Category Archives: music

Dance, Baby, Dance


And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.

Like Romeo, I’ve been making an effort to have my Rockstar forget any other home than ours; sadly, I work completely opposite hours from him, and so see him (if I’m lucky) a total of about eight hours a week. I have feared that leaving him to his own devices so regularly should cause a rift between us that cannot be repaired.

Fortunately, the both of us wish our home to be ripe with bright colors and pleasant comforts, so neither of us has a chance really to become bored and listless. While my days at home with the dog are filled to bursting with painting of walls, and thinkings of painting of murals, his nights are filled with thoughts of luscious fertilized grass without bald spots. Our little time that is spent together is spent these days at Home Depot and Menards, where we have spent unmentionable sums of money.

This past weekend, we hurried to Menards for their Memorial Day sales and spent a goodly part of our morning navigating the aisles for things to make our house a castle. While I had the intention only of buying a few color-changing solar lights to brighten our sidewalk, my Rockstar insisted on buying a little bit of everything. $400 later, we exited the store with a lovely flower rug (which was his choice), 20 solar lights, garden edging, yard soil, and an outdoor swing. Sadly, I had to rush off to work for the day, so I was to enjoy none of our purchases immediately.

After spending a lovely day with my Auntie on Sunday, I arrived home to my Rockstar and his Daughter, who had decided that we must grill steaks on our new adorable grill. He approved of my mixing of alcoholic beverages for the two of us, and while his Daughter ran around with our Pup and her friends, we proceeded to get happily tipsy.

No drunk evening would be complete without a little Rock-N-Roll, which was filtered through our walk-out screen door. R and his Daughter have this little dance they’ve been working on since long before I was around, and I watched from our beautiful swing as they spun and twirled.

“You’re turn! Dance with dad!” His Daughter urged when the song ended.

I arose from my swinging, and it didn’t take long for R to realized that Phil Collins stole his song title I Can’t Dance from me.

“You’re so stiff! Loosen up! Yeah, you’re not graceful.” His responses to my awkward gamboling just made me giggle. Well, that, and his forceful grip on my drunken ass.

A dancer I may not be, but hey. I cannot be perfect all the time. I do, however, know the steps to the waltz (because I am very cultured) and also the snake-like arm movements of bellydancing, so I coached R and his Daughter on these finer points of dancing. I chose to don a pair of my taller heels to better match R’s height, only to have him say I was better at my own height, because my belly more perfectly bumped up against his man-parts. (This too made me giggle.) When he tired of my unfluid movements, I danced with myself among my many rainbow solar lights, pretending that I was in an enchanted forest.

There comes a time when One has had enough drink, and must retire. When my time came, I crawled into my bed, intent on passing out until the morning, only to be wakened by a hard chomp on my ass. Too, no drunken night is complete without having a long-haired Rockstar whisper in your ear, “I want to hear you come.”

XOXO

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Advice For Graduates


is the time when seniors everywhere are growing up and moving on with their lives. Since I am old(er), I feel it is only fair that I give them some helpful advice for their journey. I heard a soldier on the radio give a commencement speech to a senior class, using only three words- “Make your bed.” I think there is something to this, so here we go. (I may take a few liberties by combining words to stay under the three word maximum.)

1. Eat the cake.

As you go through life, some of you may worry more than others about keeping your young and lithe figures. Others may not. Whatever the case, you need to realize that there is nothing wrong with indulging in sweets and other edible goodness, for, as George Bernard Shaw once said- “The most sincere form of love is love for food.” So eat the cake when you get the chance.

2. Do whatcha want.

Three words. If you didn’t understand, that was do what makes you happy. Don’t go to college to become a lawyer if that is not what your passion is, no matter how much your parents pay you. You will be happier in the end.

3. Do stuffu hate.

Along with doing whatever you want, at times, friends, Romans, and/or countrymen may ask you to accompany them in actions that interest you not at all. (For example, stock car races.) If they ask you, just say yes, because they could have asked someone else. And you may just run into a super hot girl who gives amazing blow jobs, or experience the deep-fried goodness of racetrack cheese curds. Whatever the case, you will not regret the things you do.

4. Read more books.

HA! I didn’t have to fudge that one! Which makes it quite clear that it is very sound advice. The more you read, the more you know. Which may very well help you out if you take my afore mentioned advice and follow your friend to a hostel somewhere in Serbia.

5. Get a dog.

Maybe not right now, but someday. You will never regret having a companion who is always happy to see you, and who will never yell at you for leaving the toilet seat up.

6. See the world.

I must admit here that I’ve yet much world to see, but after I make millions on my book, the world shall be my first stop. Experience the magic of earth.

7. Do the dishes.

Because they will stink if you don’t.

And finally- the best for last.

8. Listen to music.

As much as you possibly can. Every kind that you can. Music is beauty in audio.

9. Love like crazy.

Fall in love with as many things as you can. That doesn’t mean, be a slut; it means open your eyes, and your heart, and never let go of that feeling you get when you see something beautiful for the first time.  Love. Love like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

 

 

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No, You Should NOT Have Passionate Kisses, Mary Chapin Carpenter


This letter is to you, Mary Chapin Carpenter,

No, you are not a dear, Mary, and so I cannot address this letter thusly. Let me begin by explaining the reason I am composing this letter.

I have long despised your mediocre talent, and even more has your choice in song recordings galled me for many years. Songs such as He Thinks He’ll Keep Her and I Feel Lucky have irritated the beJesus out of me since childhood, but none of these “hit singles” have caused me to cringe and my ears to fold in on themselves quite as much as the song Passionate Kisses.

I know not whether it is the unmusical tone of your voice, or the even less harmonic rhythm of the song itself, but, oh evil songstress of country, how I loathe thee. Let us look upon the unpoetic lyrics of said song for a moment, shall we?

Is it too much to ask
I want a comfortable bed that won’t hurt my back
Food to fill me up
And warm clothes and all that stuff
Shouldn’t I have this
Shouldn’t I have this
Shouldn’t I have all of this, and

Passionate kisses
Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh
Passionate kisses from you.

While I do not deny that we all at one time or another crave a bed that doesn’t cause our backs to ache, and I myself want more food than is necessary to fill me up, I must point out that these very commonplace wants do not, in my opinion, cause you stand out enough that you should deserve such things as passionate kisses from me or anyone else. Moving on….

Is it too much to demand
I want a full house and a rock and roll band
Pens that won’t run out of ink
And cool quiet and time to think
Shouldn’t I have this
Shouldn’t I have this
Shouldn’t I have all of this, and

Passionate kisses
Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh
Passionate kisses from you.

I might mention here that, to be honest, you are not a performer of such caliber that you are in the position to be demanding of anything. If you were, you would not be needing to ask for a full house for your rock and roll band, because it would already be sold out. Too, you would have enough money to buy pens that have ink in them if you were able to sell tickets to your shows. Maybe it is your entitled attitude that causes people to not want to see you in concert, hmm? Or maybe they just realize that you will ask just anyone for passionate kisses, and do not want to run the risk of acquiring herpes labialis. Anyhoo, I digress.

Do I want too much
Am I going overboard to want that touch
I shout it out to the night
“Give me what I deserve, ’cause it’s my right”
Shouldn’t I have this (shouldn’t I)
Shouldn’t I have this (shouldn’t I)
Shouldn’t I have all of this, and

Passionate kisses
Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh
Passionate kisses from you
Passionate kisses
Passionate kisses, whoa oh oh
Passionate kisses from you 

Did you ever think maybe, just maybe, if you quit yelling at whoever it is you want to make out with so desperately IN THE NIGHT while they are trying to sleep that they might actually want to kiss you? Maybe if you ever shut the fuck up for one goddamn second, and quit whining about passionate kisses, someone might actually desire to smush their lips against yours?!

I have come to the end of this atrocious song, and find that I have nothing more to say to you, Mary Chapin Carpenter. You may blame my place of work for playing this song frequently, because having had to listen to it on a regular basis has made me quite certain you will never, EVER be getting your coveted “passionate kisses” from me. To be clear, your tiresome neediness is the reason you lack affection.

Goodbye,

Sparklebumps

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Celebrity Showdown: Salma Hayek VS. Penelope Cruz


So we all know that Salma Hayek is (crudely stated) “super hot”. It is also known that Penelope Cruz is also “uber sexy”. True, there are many other equally inviting Hispanic actresses out there, but none that have acquired such American fame as these. Even though these women are great friends, today, we shall pit these two ravishing dark-haired beauties against each other to see which one comes out on top. (Technically, Penelope  already played a Woman on Top, but nevermind about that.)

Salma Hayek has showed her boobies in Desperado.

Penelope showed her boobies in… well, too many movies to list.

Salma’s boobies are nicer.

1 point to Salma.

Penelope Cruz has a beauteous face.

As does Salma Hayek.

Penelope’s face is prettier.

1 point to Penelope.

Penelope has a habit of playing mysterious, sensuous characters in her movies.

Salma played a drug lord in Savages and a vampire in From Dusk Til Dawn.

This is a tie, because there is no way to gauge how a plethora of enigmatic roles measures up against a drug lord and a vampire stripper. No points are awarded.

Salma played Frida Kahlo, my favorite artist.

Penelope played no real life person I admire.

1 point for Salma.

Penelope played the exact same character in two movies- Open Your Eyes and the American version, Vanilla Sky.

Salma has done no such thing.

1 point for Penelope.

Penelope is married to Javier Bardem, who is sexy in a creepy sorta way.

Salma is married to some French guy. (Who is not sexy.)

1 point for Penelope.

Salma has directed a video for Prince (who is awesome and from Minnesota.)

Penelope has no reknown Minnesotan friends.

1 point for Salma.

Salma also has been credited with three singing performances on films.

Penelope is apparently a mute Spanish bird.

1 point for Salma.

Penelope won an Oscar for her performance in Volver.

Salma has no golden statue.

1 point for Penelope.

Salma is dyslexic.

Penelope knows four languages.

No points are awarded at this time, because we cannot discriminate or show favoritism to either party.

Salma is an spokeswoman for aids.

Penelope likes to help stray cats.

1 point for Salma.

Salma has been voted one of People‘s 50 most beautiful people three times.

Penelope has been voted so only once.

1 point for Salma.

Salma has done the voice over work for an animated cat in Puss in Boots.

Penelope has had the most memorable line in a movie concerning cats from Vanilla Sky: “In another life, when we are both cats.”

1 point for Penelope. (Point so awarded because I have used said line on several occasions.)

My Rockstar is secretly in love with Penelope Cruz because of her sexy love scenes.

He does not even know who Salma Hayek is.

1 point for Penelope.

We have come to the conclusion of the celebrity showdown, and as sad as I am to say that there are no amazingly- hot Spaniard-like women lying in front of me in need of medical attention I would willingly give them, I am happy to announce that the points have been tallied. Oddly enough, both Salma and Penelope have accrued an equal amount of points, so this celebrity showdown has been a complete waste of time, and I have come to the realization that each person must make their own decision on the level of these women’s hotness based off of their own personal preference. There you have it.

 

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Considering Taylor Swift’s Legs (and Other Repugnant Subjects)


I was going to make last night Date Night for my Rockstar and I, after my friend Delightful was unable to hang. I dolled myself up after work so R would have something to show off on his arm, but when he arrived home, instead of OKing the movie I’d suggested we go see, he reminded me that the CMA Country Music Festival was being shown on TV last night. Our night out was immediately changed to a night in, and he made a beer run to ensure that our evening did not lack liquid refreshments.

lbtI was thrilled to see that Little Big Town was hosting the show, mainly because Kimberly Schlapmann’s curly blonde afro is an inspiration for my own wooly coiffure. (And because my Rockstar stated that he would like to see both girls of the band bent over and cleaning the floor- he’s so classy, ain’t he?)

carrieBefore each commercial break, they listed every singer that was to perform in the next segment, and I began to wonder why it was that I was so thrilled to be watching the show in the first place. ‘Tis true that I find Carrie Underwood to be quite easy on the eyes, but I am so disgusted with her talent for picking un-appealing songs to record, and even more repulsed that she still claims to be “country”, when she decides to dress up like Pocahontas’ bastard child and sing Guns N Roses’ “Paradise City”, that I barely had time to notice her lovely behind. My Rockstar agreed wholeheartedly with me on the monstrosity of her performance.

The night continued with unmemorable performances by the unmemorable dudes of today’s country music, and then there was Taylor.

taylorBy now, you shall all have probably discovered my distaste for one, Taylor Swift. I had thought my loathing of her could not possibly get any worse, but I was ready to upchuck my Peach Schnapps as I watched her trying to be sexy in her new uniform of hotsy-totsy shorts. I say trying, because no, there was nothing sexy about it. It was very like the scene in True Lies, you know the one, where Jamie Lee Curtis is dancing mostly naked for Arnold- hilarious and painful, yes, but not sexy in the least. Taylor’s air-humping was only intensified when the object of her wet dreams, Tim McGraw, arrived on stage to sing with Taylor, while not-so-furtively checking her out out of the corner of his eye. You could almost SEE the thought bubble above his head: “HEY! A younger, hotter blonde than my wife! I hope Faith isn’t watching me openly commit statutory rape on Taylor with my eyeballs!” (Yes, of course I was watching his crotch closely to see if any hint of Tiny Tim was happening.)

After the nauseating performance, my Rockstar admitted that he’d “do Taylor, just for the challenge, and to brag about it”, even though she “has a weird body and would be better off showing off her legs in something that is not tight shorts”. I admonished him that if he DID do Taylor, I doubt there would be much of a challenge involved and that there wouldn’t, in fact, be much to brag about in the least. After all, there are many tall, long-legged blondes that can’t sing in the world, and plenty that are hotter.

kellyI was, however, greatly relieved to find that the women of country music today are not afraid to pack on a few pounds, and to stuff that shit into sausage casing so it doesn’t stick out. I believe that Kelly Clarkson should go back to pop music, because she hasn’t done anything of note in Nashville, other than eat, apparently, and Miranda Lambert wants everyone to know that she is NOT expecting- she just got fat.

Don’t get me wrong, I love these girls for the stands they’ve taken, butmiranda someone needs to shoot their stylists. I myself am not of a desirable weight, so to speak, but I realize that wearing leather leggings that are two sizes too small is NOT going to flaunt what I’ve got in a good way. As Hillary from Lady Antebellum sang about her man “Not taking her downtown anymore”, my Rockstar and I rudely remarked that it was probably because she couldn’t fit through the door- in her defense, she’s having a baby any day, but I’m convinced it’s two or three.

lady aAll in all, it made for a night of insults and opinions from my Rockstar and I, as we sat and made fun of people who are much more successful and rich than we. I’m certain karma is gonna come and kick my ass at some point.

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Truer, Madder, Deeper


I was being my normal people-pleasing self (while secretly cursing said people) at work the other day, when I was instantly taken back to 1997 thanks to our lovely satellite radio. Here is the moment when you (at least those of you my age) will cry “I remember that song!” or “I LOVED that song!” or “I fuckin’ hated that song!”- Truly, Madly, Deeply.

I myself recall that the first time (of millions) that I heard Truly, Madly, Deeply, my friends and I were exited my older friend’s teal Dodge Neon to venture into a somewhat newly built Walmart. I told my friends to “hang on a sec! This song is totally amazing!” which sent us into a tailspin of musical assessments. Imagine my surprise many years later that the lead singer was secretly singing to another guy. Loving someone “deeply” had a whole knew meaning after that.

Anyhoo, I reminisced pleasantly while mouthing the words shamelessly at work, until I began to realize that this song was full of crap.  Let me show you:

I’ll be your dream
I’ll be your wish I’ll be your fantasy
I’ll be your hope I’ll be your love
Be everything that you need
I’ll love you more with every breath
Truly, madly, deeply do
I will be strong I will be faithful
’cause I’m counting on
A new beginning
A reason for living
A deeper meaning, yeah

[chorus:]
I want to stand with you on
a mountain
I want to bathe with you in the sea
I want to lay like this forever
Until the sky falls down on me

And when the stars are shining
brightly in the velvet sky,
I’ll make a wish send it to heaven
Then make you want to cry
The tears of joy for all the
pleasure and the certainty
That we’re surrounded by the
comfort and protection of

The highest powers
In lonely hours
The tears devour you

Seems innocent enough, right?

“I’ll be your dream and your fantasy bla dee bla dee bla.” I understand  that- after all, am I not people’s dream and fantasy? 🙂

Here’s where my now-cynical self re-interpreted my wistful teen ideas.

“I want to stand with you on a mountain”- yeah, because he’s probably scared of heights; and the thought of freezing your ass off on Mt. Kilamanjaro is SO romantic.

“I want to bathe with you in the sea”- because salt water is so refreshing and completely non-sticky. And the threat of sharks is not a worry.

“I want to lay like this forever”- because he’s 42 and exhausted from his job?

“Until the sky falls down on me.” – because you wouldn’t wanna try to get outta the way or anything.

The second verse is just all about making his lover cry, which I’m sure might have something to due with the fact that he just told her he was gay.

I am so sad that my 31 year old self can no longer see the metaphoric beauty in this song, but instead can see how “truly” this “mad”ness “deeply” goes. To all you idealistic drippy teens, I bid you. “Save yourselves! Don’t listen to the whiney lovey-dovey pop music of today! For tomorrow, (or a few years from now) you’re going to realize that Justin Bieber and at least one member of One Direction is gay, and no amount of standing on mountains or bathing in seas is going to make up for the fact that your boyfriend is probably going to be a lazy bum that would rather have the sky fall on him than spend another minute with you. “

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The Amazing Concept of Musical Urination


I was wasting time and money the other day by deciding I needed to buy more books, so I took a trip to Goodwill. As soon as I passed through the doors, I aimed myself at their newly-remodeled bathrooms because I had to pee like a racehorse. (Don’t worry, this is more about my thoughts, and less about my bodily function, I promise.)

After ensuring that the dear Goodwill employees were keeping this bathroom “clean for my convenience”, I dropped traugh (didn’t spell that right) and waited for the inevitable to happen. I was just noticing the lack of soothing elevator music that sometimes invades one’s ears at such establishments, when  as soon as I started peeing, said music began to play. I nearly fell off my comfortable ass-shaped seat in surprise. I couldn’t help but wonder if at last I had discovered it, the holy grail of superpowers, the epitome of human supremacy!!!- musical urination.

Yes, I realize the more correct assumption would be that one song on Goodwill’s shitty Muzak account had ended and another began, but let me dream, dammit.

What’s so great about pee that sings, you ask? Why would I be excited that the discharging of my bodily wastes might invoke melodious tunes? Just think about it!

You could just be going along in your hum-drum day at work, “la dee da”, and decide to venture off to the bathroom just to waste a couple minutes of your minimum-wage paid time. Perhaps you are tired of listening to Taylor Swift durdling on about being 22, or wishing Rihanna would just go away as she asks you to Stay. But just conceptualize for a moment if, as you sat down (or conveniently stood, men) and you began to do your business, if maybe Rihanna and the blonde twit were drown out by say, Semi-Precious Weapons shouting “Can’t pay my rent, but I’m fucking gorgeous!” or perhaps John Mayer talking about “waiting for the world to change”. (Forgive me, I haven’t quite got a handle on exactly how changing the station on your musical pee works-  I figure it has something to do with your mood- like Mood Pee). Wouldn’t your day be just a little bit better after a musical trip to the john?

Too, no longer would “breaking the seal” during a drinking binge be considered a bad thing. If you didn’t like the music being played at the party, why not go pee? You have to go anyway. Maybe it could be a great new party game! “Name That Potty Tune” or something. The question is, would the song begin where it left off, or would a new one just begin?

It could even be considered a crime-fighting act. Stop that man that’s robbing that old woman’s purse by shouting, “Stop or I’ll pee!” It is assured he would not consider this a threat, but don’t you think he’d stop if you just dropped your pants right there and the tunes started? At least long enough for you to throw a rock at his head and knock the motherfucker out.

Anyhoo, I think I’ve explained sufficiently the great power that would come along with musical urination. Unfortunately, after I left Goodwill in a rush to see if my new superpower would work at Kohl’s, I was greatly disappointed to see it had been short-lived. Perchance it only works when you REALLY have to go.

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“Niblets in the Sun”


On occasion, my  Rockstar and I spend a goodly amount of minutes wandering through the virtual musical world of Rhapsody. Last night was one of those nights. (We also just so happened to be accompanied by Marilyn Monroe and her strawberry-flavored vodka.)

After listening to the growling of a less-than-talented death metal band, I told my Rockstar that we needed to listen to something a little more happy. He pooh-poohed George Strait’s new album (which was fine), and somehow we started listening to Madonna. My Rockstar requested Like a Virgin, me thinks because I do so make him feel as though he is touched for the very first time. This started a whole new wave of music listening- that of 80’s pop. Welcome to the land of the Eurythmics, Cyndi Lauper, Phil Collins, and Billy Joel.

To both my Rockstar and I, these musicians fall into the category of Talented-Because-of-Style, or in Phil Collins’ case, his name just happened to come up. I adore Billy Joel for his piano abilities; I have a hard time deciding if I actually like his songs. However, we chose to listen to Only the Good Die Young, and I found myself jigging along. (Yes, I jig, because I wish I was Irish.)

There was a point in the song where I sang along to my favorite lyrics: “That stained-glass window you’re hiding behind Niblets in the sun”, when my Rockstar gave me the strangest look. I sheepishly admitted that I never could understand what Billy said in that line, and Niblets seemed like an interesting enough choice to include. Now, I realize there are no Niblets in the sun, so it would be nearly impossible to hide behind them, (that is, if One could even figure out what a Niblet was in the first place) but who am I to judge Billy’s musical genius? I DID decide I had remained clueless long enough, and so I looked up the actual lyrics, which make a little more sense. (They are “the stained-glass window you’re hiding behind never lets in the sun”, in case you no longer wish to sing about Niblets either.)

We went on to listen to a plethora of other sub-standard music, when my Rockstar got caught up in John cougar Mellencamp’s web, and I discovered something. My Rockstar judges me when I get excited to hear the Backstreet Boys or the Spice Girls- John Cougar is his Spice Girls. I watched in abject horror as he plucked away on his guitar and sang to every Mellencamp song ever written. How I did wish then that I was behind some Niblets in the sun…

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I Wanna, I Wanna, I Wanna…


Yes, that was a Spice Girls reference. I am not ashamed to admit my sometimes horrid and unmusical taste in music. So there.

I had a conversation with a co-worker the other night, and he seems to think I let my own wants and likes go by the wayside more often than I should. His theory is based on what he has perceived of my life, and loosely based on things I’ve mentioned  in passing conversation.

I got to thinking about his statement, and about relationships. When a person is in a relationship with another person, is there not always a few likes and wants that are at times pushed aside by the other person’s likes and wants? Relationships are all about compromise, or so I’ve been told. I just happen to be more compromising than some people. And to be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever met any couple that has absolutely every like or desire in common. They may say it, but that doesn’t make it true.

Mayhap it’s because I’m a Libra, or bi-polar, or just all-out insane, but I am completely inept at making decisions. Although, once I have made them, I am much too stubborn to go back and change my mind. At least on the important things. Perhaps that is why I somewhat depend on the person I’m in a relationship with to make the big decisions.

Of course there are things I like. When asked, I would say I like books, and hugs. Throw in a little (or a lot) of sex, music, and some quiet time, and my life is mostly complete. I think it’s safe to say that these are all things that in no way interfere with or override my Rockstar’s likes or wants. In fact, sex can only increase the quality of his life, as can books. (If he actually reads them.) The only thing I may like that he isn’t necessarily prepared to give is excessive amounts of attention. (But then again, is anyone in the world ready to give me as much as I want? I think not.)

I tried to explain my complications to my coworker. I am convinced that if I were single, or in any way unattached, I would be dead within a year or two. I think to much when I am alone, (my Rockstar agrees with me completely on that), and honestly I don’t like myself enough to actually care about what happens to me, so alcoholism, addiction, and aids would probably all kill me eventually. Perhaps this is why I desire a child, or ten- if I had them, I’d have someone that needs me. (Right now, I take care of my Rockstar and his Daughter, but I am unconvinced he actually NEEDS me- which is as it should be, since he is 42.)

Enough of this rambling. To quote Juno, all I really want is someone who even through my worst “still thinks the sun shines out my ass.” All the other shit is just filler.

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One in 300


… And then I found myself completely out of my element, surrounded by actual singers, as in- voice teachers, theatre majors, baritones, and a microbiologist.

Welcome to my Les Miserables audition.

I believe this was the utterance of my thoughts to myself:

“Fuck. what was I thinking?! I’m scared to sing in front of my Rockstar unless I’ve the help of my good friend Jack Daniels. “They’re all gonna laugh at you!” What was that line from anyway? Whatever. What’s the worse that could happen?”

You could become the inspiration for one of those horrendous audition montages you always see in movies. You know- the ones where the terrible singers all make fools of themselves, and then one amazing singer shows up and automatically blows everybody away.”

“But why couldn’t I be the one who blows everybody away?” I wondered  sadly to myself.

Because this isn’t a fucking boob competition, dumbass.” Myself is sometimes painfully honest to…myself.

Well, at least this girl next to me has purple feet.”

Yeah, that’s exactly what the casting directors are going to be looking at. Her feet. PShhh. You’re pathetic.”

I p’shawed myself. “Well, they’re gonna look at MINE! ‘Cause I gots beautiful red heels on.” I mentally stuck my tongue out at myself.

Ooh! The piano is free! We should go play it, and leave a talented impression, ‘cuz you know your singing isn’t gonna impress no one.” Myself speaks in Southern uneducated black woman bad English sometimes.

Fine.” I go to the piano because I know she’s right.

Of course it would happen that the first audition I ever go to draws a crowd of hopefuls numbering 300. After sitting in a hallway for 5 hours with singers warming up and “lalala”-ing, I wasn’t a bit nervous. I just knew there was no way in hell I was getting a part, even if there were 301 parts to cast. But dammit, I fuckin’ stayed anyway, and I DID what I said I was going to- luckily the directors had the decency to compliment me on my choice of song-Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’, even if I DID choke and make up a few words. No surprise when I didn’t get a call back today. The only consolation I have is that the people who can actually sing were just a wee bit disappointed when I had to cease my stellar piano playing to go make a fool of myself. That, and the fact that in all 300 people, I was one of the cutest, (the other being an amazing male singer  with a nicely-shaped disturbingly shiny shaved head) and was the only one stupid enough to wear 6 inch heels. The Miserable indeed.

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