They had keyboards, a keytar, guitars and amps. ![]() Would you like a breath mint, or perhaps, a condom? I scanned the room: The whole place was decked in red, black and white, with plethora of skull items strewn about-skull string lights, skull candle holders-even a skull blanket draped over the couch. It was the focal point of their living room. They opened their door, and the first thing I noticed was a giant sex swing. Then, it hit me: The Triplets just invited me into their apartment. “We’ll just keep you up anyway…” he added. ![]() Then, The Triplets invited the crew back to their apartment.Īs we crossed the street to our building, one of The Triplets turned to me and said, “We’re having un aftur-party at our place. Even though I was in a black dress and boots, I felt like Betty White amidst the emo punk crowd. I glanced around and noticed that everyone had black, white-blond or pink-streaked hair and was dressed in some type of fishnet-leather-black-eyeliner-skull ensemble. They looked similar to The Triplets, only not as much like they stepped out of Headbangers Ball. We filed into the Whisky, grabbed some drinks at the bar, and then worked our way up to the stage. ![]() We’re only doing it to help them,” Carrie assured me. “We’re not in love with them, and they’re not in love with us. On the way over, Jenna told me that she and Carrie were planning to marry Rock and Kelli so they could get their green cards. We walked across Sunset Boulevard to Whisky a Go-Go. And I’ve never hung out with The Triplets. Hmmm…I’ve always wanted to go to the Whisky. “We’re going to the Whisky to see Sierra Rose. “Hey, what are you doing right now?” Jenna asked me. “Ya, let’s go,” one of The Triplets said. Two of them put their arms around the girls. Just then, The Triplets came bounding down the stairs. “And this is Carrie.” She motioned to the shorter blond one. So you’re The Triplets’ neighbor?” the short one asked. “I just got home from a happy hour, and I heard your conversation from inside my apartment.” The girls stared at me, a little shocked by my sudden interruption. I’m telling you… You just have to embrace it. I said to the tall one, “Oh girl, that’s nothing. I opened the door to see two young, cute rocker chicks-one dark-haired and tall, the other short and blond. With a generous amount of alcohol in me, I felt compelled to intrude on their conversation. It was a conversation that was all too familiar. As I was debating what to do, I heard two girls talking outside my door. I didn’t want to call it a night, but I didn’t think I should drive anywhere either. I had been at a happy hour, and I came home around 10 p.m., fairly buzzed. One Friday night, I was given the chance to learn the answers to all of my questions about The Triplets. What did they do during the day? Did they have jobs? Where did they get their money to pay for their apartment? Was their band actually pretty big, and I just didn’t know it? Yet, as annoying they were, I was a little intrigued by them. ![]() Whichever one answered the door would reply innocently, “Oh, ve didn’t knuw.” During the week, I would knock on their door at midnight and ask politely if they could turn their music down because it was too loud. And just about every morning, the stairwell was filled with the distinct herbal essence of weed. Or I’d be arriving home from a night out to find one of The Triplets hunched over, puking off the edge of the driveway. I’d often hear them tumbling down the stairs drunk. Parties were part of their nightly, rock ‘n’ roll ritual. (Note: They were always dressed like this-even at 10 a.m. Often, they were shirtless if I was fortunate enough to see them with a shirt on, it was usually a red, mesh sleeveless number. Deville, with their own version of the ‘80s hair-band uniform-leather pants, cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, a scarf and some kind of animal print accessory. Their eyes were rimmed in black eyeliner, and each one of them had spiky, white-blond hair à la C.C. These pale, scrawny Swedes were in their early 20s and looked like they lived off a steady diet of cigarettes and alcohol. Their names were Izzi, Rock and Kelli, but everyone in West Hollywood who knew them simply referred to them as “The Triplets.” Last year, three male Swedish triplets in a glam-metal band called Snake of Eden lived in the apartment above mine.
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