So I was in such a heightened emotional state after Roseland last night, that I went to the so called after-party, screamed lovely obscenities at Gaga through the locked glass doors, paid $40 to get into the section of the club where I thought Gaga would be hanging out. When I found out that she left just moments ago, all hell broke loose. I fought with security guards over a refund of my money that I swore I was owed, flirted and felt up Austin from The A List: New York (weird) and ended up at Bellevue for "erratic behavior."
Luckily, I escaped this unfortunate end to a glorious night unscathed and intact. But I learned a lot about the elusiveness and cruelty of fame last night. Pop stars are like hookers in that you can only see them if you pay large sums of money.
Gaga, I love you to death and would tear down the world for you. Not because you are a pop star or a millionaire or have a great ass, but because you are a beautiful human being with a rare gift. Thanks for the amazing time. Until next time.
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