A Sociopath Led Me to Al Gore, Live Earth and Recycling

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On 7/7/07, our writer went to Al Gore's Live Earth concert in London. What happened next changed her life — and her recycling habits.
On 7/7/07, our writer went to Al Gore’s Live Earth concert in London. What happened next changed her life — and her recycling habits.

Seven years ago, on 07/07/07, I was at the Live Earth concert in London. As I watched videos of Al Gore talk about recycling in between sets by The Black Eyed Peas, Snow Patrol and Foo Fighters, I learned how to dispose of waste properly. And not just in the kitchen — in my personal life as well.

I met Gerard at B.B. King’s Blues Club & Grill in Times Square during the Jimi Hendrix Birthday Tribute show in November 2006. When the line started moving, I tripped, and this lumberjack-looking guy caught me in muscle-bound arms rippling out from his Jimi Hendrix T-shirt. I kept looking up, up, up, all the way up to six feet four inches off the ground before my eyes landed on his face. His eyes seemed so tender, and he smiled.

It was a whirlwind romance. After three months we’d fallen hard, or so I thought. We began talking about living together. Gerard surprised me with tickets to Live Earth, a benefit concert with top rock bands. Seven countries were hosting the event. Our tix were for the England show. When Gerard flashed them at me, I grabbed one jokingly and said, “This one’s mine.”

One day, hanging out at his house, my phone battery died, and I needed to send an e-mail. He was outside mowing the lawn. Not wanting to bother him, I just turned to his computer. After I sent my e-mail, something in Outlook caught my eye. It was three e-mails in a row to AsianBeauty, HotGirl and UMyMan. WTF? I hadn’t intended to snoop, but who wouldn’t read them?

I couldn’t believe it. Each e-mail had the same words he’d been writing to me. “You brought joy into my life; I never knew I’d find love; You are so beautiful; I’m one lucky man.”

He’d written the same things to all of us, “I want to spend my life with you. You are my one true love, darling.” The bastard was cutting and pasting.

I managed to write a quick note to those three. My stomach flipped over when I saw that there were more, many more. That’s when he walked in, saw what I was doing and yanked the computer cord. He yelled at me, “You crossed the line. You invaded my privacy.” Oh puhllleease. I called my pal, and he came and got me faster than we could say “sociopath.”

AsianBeauty is the only one that wrote back, “I no luck with men, but I luck to find you. You nice girl save my life. I never forget you.” Poor thing. He probably promised to marry her and bring her to America. Sheesh. Suddenly I was in a Lifetime movie.

My heart felt like ground chuck. I wept. But as the date for the concert drew nearer, I heard Gloria Gaynor in my head, “I will survive, hey, hey.” I decided to take my ticket and my wilted self to see all the fab bands in London.

During the concert I was amazed how polite Londoners were. I was in the general-admission section. It was simple to get a few feet away from the stage. Nobody was shoving. People even held your place for you if you had to go to the “loo.” The positive spirits in the air lifted my mood. Fergie sang, “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” Snow Patrol did, “Open Your Eyes” and Madonna sang “Ray of Light.” I danced with strangers to the Beastie Boys, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Duran Duran, Pussycat Dolls, Razorlight and more.

Al Gore appeared in videos on the huge screen. One was about saving the earth through recycling. It showed how much trash is generated annually by just one person. I was shocked. I guess out of laziness I’d never bothered to recycle. I had no idea how important it is. After seeing how much of a difference one individual’s efforts make, I changed. Not only did I choose to move on from heartbreak, from that time on I’ve recycled. And seven became my lucky number.

On the seventh day of August 2007, I hooked up with my loving husband, and we’ve been together ever since. I learned to thrive by disposing of crap I didn’t need and making space to let in more valuable stuff.

Dorri Olds is a contributing journalist for TheBlot Magazine

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