People like to complain about the Rolling Stones—how old they are to be rock stars, how often they tour, and how much money they make. But I love them. I have been a devoted fan since I was a teenager in the sixties.
In 1994, the Stones came to Atlanta. They were on their Voodoo Lounge tour; I was working as a registered nurse for a local urologist.
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Boy George gave me his number at a skate party.