marathon.  Work was only 8 miles from my apartment.  How hard could it possibly be?

The first few nights were cold, but not so bad.  Neither were the next few.  But by the end of the second week as my legs began to ache, the rest of me was asking what I got myself into.  But since the news of my marathon already spread from to tell his brother in DC, there was no backing out now.  Thankfully that little voice was still cheering me on during my evening runs.

“We can do it.”

By the time marathon weekend rolled around, I felt ready.  Like it or not, I was going to have to run the 26.2 miles with Jamey and his family along the way to cheer me on.  Thankfully, that little encouraging voice was loaded onto my iPod.  Standing at the starting line, it was all cued up to play.

Pre-race preparations and weather conditions had been very nerve wracking.  No one was sure where the race would begin and runners stood around in the parking lot wondering where to go.  Then the sky unexpectedly opened and we scattered trying to find shelter from the drenching rain.  But it didn’t help.  We all got soaked.

Officials eventually got us all to the starting line and we were ready to go.  When the gun fired, I pressed play on my iPod and started off with all the other runners, plodding our way over the starting line with rain soaked sneakers and socks.

At first, my ears filled with the ringing of an alarm.  That’s how it always started.  Then music began almost timidly as I and the thousands of other runners slowly progressed forward.  This was followed by the voice of Madonna sounding trippy, spacey and surreal singing about it all being an illusion and there is much confusion.

The beat began to pump as we picked up the pace.  I was now out on the streets of DC, feeling confident and alive.  Madonna was about to encourage me like she had been since deciding to embark on this fantastic endeavor.

We can do it!

Yes, Madonna was that little voice in my head the whole time and her encouragement stemmed from a hidden gem on her Confessions on a Dance Floor album titled, “Get Together.” 

We can do it, Madonna!  Just seconds into the marathon and I was self-assured, ready to impress and break personal records!  About a minute into the race with hopefully only 239 more minutes to go, Madonna asked, “Do you believe I can makde you feel better?”

 “I feel great at the moment, Madonna.  Ask me again at the halfway point.”

The “Get Together” baseline continued to throb.  It was enthralling and made me believe my legs could run forever.  But the song is only 5 minutes long and ends with Madonna singing that if it is bitter at the start, then it’s much sweeter in the end. 

With the initial uneasiness, confusion and soggy sneakers at the start of the race, I was hoping that it would, indeed be sweeter in the end.  Only 26 more miles until I found out!

Though my iPod was loaded with hundreds of other songs to get me through my first marathon in 5 years, it was “Get Together” I kept going back to every time a boost was needed.

We can do it!

I scanned the sidelines for Jamey and his family and began to worry near the midway point when he hadn’t appeared yet. Maybe they overslept.  Maybe the weather deterred them.  Maybe they just didn’t want to see me run.

I found myself skipping back to Madonna while running through Rock Creek Park and during my ascent the 24^th Street hill at Mile 20.

Just a hill on any normal day, today it looked like Mt. Kilimanjaro.  As I slowly – very slowly made my way up, so many runners in front of me had decelerated down to a crawl.  Some stopped all together in order to catch their breath.  ‘What sadistic fuck decided to include this mountain in the route,’ I huffed and puffed.

At least Madonna was there with me, encouraging me up to the top.

I didn’t know if she’d be enough and wasn’t sure I could make it up the hill.  My pace slowed to the bare minimum as Madonna once again sang, about it being sweeter in the end.

I actually began to doubt her.  That was how spent I was.   Hitting ‘Repeat’ on my iPod, the song started again. We can do it!

My head was spinning and my legs were about to buckle.  Looking up to see how much farther I had to climb; I saw him.  At the top of the 24^th Street hill was Jamey!  He was there with his brother and two nephews and they were all holding signs that read, “GO QRAIG!!”  I joyously laughed out loud.  It was one of the most wonderful things I’d ever seen.

They saw me and started cheering, “Go Qraig Go!”

Madonna whispered in my ear, asking if she could make me feel better.  Well, if she was standing at the top of 24^th Street in DC at that very moment with her brother and two young nephews and they were all cheering while holding signs that read, “GO QRAIG!” then the answer to that question would unequivocally be “YES!”

My pace picked up slightly in order to reach Jamey at the top of the hill before death set in.  I struggled.  They cheered.  Madonna sang.  It was just enough to get me to the summit where Jamey met me with a big hug and cheered, “I’m so proud of you!”

Now, I just needed to keep going if this marathon was going to be finished in less than 4 hours!

“I’ll see you at the finish line,” Jamey said.

“You’re gonna be there too?”

“Of course!”

He was quickly rising up the ranks of the coolest people I knew.  With that revelation he officially entered the Top 5 which already included Dad and Madonna.

The next few miles would’ve been sheer torture if not for memories of Jamey’s cheering section and Madonna continuing to push me through.  By mile 25, the marathon volunteers really started rooting us all on to the finish.  “One more mile,” they shouted through bullhorn.  “You can do it!”

God, I hoped Madonna was right about this whole ordeal being sweet at the end.

Realizing that if I ran as fast as I could for the last mile, this race could be completed in less than 4 hours.   My body felt like it was breaking down though.  My knees were aching, my feet were numb and a full collapse could happen at any moment.  Plus, delirium was setting in.

Then once again, I saw Jamey’s adorable face in the crowd!  “You can do it,” he cheered!

“Baby we can do it,” Madonna sang!

“You’re almost there,” a volunteer shouted through a bullhorn!  All these voices cheering me on, mixing together as the finish line came into view.  My body ached all over and my mind spun out of control.

Getting close to Jamey, I smiled and pointed toward the parking lot as I deliriously yelped, “THE CAR IS PARKED OVER THERE!!!”

“What!?!?”

My vision blurred as I wearily kept running toward the end of the race.  With it now clearly in my hazy sights, I took one last deep breath, mustered up all my strength and sprinted.  Stumbling over the finish line, the large digital clock read  3:53:17!

I had done it!  I finished the race in less than 4 hours!  Madonna was right.  It was much sweeter in the end.

Mission One: Accomplished.

It was right after this when things get rather foggy.  I don’t remember collecting my medal or getting the timing chip clipped from my sneaker.  Nor do I remember meeting up with Jamey.

My next memory was of standing in the parking lot with a beer in one hand, a bagel in another, a medal around my neck and feeling sick to my stomach.

“I knew you could do it,” Jamey said.  “I’m so proud of you.”

I smiled and quoted Madonna.  “If it’s bitter in the start, it’s sweeter in the end.”

My boyfriend looked at me oddly.  “Are you speaking crazy again?”

“Again?”

Jamey chuckled.  “Do you remember what you said to me when you saw me at the end of the race?”

I couldn’t recall.

“Well, you pointed over the parking lot and shouted, ‘The car is over there!’”  He started laughing.

“I did?”

“You did!”  And he laughed some more. “You’re crazy!”  He leaned over and gave me a kiss.

“But were you impressed?”

 “Of course!”

Mission Two: Accomplished.  

On the drive home, even though pain riddled my body I still feel amazingly good.  I was proud that both my tasks were successfully accomplished.  Now I could say I ran a marathon in under 4 hours and impressed my boyfriend in the process. 

And most of the credit has to go to Madonna for routing me on.

Baby we can do it

I did it!  But Madonna always knew I could.

Nor was it the people I was traveling with.  Though they weren’t savvy NYC goers like me, Kathy and Allison felt more than confident with me getting them to our destination via public transportation in one piece.  And it wasn’t even the event we were attending that had my nerves frayed.  We were all excited about it and had been to this event together many times before. Actually, it had become sort of a family tradition.  This go round it was called, The Confessions Tour. 

Yes, it was time again for a Madonna concert and we couldn’t wait!  But with no stops at the Meadowlands, we had to travel to Madison Square Garden to see the Queen of Pop.  But like I mentioned, none of that was making me hesitant.

What had me so nerve-racked was the meeting due to take place right before the concert.  A meeting I’d planned, but was still tense over.  You see, right before the show, my sister and niece were going to meet my new boyfriend, Jamey for the first time.  They never met him before.  In fact, they’d never met any previous boyfriends before.  At 35 years old, I had yet to introduce a single guy to any member of my family.

But Jamey was proving to be different from most others.  When we first met on a frigid afternoon that previous February, I could feel an instant attraction and connection.  Even before our first date ended, it was clear he was a keeper.  As we continued dating, I knew I’d love to introduce him to my family.  I asked to go with me to Allison’s wedding, which just happened to be taking place 5 days after the Madonna concert. 

There was really no better place for the bride-to-be and her mother to meet the man who’d be accompanying me to the wedding than at a Madonna concert.  A better (or gayer) opportunity couldn’t have presented itself.

Now, I wasn’t nervous about Kathy and Allison finding out about my homosexuality.  That was an issue dealt with years ago and luckily there were no major family problems to deal with.  They were all very supportive.  Mom did mention that she was sad for me because she thought being gay was, “…a lonely life,”   but maybe when she met Jamey and got to know him a bit, she’d think differently.

Of course, after telling my parents I’d be taking Jamey to my niece’s wedding over my original planned guest – a second cousin also named Allison (who was more than fine with me taking my boyfriend), my mother questioned, “Is Jamey a boy or a girl?” 

“He’s a guy, Mom.”

“Oh.  Do Kathy and Allison know?”

Of course they did.  Kathy was the first one I told and she in turn phoned her daughter.   Allison immediately called to say she was eager to meet Jamey at the wedding.

“Well,” I commented.  “You’re going to meet him sooner than that at the Madonna concert.”

She was even more excited for that!

On the train ride to Penn Station, I tried to disguise my anxiety about the impending meeting as anticipation for the show.  “I hear she does some amazing songs this time around,” I told Kathy and Allison.  “A bunch of classics!”  They nodded in unison.  Maybe they were a tad bit nervous too.

We arrived at Madison Square Garden with plenty of time before the show and, like the perfect boyfriend he was proving to be, Jamey was waiting with a giant smile on his face.  Not that it should have mattered but, I felt a little weird giving him a kiss in front of Kathy and Allison.  He probably did too because our normal way of greeting with a kiss on the lips and a warm hug came out this time like a sloppy peck on the cheek and a clumsy chest bump. 

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” Jamey replied.  I motioned to Kathy and Allison.

“So, this is Jamey.”

“Nice to meet you,” the three awkwardly said in unison.  Then we all laughed and started over.

Jamey reached out his hand to Kathy.  “I’ve heard a lot about you.”  She smiled.  My boyfriend then shook hands with Allison.  It was all still feeling a wee bit weird.  Thank God for Madonna.  She’ll know what to do.

And the woman did not fail me.

We entered MSG, grabbed a few beers, a tour program and took our seats.  The show didn’t start for a while so we sipped our brews, read through the tour book and talked.  “Have you seen Madonna before,” Kathy asked Jamey. 

He had.  “I saw the Drowned World tour a few years ago,” he said referring to the only concert Kathy, Allison and I missed because Madonna cancelled the show we had tickets for.

As we all sat quietly for a moment remembering that awful day, Jamey asked Kathy and Allison, “You’ve seen Madonna before, right?”  And they went right into ‘our Madonna concert history’ – how we first saw her in 87 during a rainstorm.  How our seats were behind the stage for Blond Ambition.  How she cancelled on us in 2001 and how she redeemed herself during the Re-Invention Tour.  “We saw all of them together,” Allison proudly added.

“Keep it together,” Jamey agreed directly quoting a Madonna hit from the early 90s.  A boy who quoted Madonna songs?  Man, I was falling hard.

At that moment, the lights dimmed and the stage illuminated to life.  The show was about to begin.

Though concentrating heavily on the amazing songs featured on Confessions on a Dance Floor, Madonna sprinkled the concert with such classics as “Ray of Light”, “Erotica” and even “Like a Virgin” that she performed dressed as an equestrian with riding crop and ‘rode’ around on a few male dancers dressed as leather bound horses.

Years later, Jamey and I would adapt that look when we needed costumes for an S&M fetish themed Halloween party.  Jamey was the macabre and brooding rider while I was the sinister and sexy ‘dark horse’. 

“Who rides who,” a drunken hipster asshole asked us on the subway trip to Brooklyn where our party was taking place.  We clearly were the best dressed at the soiree that night.  But back at the concert, we were all just thrilled to hear “Like a Virgin” performed in concert since the singer once professed she’d never sing that song again. 

One of my favorite tracks from Confessions on a Dance Floor was “Jump” and upon hearing the opening bars, I got up and cheered.  The dancers performed a stunning routine of parkour, which is an extremely physical form of activity where an individual jumps and climbs up and over obstacles like walls, buildings and, in this staged version bars and platforms.  It was breathtaking.

Are you ready to jump, Madonna asked.  Don’t ever look back and just take her hands, she instructed.  And get ready to jump.

The most controversial moment in the concert came when Madonna sang “Live to Tell” from a giant mirrorball-esque cross on center stage.  By now, people were claiming it was Madonna’s attempt to shock, stay relevant or even try to offend religious beliefs, but the Madonna fans that went and saw the show knew that none of these were actually the case.  Just like other concert ‘controversies’ from the past, Madonna wasn’t doing them to get her name in the news or to scandalize or disrespect anyone.  She did such acts to educate, entertain and keep the spirit of Freedom of Speech alive!  Each time she did so, Madonna made sure to create an absolutely stunning visual for all of her fans who paid to come see her perform.  Yes, the mirrorballed cross was a masterpiece.

As the concert continued there were some more surprises along the way.  One was the truly imaginative mixing of her 2000 hit, “Music” with the dance floor classic, “Disco Inferno”.  She was not just reinventing herself this time, but her music too. 

Ending the concert with an amazing mash-up of old – “Lucky Star” and new – “Hung Up”, I looked over at my niece, sister and boyfriend who were all standing and swaying to the music.  At one point Jamey looked over at Allison and they both smiled.

It was then I realized that just like Madonna, I was bringing old and new together, mixing it up and creating something fresh.  And it sounded great!

After the show, Jamey headed back to his apartment in Manhattan and the rest of us took the train back to Jersey.  On the way home I asked Kathy, “So what did you think?”

She grinned and replied, “He’s really nice and cute. We approve.”  And though I was actually referring to the Madonna show, it was nice that Kathy let me know she liked Jamey because, just like Madonna I had a confession to reveal that night too.  I adored the guy.

I was ready to jump and hoped he wanted to jump too.

Are you ready to jump

Get ready to jump

Don’t ever look back oh baby

Yes, I’m ready to jump

Just take my hand

get ready to jump

I bent down as she pulled my ear close to her mouth.  “You know something?  I like Madonna too!”

“Oh yeah?”  I replied, pleasantly surprised.

“Yes.  I really like that song ‘Hung Up’”.

“It’s a good song, huh?” 

My niece yanked my ear even closer.  “If you wanna buy me her new album for my birthday, you can.”

I laughed.  “Thanks for the tip.”

My niece, Samantha was never one to mince words or not expect exactly what she asked for.  She always spoke the truth.

Samantha was the feistiest almost 15 year old girl I knew.  She was also the frailest. 

Born on Valentine’s Day 1990 with a tuft of red hair and appearing exactly like a tiny little cupid, Samantha perfectly arrived for a holiday celebrating love.  At first, she seemed to be a healthy normal baby girl.  But within hours, doctors discovered abnormalities in her heart.  Suddenly her very short life was in danger.

She was monitored, tested and checked out by all kinds of specialists.  By week’s end, Samantha’s other organs seemed to not be working properly either.  Even before 6 months old, Sammi was in and out of the hospital with varying medical complications.  By the age of one, she was taking numerous medications and wearing glasses for severe sight deficiencies.

Despite all this, she was a happy child who took control of any room she entered.  Samantha, with her tiny baby glasses and strawberry red hair was precocious and adorable, but also had the demanding personality of a devious imp.  She never took ‘No’ for an answer, always wanted things her way and would constantly demand the conversation revolve around her. 

These were, in fact just more symptoms in her growing list of abnormalities.  But by age 3, no one yet had a definite answer as to what was causing it all – the heart condition, the diabetes, the failing eyesight, the ticks, the personality disorder, the weight gain – the list went on and on.

There were doctor’s visits, pills, operations, hospital stays, late nights, sickness and an overall sense of confusion.  As more things popped up with Samantha, the more life seemed out of control.  It was all becoming a massive amount for my sister Tracy and brother-in-law to handle.  The worst part for them was that all the doctors and specialists who treated her couldn’t figure out what was causing all this to happen to their daughter.

I don’t remember how, what or who finally revealed what was wrong with Samantha.  All I do know was how odd and foreign sounding the condition sounded.

It was something called Alström Syndrome.  According to the Alström Syndrome International website, “It is a rare genetic disease.  It affects several parts of the body.  Alström Syndrome is caused by a mutated gene, called ALMS1, which is passed on through families. The mutated gene may be present without causing the disease if a person received a mutated gene from one parent and a gene that was not mutated from the other. If a mother and a father both have the hidden, mutated gene, however, there is a 25% chance that their children will inherit one mutated gene from each of them. The offspring who receive mutated ALMS1 genes from both parents have Alström Syndrome.”

It was all so confusing to comprehend, but it was clear that Samantha displayed all of the traits of someone with Alström Syndrome.  Light sensitivity, hearing loss, heavier and shorter than her peers, heart conditions, diabetes, behavioral problems and varying organ failures.  Alström Syndrome is an extremely rare disease – one of the rarest in the world.  There are less than 600 known cases worldwide.  “It’s like winning a lottery you never wanted to win,” Tracy would say time and time again.

As Samantha got older, problems just grew worse.  Her eyesight completely failed, she became more stubborn while her ticks and body spasms caused people who didn’t know her to shy away or completely alienate her.  But to me, Samantha was my remarkable niece who always made me laugh by speaking her mind and not backing down from what she believed.

She had also taken to calling people – especially boys and men – ‘cutey’ or ‘ugly’ depending on how she saw you after examining your face with her hands.  Luckily I was a ‘cutey’ – Cutey Qraig to be exact. 

Every time I was around Samantha, she would call me by my new moniker “Cutey Qraig.”  And God forbid if I told her I was anything but cute.  “I’m not cute,” I’d say to which she would quickly reply, “Oh stop it Cutey Qraig.  You are cute!” as she sat on my lap tugging at my face and neck.

As endearing as I found this, it was clear to see how some would be a bit uncomfortable by the attention.  Especially when Sammi started announcing that the person was not only cute but was now her boyfriend that she was would soon marry.  The prime target of this adoration was my older nephew, Kip.

Whenever he was around, Samantha would immediately start swooning.  “Where is that Cutey Kip?  Where is he?”  When she did find him, she would caress his face and say things like, “You’re my boyfriend.  I’m going to marry you Cutey Kip.”  This would cause everyone to laugh – except Kip.  Though he was a sport about it all, we all knew how uneasy it made him.  Samantha was his pre-teen cousin after all.

When someone would suggest to Sammi that she couldn’t marry Kip, she would vehemently disagree.  “Oh yes I can.  Cutey Kip is my boyfriend.”  When informed that Kip was her cousin and cousins can’t marry, she’d just shrug. “I don’t care!”

There was something else besides cute boys that my niece adored.  Ever since Samantha was a baby, she really had an affinity for music.  Before walking, she would bop around to songs she heard on the radio or MTV.  By the time she was able to talk, she was singing along to her favorite tunes.  Usually about 85% of the lyrics she sang were wrong and her pitch was way off, but it was absolutely endearing.  The fact that she knew not only the song but the artist who sang it was amazing.

Around the time Sammi was 9 and her sight was still enough that she could make out images and people on the television if she stood with her nose literally pressed to the screen; I was up at her house babysitting.  We were watching VH1 when a Madonna video came on. 

“Look Cutey Qraig,” Sammi shouted while vigorously waving her hands as she did when becoming excited.  “It’s Madonna!!”

I smiled from the couch.  “Oh, I love Madonna.”

“I know you do,” she replied while still shaking her hands and pressing her nose to the tv.  “Why do you like her?”

All the reasons why I loved the singer swirled through my mind.  Then I decided on something simple.  “Well, her music makes me really happy.”

Sammi quickly replied, “And she is so pretty!”

A few months after this, tickets for Madonna’s Drowned World Tour went on sale.  She was stopping at the Meadowlands again and Tracy said that she could score us some great seats.  Apparently, the arena put aside a number of seats for the visually impaired and their families.  Since Samantha fell into that category, Tracy was able to apply for the seats.

When Tracy told me she got the tickets and how close we would be, I was ecstatic.  I’d never been that close to Madonna in concert!  Every time I envisioned our seats and how close to the stage we were, a little happy dance would ensue.  It made the fact that Madonna hadn’t toured since 1993’s Girlie Show a lot easier to handle!

Sadly, Samantha wouldn’t be able to attend the show.  Tracy toyed with the idea, but ultimately felt the concert would be too loud for her daughter’s sensitive hearing.  It would all just be too overwhelming.

The next time I saw Sammi she told me how she helped get me great seats for the Madonna show.  “I’m sorry I can’t go with you Cutey Qraig,” she said.  “But it would just be too much for me.”  Samantha always talked as if she was years older than she actually was.

“I wish you could come too.” I gave her a giant hug and thanked her for the great seats.  

She smiled. “Make sure you tell me all about the concert.  And what Madonna was wearing!”

“Oh, I will.”

In an unfortunate twist, Madonna ended up cancelling the concert at the Meadowlands.  Devastated, I actually cried upon hearing the news.  It was such a disappointment because not only didn’t I get to see Madonna in concert after 8 long years, I also wouldn’t have to pleasure of relaying each and every detail of the show to Samantha. 

There was no guarantee when or if I’d ever get the chance to do so ever again.

As Samantha’s teenage years approached, her tastes in music were that of any typical girl of her age.  She loved NSYNC, The Backstreet Boys, Britney and Christina.  Sammi listened to all the current pop hits on full volume, twirling around the room in a Disney princess dress a bit too small for her and singing way off key on the top of her lungs.  It was the most frantic and fascinating display to watch.  But God forbid if you tried to sing along.  If someone even tried to hum to the song, Sammi would break into a fit of annoyance and whine, “I can’t hear the song!”  It was as if she didn’t want to share the music that was enrapturing her.  Considering what she had to endure, I guess it was only fair she be selfish with any joy she received.

But it was when Samantha first heard Celine Dion sing that everything fell into place in her musical universe.  After the first listen, she was hooked and Sammi was officially a Celine Dion fanatic.  Considering my decade’s long love affair with Madonna that began as soon as I first heard “Burning Up”, I could definitely appreciate my niece’s new found obsession.  It was actually her love of Celine that led me to buying my niece her first Madonna CD.

In February 2006, I purchased a Celine Dion greatest hits CD for Sammi’s birthday.  Unfortunately, when I finally got around to delivering it to her at a belated birthday party, she already received a copy.

One of the many complications of Alström Syndrome was that Sammi really didn’t know how to be ‘tactful.’  She just said what she felt no matter the consequences.  At least she had an excuse.  Most don’t.

“Cutey Qraig, I already have this CD,” she moaned.  “I don’t need this Celine CD” and she dropped it to the floor.  She wasn’t acting that way to be malicious, but my feelings were still hurt.

After we sang “Happy Birthday” – very softly as Sammi had no tolerance for yelling unless it was her doing it –she informed me of her appreciation of Madonna.  It was the perfect thing she could have said to me at the moment.  I found it strange how she could do that.  Even though Samantha wasn’t aware that she was hurting your feelings, she always knew how to make you feel instantly better.  Again, most can’t.

That evening after the party, I returned the Celine Dion CD and exchanged it for Confessions on a Dance Floor.  I made a special visit to my sister’s house the following weekend to deliver the Madonna CD.

When she opened it, Samantha smiled, “I knew it was going to be Madonna!  You know I like Madonna, right?”

“I do.  Someone told me you did.”

“You love Madonna, huh Cutey Qraig?”

“I do love her.”

Then Sammi asked, “Do you want her to be your girlfriend?”  Tracy and I looked at each other and laughed.

“Oh,” I sighed.  “I don’t know if she’d want to date me.”

“Yes she would,” Samantha vehemently stated.  “You are so cute!”

I told you Samantha always spoke the truth.

Tracy put Confessions on a Dance Floor into the disc player and when “Hung Up” began to play, Sammi got to her feet and happily yelped, “I love this song!”

She took her place in the middle of the living room and twirled around in a long purple velvet dress.  It was reminded of the whirling dervishes in Madonna’s “Bedtime Story” video.

Samantha sang on the top of her lungs.  Though the lyrics might’ve not been accurate and her singing was in the wrong key, it was still a command performance.  And I was hung up on it.

About two years after Samantha danced to “Hung Up” my mother called to inform me that my niece was admitted into the hospital.  Apparently she was having some sort of kidney problems.  Though concerned, I figured this was just another in a long line of hospital trips Sammi had to endure over her lifetime.  She took to calling these visits “tune ups.” 

“My body just needs a tune up, that all.”

I talked to my niece shortly after and she sounded like her normal self.  “When are you going to come visit me Cutey Qraig?”  I promised to come see her as soon as she got back home.  Tracy got on the line and recanted the story of how the dialysis was very stressful on her daughter’s weak heart and there were times during the night that even the doctors didn’t think she would pull through.  Tracy then told me that at one point Samantha looked her in the eyes and affirmed, “I’m not gonna die Mom.”

Confident in my strong willed niece’s assertion, I hung up the phone and started planning for a weekend visit to my sister’s house.

Early the next morning, my mother called in tears.  Samantha passed away.   Her heart just couldn’t take all the strain being placed on it.  And it was at that moment my heart completely broke.

That night as I lay in bed sobbing recalling all my wonderful memories of Samantha, the one of her in her living room thoroughly enjoying “Hung Up” boisterously danced through my head.  I could still hear her blissfully chirping along to the lyrics as she joyously twirled to the music.  Through tears, I was actually able to smile for the first time since hearing the tragic news. 

As she sang off key and haphazardly pirouetted that afternoon to “Hung Up,” Samantha was the greatest entertainer I’d ever seen.  I’m sure Madonna would’ve agreed.

That wonderful moment brought me and Samantha so much joy and it will live with me forever, especially now that my niece is gone.

One line in Samantha’s favorite Madonna song simply goes, “don’t cry for me because I will find my way…”  And deep down, I knew Samantha would, dancing all the way there.

I’m still hung up on you, Sammi.

Alicia showed up on a Friday night and though I was so happy to see her and wanted to party all night, my body was run down and feeling awful. I tried to go out with her, but just couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t even stand and hold a beer.  She could tell I wasn’t feeling well and told me to go home. She’d be fine.

 My sleeping body was enveloped by my comforter before 11:00pm.

I awoke on Saturday determined to feel better. To start out on the right foot, so to speak I hopped out of bed by 10 and went out for a short jog.  With lots of Madonna tunes loaded up on my iPod and propelling me down the streets of town, my quick run ended up being close to 2 hours.  Getting back around noon, Alicia was still asleep on the couch.  Considering she didn’t crawl in until after 6, it wasn’t a surprise she was still sprawled out and drooling on her pillow.

Wanting to get on with our day I ‘accidentally’ switched on the tv and turned it up as loud as it could go.  Alicia shot up from under the covers and Saturday was all ready to begin.

Feeling much better, Alicia and I first went to the local mobile phone store and spent the afternoon there – not by choice, of course.  As Alicia was stumbling home the night/morning before she ended up in a taxi back to my apartment where she proceeded to get into a fight with the driver.  During this, she wound up losing her cell phone.   “But, I did find 100 bucks on the taxi floor,” she smiled whipping two crumpled 50s out of her pocketbook.  Alicia always had to craziest kind of luck.

When my friend finally received a new phone we headed to a local Mexican joint and had salads for lunch.  We figured we’d get our ‘healthy’ on before the evening began, because the plans we had for Saturday night didn’t even fringe on healthy.

Full of lettuce, grilled chicken and assorted vegetables, Alicia and I headed back home to get ready for our night out in New York City.  We were meeting up with my old college roommate, Tony and his wife for dinner at a fancy steakhouse and followed by a few drinks at a local watering hole.  See what I mean about non-healthy?

Arriving at the restaurant, Alicia and I happily greeted Tony and Sarah as we were ushered to our table.  Wine was the first order of business.   I left that up to Tony as the boxed wine I usually drank wasn’t served at this fine establishment.

A dinner consisting of wine, big chunks of meat, hearty sides and rolls – not to mention after dinner drinks and dessert can really take a lot out of anybody, but we all wanted more!  So we hopped into a cab and ended up a German bar Alicia and I frequented when she was in town.  We got a round of our typical drinks -German beers in steins bigger than a bunch of newborn babies!  Delicious.

The four of us sat on benches, munched on homemade pretzels and chugged our beers while we shared more conversation and laughter.  All was going great until the evening caught up with dear ol’ Tony and he needed to head back to his hotel.  

After heartfelt goodbyes, Alicia and I were once again alone to experience the rest of the night.  Our first stop was some lame bar that featured a man on guitar playing to a completely empty room.  We sort of felt bad for him and even asked if he took requests.  But when he wouldn’t strum even a bit of “Like a Prayer” for me, we decided not to stick around.

Alicia asked the bartender where we should go next.  “We want to dance to 80s music.” The bartender rattled off a place and we promptly headed uptown.

Entering the club, the dj was spinning Beyoncé.  He followed that with a track from Eminem.  “I thought this was an 80s club,” I moaned to Alicia as we were engulfed by a gaggle of drunk 21 year old college students.

I went up to the dj and requested something by Madonna.  He refused.  Alicia and I left.

We caught the 2:00 am bus out of Port Authority and by 2:45, were in our comfy pajamas and sipping champagne on the couch.  “This is the life,” Alicia sighed.

Not wanting to go the bed, Alicia convinced me into staying up by suggesting we watch Madonna’s sequel to Truth or Dare titled I’m Going To Tell You a Secret that was currently saved on my DVR.  I had already seen the documentary a number of times since its MTV premiere, but wouldn’t pass up another opportunity to watch it.

And just like Madonna, I am going to tell you a secret right now; one that Alicia promised me never to divulge.  You see, toward the end of the documentary there’s a part where Madonna thanks her band and dancers.  “We’ve come so far and everyone’s become better at what they do.”  She gets very emotional and starts to cry.  “I thank you and love you from the bottom of my heart,” Madonna weeps.

On cue, Alicia and I began to ball like babies.  I mean, we were blubbering in one another’s arms.  It was truly a beautiful thing.  Our crying lasted well until the movie ended.  As the credits rolled, we wiped away our tears and called it a night.

Waking up on Sunday and recalling our crying fit, we giggled and blamed the champagne.  When all else fails, blame your actions on the liquor.  That’s what appeared to happen to Madonna during another scene in I’m Going To Tell You a Secret.  Meeting the camera at the entrance of The Punchbowl, a London pub where she, Guy and a bunch of their friends were celebrating his birthday, the singer hiccups, “Drinks on the house,” then proceeds to crack herself up, complain she wants to go home and then ultimately passes out on a bench while Guy continues to sing and party into the night. 

We crawled out of bed late and rushed to the airport so Alicia wouldn’t miss her flight.   We barely made it.

Returning home and without anything on my agenda, I turned on the television and started watching I’m Going To Tell You a Secret one more time.

And my tears fell again.  But that really is a secret.

Take what happened on the Madonna’s 47^th birthday for example.  While out jogging, thoughts of Madonna were racing through my mind.  Being one of her biggest fans and it happened to be her birthday that really wasn’t out of the ordinary though.

But running back home I thought about how Madonna’s fans had never been scared of losing their idol.  Michael Jackson’s hair caught on in the 80s; Whitney was admitted to a drug rehab center and Mariah, well she just went a bit crazy on MTV.  But nothing major had really happened to Madonna that ever caused me to hold my own personal candlelight vigil.  It was truly a blessing.

After my run, I was sitting at my computer randomly searching the web. Typing “Madonna” into the Google search bar as I normally did and suddenly all these news stories appeared about her falling off a horse and breaking bones! Panic rose in me as I opened one of the links.

LONDON (Reuters) – Singer Madonna was injured on Tuesday when she fell off a horse while riding at her country estate in southwest England, her spokeswoman said.

“She sustained three cracked ribs, a broken collar bone and a broken hand but is expected to be released from hospital later this evening,” spokeswoman Barbara Charone said in a statement.

“Oh My God,” I gasped.   Did this happen because I was just thinking about how Madonna had never been in some kind of accident or dire straits that had given her fans reason to worry?  Did I make Madonna fall off that horse with my mere thoughts?  I knew I did.

I mean, I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember.  Once I dreamt that George Burns died. And then he did!  Then there was the time I jokingly commented that Kurt Cobain should just kill himself.  We all know what happened with that!

Suddenly, I realized that I might not be psychic at all.  Maybe I was cursed!

I tried to stop thinking about the woman; urging myself to cease all thoughts about Madonna and vowed to never again visualize even the minutest glitch in her life.   If I did, there was no saying what havoc would be unleashed.

But I just couldn’t stop thinking about her.  She was even in my dreams!

I’m sorry Madonna.  Please forgive me.  I tried.  Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

With fans like me, who needs enemies?

Lucky for her, Kathy’s house fit the bill.  My sister’s 4^th of July party was scheduled for that day and upon hearing Madonna was performing at the Live 8 concert; I made Kathy promise that we’d watch the show.  “Of course,” she said.  “I’m not like Mom and Dad.”  That’s true.  She did, after all bring her daughter Allison to a Madonna concert when she was just 6 years old. 

Sometimes, I still wished that black humored family gossip declaring me my sister’s kid was true.  It could’ve been, if she had me at 15.  Plus, as a child I unintentionally furthered the rumor by calling her “Mommy Kathy.”

My other sister Tracy always likes to snidely tell me the story.  “Whenever you were crying in your crib and I went to get you, you’d say, ‘You’re not Mommy!  Kathy is Mommy!  I want Mommy Kathy!’”

Well, arriving at Mommy Kathy’s it was obvious she was serious about her promise.  Not only were the tvs in her living room and kitchen tuned in to the appropriate channel, she had recruited Allison’s boyfriend to connect to the concert via her laptop.

“You’re so good to me,” I said, giving her a big hug.

“You better remember me in your will!”  That was like her personal catchphrase.  She said it all the time – especially to my parents.  She was serious when mentioning it to them. 

With a tv in the living room, one in the kitchen and a laptop streaming on the deck, there was no way Madonna’s Live 8 performance would be missed.  Unless, of course a raging storm blew into North Arlington, NJ or London where she was performing and knocked out transmission.  But it was a beautiful day on both ends, so that really wasn’t a concern.   I There was also death and pestilence of course, but I was feeling fine as were the rest of my family and Madonna was in great shape.  So cross death off the list.  And pestilence, London eradicated their rat problem long ago and Kathy never had one to begin with.  So nix that too.

There was also no chance I’d hop in a car and drive up to any New York State trailers with no cable!   That being said, we were all set to go.  I couldn’t wait for Madonna’s Live 8 performance to begin.

Live 8 was initially planned by Live Aid organizer, Bob Geldolf as a string of concerts taking place in conjunction with the G8 (a forum involving the governments of some of the world’s largest economies) conference held in Scotland that year.  It would also coincide with the 20^th anniversary of Live Aid and would raise money as well as awareness about the world’s continued battle against poverty.  There would be 10 concerts across the globe, with more than 1,000 musicians performing including; Elton John, Will Smith, Stevie Wonder, U2, Paul McCartney and the classic line-up of Pink Floyd.  Of course, only one truly piqued my interest.

When Madonna was about the take the stage, I made a pit stop in the kitchen for some beers and snacks while Bob Geldof announced Madonna’s arrival to stage.  Sauntering into the living room, I got comfortable on the couch just as Madonna began performing “Like a Prayer.”  And because of Kathy, that is exactly what it was.

Kathy had easily secured a place in my will.  Now, I just have to secure some finances, realty or valuables to actually bequeath to her.

I wonder if she’d like my Madonna collection which includes my copy of the Sex book and a homemade Madonna shaped fraternity paddle.  Those have got to be worth something!

I love you Mommy Kathy!

Raining profusely, I cherished my decision not to venture out to the train station to wait for the train which would most likely show up late packed with wet, angry commuters, forcing me to wedge myself inside so I could then travel to Hoboken where I’d transfer to a crowded PATH train, take that into Manhattan then traipse through the rain and throngs of inconsiderate umbrella wielding pedestrians all the way to my office.  No, I was very content relaxing on the couch, sipping coffee and waiting for Madonna to sit down with The View women.

Around 10:30, the phone rang.  It was Troy who wanted to know if he could come over and watch Madonna with me. The night before I mentioned calling in sick.  Since he knew I was a big Madonna fan, it didn’t strike him as strange.  Actually, his younger sister who happened to share a birthday with me (and Lisa Marie Presley) was also a massive Madonna fan so if he wasn’t getting news about her from me, he’d be hearing about it from his sister.  “Good thing she doesn’t work,” Troy commented on his sister, “Or she’d be calling in sick too.”

Troy worked from home and only lived in the next town over, so getting to my place before The View started at 11:00 should be no problem.  Unfortunately, Troy liked to dilly-dally and rarely arrived anywhere on time.  The law needed to be laid down.  “You have to be here before Madonna comes on,” I instructed.  “I’m not letting you in mid-interview.”

Troy laughed.

  “I’m serious.”

“Okay,” he huffed.  “I’m leaving now.”  As I hung up the phone, a loud clap of thunder shook my tiny apartment and sent my three cats running for cover.  It filled me with an immense sense of trepidation.  What if a rogue bolt of lighting knocked out my power?  Living right across the street from a small collection of electrical transformers; there have been a few times when they’ve been struck thereby causing the electricity to cut off.

Another clap of thunder rumbled.  “Don’t you even think about it,” I told Mother Nature.  Though somewhat confident that in a head on battle between Mother Nature and Madonna plus the women from The View, Ma Nature would lose – I didn’t want to take any chances.

When the talk show began, the thunderstorm kept drawing closer and Troy had yet to arrive at my place.  Boom!  The thunder rolled on.

“God damn it,” I barked referring both to the impeding storm and my missing friend.  If either arrived just as Madonna came on set, there’d be hell to pay!

After the first round table session, the women threw it to commercial.  I jumped up to peer out the small windows on the top of my front door.  Where the hell was Troy?  Another clap of thunder much louder than the last rattled everything around me – including my nerves.  As my fingers closed in around the door lock thereby denying Troy access while Madonna might be answering questions from Barbara Walters, a dark green VW Jetta pulled onto my street.  There he was. 

“It’s about friggin’ time,” I said to myself, watching him park.

Troy found a spot right in front of the transformer sub-station.  Just as he opened his door and was about to make a mad dash for my door, a bolt of lightning shot from the clouds and brilliantly struck one of the transformers.  Everything instantly illuminated in a bright blue white light as high pitched buzzing sound filled my ears.  Before either of us even had a moment to recover, a loud explosion blasted through the air!  I jumped!  Troy did too then he let out a piercing screech, throwing his hands over his head while running across the street faster than I’d ever seen him move before.

I opened the door for my visibly shaken friend who was breathing heavy with panic in his eyes.  My hysterical laughter could not be contained.

“I could’ve been killed,” Troy sneered.  Tears of laughter welled up in my eyes.  Troy looked around.  “Why don’t you have any lights on?  And why aren’t you watching tv?”

What was Troy talking about?  I wiped away the tears and saw he was right!  No lights.  And no tv!

“No! No! No!”  I screamed, picking up the remote control and randomly pushing buttons.  “This can’t be happening!”

“Calm down,” Troy huffed.  “I was almost struck by lightning.” 

“Big deal. I’m missing Madonna!”  My fingers smashed more buttons.

It felt like an hour had passed and still no power – though we really didn’t know how long it had been since the two digital clocks, the one on my microwave and the other on my DVR were out.

“I can’t believe I’m not going to see Madonna,” I moaned, plopping down on the couch next to Troy who sat silently, still traumatized from his run-in with death. 

Just as I was about to run outside and demand God strike me down with another wayward lightning bolt to save me from the painful loss I could no longer endure, the lights flickered on.  Power!

The television fired up.  “Please don’t let me have missed her!”  Switching on ABC, a commercial was on. “Please,” I prayed.  The clock on the DVR reset.  Less than 20 minutes had elapsed since lightning cut off my power…and practically killed my friend.  “Oh please,” I once again whispered.

When The View returned, Barbara Walters appeared on the screen.  She began to introduce Madonna!

“We didn’t miss her,” I cheered at Troy.  “And I’m glad the lightning missed you.”  Then we both watched Madonna do a wonderful interview on The View.

As the rain continued to hammer against the windows, I sat in my apartment grateful at the fact that even after all this time nothing still could come between me and my icon.  Not even a lightning, little blackout or even the near death of a close friend.

The Lush walked out onto the dance floor and proceeded to flirt with a random guy.  He knew The Druggie was intently watching, so he gave the guy on the dance floor a huge, wet kiss.  The Druggie stomped over and called The Lush a “hooker”.  Then he dragged The Lush out of the bar by his hair.

They went home together, The Druggie hid his pants and wallet in case The Lush really was a hooker.  Then both men slept off the effects of their own ingested poisons.

Upon waking, The Lush wasn’t sure where he was. The Druggie was smiling down at him. ‘At least he’s cute,’ The Lush thought. They went to breakfast. Over ham and cheese omelets, they found they actually had a lot in common.

They both revealed they never went to the bar where they met.  “I hadn’t been there in years,” The Druggie confessed. “Thank God I went last night.”  The Lush begrudgingly retreated back to New Jersey but not before The Druggie promised to call the next day.

No one held their breath.

The next evening, The Lush’s phone rang. It was The Druggie who was just about to go to another Grateful Dead concert, so he was tripping on ‘shrooms again. Why did this make The Lush smile? Oh yeah, because he was a mess too. They made plans to meet the next night.  

The Lush pulled up the True Blue album on iTunes.  The title track seemed so appropriate for the situation.  It was their song, after all – the one that brought them together.

As he listened, The Lush realized he was already smitten with The Druggie.  He turned up the music and danced around his bedroom.  Like Madonna sang, The Lush had other guys.  He looked into their eyes, but he never knew love before…until…Was it really happening?  So soon? 

As the song says, The Druggie was the one The Lush was dreaming of.  He felt his heart fit just like a glove and he was going to be true blue…The Lush dared not finish the verse out loud…I love youuuu

When they got together again, the night was almost magical. The Lush brought The Druggie a flower…and beer. They made out between sips of Budweiser. The Druggie pulled out his pot and proceeded to smoke. The Lush declined, “But I’ll have another beer.”

By the time they went out for some pizza and beer, The Lush was stumbling and The Druggie was gig­gling, totally living up to their names. The pizza was really good according to The Druggie. The Lush seemed to agree though it was hard to understand his slurring.

After eating and drinking, The Druggie decided he wanted some time alone with Mary Jane so The Lush returned home. On the bus ride he laughed about how smitten he was.  Then the bus hit a pothole and he threw up a little in his mouth.  He put on his iPod and once again listened to their song.  True blue, baby…

They met a few days later, again at The Druggie’s den. This time The Lush decided to cook din­ner for The Druggie who was already stoned when he arrived. Luckily for them, The Lush brought along a bottle of wine and a six-pack and quickly caught up.  What did The Lush cook?  Who remembers?  Who cares? 

They followed dinner with a romantic evening trek up to the roof.  It was just the four of them. The Druggie, Mary Jane, The Lush and Budweiser.  The night was magical.  The Druggie felt like he could reach up and grab the moon.  He tried.  The Lush wondered why the moon was spinning…and so damned quickly.  He threw up a little in his mouth again, but didn’t tell The Druggie who leaned over to kiss him.  What a perfect evening.

After getting kicked out again, The Lush was on the bus when he realized he met his perfect match.  Then he thought the damned bumpy bus ride would be better with a beer. 

The next date consisted of The Druggie coming all the way to New Jersey.  Thank God he got abso­lutely stoned before taking the 20-minute bus ride and brought more to smoke the second he walked into The Lush’s place.  The booze started flowing…oh, and there was kissing too.  We think.

With two bottles of red wine, the couple headed over to a Greek restaurant in town. They ordered four plates of everything. The food was spectacular. The Druggie couldn’t stop eating and The Lush only took brief moments to breathe when refilling his glass or lying down on the booth bench so he wouldn’t uncontrollably vomit all over the four piles of stuffed grape leaves in front of him.  Again everything was magical.

The Druggie stayed over since the 20 minute trip to the city was far too long for him to go without a toke from his pot pipe. They had a brief scuffle about The Lush’s cat. “The cat hates me,” The Druggie insisted.

“No he doesn’t,” The Lush giggled.

“YES HE DOES,” The Druggie bellowed with paranoia in his voice. Then they passed out on the couch.  The cat slept peacefully between The Druggie’s legs with pure hatred burning his inner soul.

The next day The Lush drove The Druggie to the train station. He was off to Philly to see another Dead concert. The Lush wondered aloud how they could still be on tour. “Aren’t they all really dead,” he questioned. The Druggie was not amused and told this longwinded story about the surviving band members starting their own groups and touring and blah blah blah…The Lush tuned out, longing for a drink and maybe some Madonna on the radio.

Later that evening, The Druggie who was now tripping on ‘shrooms called The Lush to say that he liked him a whole hell of a lot.  The Lush who was on his fourth gin and tonic, responded that his feelings were mutual.  This relationship was bound to last forever.

The Druggie and The Lush didn’t get a chance to see one another for close to a week. They called and emailed daily saying they couldn’t wait to see one another and all other kinds of cheesy stuff like, “We should make mint juleps,” “Will you ever smoke pot with me,” “I’m so happy I stopped in that bar after so many years” and “Make sure you get a big bottle of bourbon.”

Finally, the evening arrived when The Druggie and The Lush were reunited.  Seeing each other they kissed, hugged and poured out glasses of bourbon.  The Druggie toked up.  They watched some television then headed out for some food.  Since the restaurant chosen didn’t serve alcohol, they stopped at the corner deli and picked up a six-pack.  “Better get two of those,” The Lush slurred.

The food was great.  Sure.  Whatever. The beer was tasty and before either of them knew it they were headed back to the same bar where they first met.  How romantic.  They were almost in the same condition as when they first met.  Doubly romantic.

Inside the bar, The Druggie sat down next to a guy he apparently knew.  The Lush was happy to see he had friends.  As he drank, The Lush noticed the two of them talking.  Talking loudly with a lot of finger pointing.  Then The Druggie got in his friend’s face and started screaming, “You disgusting Troll!  How dare you!  I will kill you!”  Maybe they weren’t that good of friends The Lush thought.  He ordered another beer.

When The Druggie stopped screaming at his friend, he turned to The Lush and started yelling at him.  “What’s wrong?  Are you mad?  I told you I was hard to handle!  If you’re going to get upset over me yelling at that Troll, you can leave right now!”  The Lush contemplated leaving but realized he still had a half full glass of beer.  Always the optimist, he shrugged and took a big swig.

Within minutes, the atmosphere in the bar grew very uncomfortable.  The Druggie kept turning to yell or give the middle finger to The Troll. The Lush just ran out of beer.  They decided to go back to The Druggie’s den.  And no, The Troll wasn’t invited. 

Back at the den, The Lush asked The Druggie how he knew The Troll. The Druggie took a hit off his pipe, “I told you that place is one of my local favorites.”  The Lush scratched his head.  Wasn’t he told that The Druggie never went out?  Wasn’t he told that The Druggie just ‘happened’ on the bar that fateful night?  The Lush laughed clearly thinking it was a joke.  The Druggie snapped up on the couch demanded to know what was so funny.

The Lush stood in an effort to find more liquor.  “What’s so funny,” The Druggie angrily insisted. 

“W-W-Well,” The Lush stammered.  “I thought you said you hadn’t been to that place in years.”  The Lush got nervous.  There must be a beer or remnants of a mint julep lying around somewhere!

“No,” The Druggie screamed!  “I said I have been going there for years!  Are you calling me a liar?”

“Oh,” The Lush replied. “A liar? No. I-I-I must have heard you wrong.” He looked under the sofa.

Maybe a beer can with a swig left in it rolled under there.

“If you’re calling me a liar, you can get out right now!”  The Druggie exploded. Then he added something about The Lush being as stupid as The Troll.  Instantly, The Lush got off his knees and stared directly into The Druggie’s bloodshot eyes.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“NO! I am not a liar. And you are pissing me off more than The Troll.”  The Lush couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  He wasn’t that drunk anymore.  The Druggie started yelling all kinds of shit.  In the time it took to knock back a shot of Jack Daniels, The Lush instantly realized this pot and liquor induced relationship was suddenly over.

“I’m gonna go,” The Lush said as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

“Good idea,” The Druggie responded. “I need my space.” He sighed heavily, picked up his pot pipe and added, “This doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

The Lush didn’t turn around.  He opened the door and silently walked down the stairs and out onto the street below.  “Yes, but this definitely changes the way I feel about you.”  Suddenly and quite unexpect­edly he was once again free.  Plus, he had no craving whatsoever for an alcoholic beverage of any kind.

The Lush smiled and practically skipped down the street.  The whirlwind romance be­tween The Lush and The Druggie had ended almost as soon as it started.  And at least for one of them it would signal a welcomed break from overdosing on his drug of choice and his impending return to a healthier lifestyle.  The other one had a couple more Dead concerts to attend in San Francisco that weekend.

The Lush started to sober up as he caught the bus back to Jersey.  On the way home, The Lush listened to every other hit by Madonna besides “True Blue”.

A relationship like that would’ve never worked out anyway.  The Grateful Dead and Madonna are two completely different worlds and will never mix.   To this day, The Lush still isn’t convinced the Grateful Dead are really still alive!  It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway.  There’s only room for one true blue musical romance in his life anyway.

Madonna,  I love youuuuuuuuuuuu