Live (Aid) 8 in Philadelphia. July 2. Bon Jovi. Rob Thomas. Will Smith. 50 Cent. P Diddy. Sarah McLachlan (shut up, I will throw underwear at her, too).
Pratt, count me in! Although, you are responsible for unclamping me from humping Jon Bon Jovi’s leg. That is, if you can. 😉
On iTunes: Vanessa Daou, “The Long Tunnel of Wanting You”
I could be wrong. I often am. I wish I were this time. But I doubt it — my intuition’s too strong.
Not to say that “someday” couldn’t still happen. But, it seems so much further away. I always knew that, even if this weren’t an acid trip without the actual hallucinogens, there would be a delay. I’m OK with occupying myself in the interim — I’ve never been the type to open a gift before it was time. (Not that I get altogether that many gifts — you’d think I’d be a little more eager to tear into things when they come along as rarely as they do.) I don’t know. But I tend to appreciate things more than anybody else in the world — I know special when I see it. And I treat it accordingly. I guess I just wish the sentiment were reciprocated more often and in bigger, more obvious ways.
If my theory is correct, maybe it can be a good thing. I will see to it that it is. Maybe the impetus is there to eradicate the drama and the other roadblocks that I’ve inadvertently placed. I don’t know — I’m trying not to be shattered by a hunch, but do I really need something this huge to be confirmed? I can always at least try to comfort myself that a few too many drinking binges and happy pills in my 20s might have killed off some essential brain cells and that I’m not *always* right. But how, though, do you get over something that you believed was yours and could still be, but you’ve got to walk away for awhile? I’ll tell you how — you need to erase the possibility so that you can be pleasantly surprised if the horse you wanted on the carousel comes around again and is waiting for you to ride off into the sunset with it.
I suspect tonight will be the fourth night in a row without any sleep that doesn’t involve nightmares. But I guess those are better than having no dreams at all.
On iTunes: Tori Amos, “Sleeps With Butterflies”
Any gal who’s read Greg Behrendt’s “He’s Not That Into You” is familiar with his admonition of “Don’t Waste the Pretty.” He doesn’t want us fabulous gals wasting our time, energy and youth waiting around for assholes. In any event, Mom has a new saying, which is “Don’t Waste the Stupid.” She hates morons and believes that if someone is capable of assholitry, then he or she won’t waste a bit of energy in being the biggest possible jagoff. And, after spending the weekend sitting in traffic with people who shouldn’t be trusted with a sharpened pencil, let alone a vehicle, I get her point. 🙂
Anyway, weekend. Too bad it’s over, although I got *just enough* of a happy-hoedown at the family hacienda to be overwhelmed satisfied.
Not long ago, I told you that my grandfather started playing guitar again. Well, not only did he surprise me by playing for me, but he played one of my all-time favorite songs. He asked if I’d ever heard of “Me and Bobby McGhee,” and I asked if he could play it. And he did! When he was a musician in his day, he said that was often his opening song. Who knew? I mean, I have been in love with the song for-freakin’-ever, and who would have known that it was one of his signature live songs?
He also played me some original things he’s been working on. He was having some trouble with the fingerwork, but he knows so many advanced moves that I suspect it’s only natural that, at age 79, some of the moves are harder to do. But he remembers them. And he’s trying to limber up to play like he used to when he taught himself how during World War II, sitting in the bunkers with his buddies and playing the early rock songs and writing his own when he had a chance.
I guess I got to thinking (I, for one, NEVER waste my stupid!) about how many people are absolutely rolling in money, doing what they love. And the rest of us poor schleps are lucky to get by, most of the time. We put aside our hobbies as things to do “if we have time” as opposed to making a living — or, at least, a side venture — out of them. And we have no one to blame but ourselves, especially those of us who don’t have family obligations and are just too tired, lazy or unfocused to commit to creating beauty when it’s so much easier to park our asses on the Internet or in front of a television. I’d thought getting rid of cable and having no DVD player would encourage me to be more creative with my time. Heh. Yeah, not so much. And what is there in this world to commemorate the fact that I spent a lot of time in it?
In any event, it was weird being back in Pittsburgh. I love it there — don’t get me wrong. I dragged Mom up to my old apartment on Mount Washington to admire the view from my old balcony. But we went to watch the Memorial Day parade in my old neighborhood (in the South Hills), and it occurred to me that all of my friends who have moved to D.C. and now scoff at the people from back home, well, are kind of right. It looked like nobody even bothered washing their asses to be seen in public. *twitch* Like George Carlin said, if you wash nothing else, at least take care of four places every day: armpits, mouth and asshole. I swear, there are days when I really feel bad about my own appearance, and I feel like a fucking supermodel when I go back home.
Alas, but it wasn’t me attracting attention. A lot of the folks in the parade went to high school with me, but I couldn’t put names with the faces, and I don’t look a thing like I used to, so I was safe. *whew* But Mom was wearing some, uh, boob-enhancing attire, and you should have seen the old geezers killing themselves to stare at her chest. LOL. The two cops patrolling our side of the street were dancing around, craning their necks to look at her. And we knew one of the guys in the parade carrying a flag, and let me tell you — he had TWO flagpoles hoisted once he got a look at her! LOL. Gotta love these small-town shindigs. *shudder* I feel so dirty. 😉
Anyway, I did the trip up in three hours and 40 minutes. It rained like a mofo through Pennsylvania, and while all the pussies jammed on the brakes, I got it up to 95 mph on the Turnpike and hydroplaned the whole way. I kid you not — I was convinced I was going to get a ticket, but apparently the state troopers couldn’t catch me. Go Speed Racer, go!
Hope y’all had a safe and happy weekend, too, and that you didn’t get stuck in the traffic jam on I-70 like I did. If you were in the mess with me, I’m sure you heard me swearing. In fact, if you listen real closely to the wind, I’m sure you might hear me screaming “Fucknut!” in the distance to anyone who deserves it for not only not wasting their stupid, but also for sharing it with the few remaining “good” drivers in the greater metro area. …
On iTunes: Willy Porter, “Watercolor”
Time to do the pilgrimage northbound. Not enough time with the family, I say, but way too much time on the road that should be spent with them.
In any event, I’m in a weird-ass mood. I burst into tears driving to work yesterday — and not like I did at my old job, because I hated going to that one — I really like my job now! I guess I was just too far inside my head. That, or it was my hormones. Or the evil combination that makes me cry at camera commercials. *sniffle*
Mom always used to cry while she drove — she was always in a rotten relationship or trying to get over someone. Me — totally the opposite. Never had/have the time for relationships. Maybe I was just always sick of seeing how hurt she always was and vowed to never do that to myself. I figure, if there’s a good one out there waiting for me, I’ll know it when I see it and won’t bring decades of baggage into it. I’m travelin’ light these days — the weight of the world is easing up on my tired shoulders and I’m back to riding the wind wherever I can.
In any event, I’m trying to pick appropriate driving music, don’t you always benefit from my time rooting around in my iTunes? Enjoy and have a wonderful holiday weekend!
South Park, “Kyle’s Mom is a Bitch”
Sometimes, the intensity and depth of my friendships scare the boojabbers out of me. Maybe it’s because my circle is such a tiny one anymore, but that just means the bonds are all the stronger.
I have a friend who’s having a baby. Her second, actually. I was there throughout the first pregnancy, the traumatic birth, the rough first year and the smooth sailing ever since. With the second one, I’ve not been around much for it, and I was worried that I wouldn’t have same connection with the new kid on the block like I did with the first.
But, I’m starting to think that the universe heard my worries, because when I first heard the little one was on its way, I knew it was going to be a boy. Which was recently confirmed. I knew with the first that she would be a girl. Hell, with the first, I thought my friend was pregnant long before she thought she was! 🙂 (It was the ghastly pallor — totally unmistakable.)
But the weird news was this: While I might never have kids and am not sure at this point in time that my life would be empty without any, I always had a name in mind — just in case. I had kept it to myself and never told a soul about it because, well, I’m just private like that (despite having a blog at my name dot com! Hah!). The important part of the story is that I never mentioned this name to my friend.
So, I’ve been wondering what she was gonna name the little fella. So she called the other day to sing happy birthday to me, and she later revealed what she plans to name the little man … and if you guess that she said THE name that I’d had on my mind, then you win a prize. (What the prize will be, however, I have NO idea!)
Anyway, once I got past being floored, I was overjoyed. I do have a connection to him, after all. Not like there was ever any doubt, because he’s my friend’s child and I will love him as much as her other one and as much as her, too. Of course, like Tiff said, now I don’t HAVE to have a kid of my own at all!!!
In any event, welcome to the world, Jordan. I can’t wait to meet you when you arrive!
On iTunes: Sarah McLachlan, “Train Wreck”
I’m buzzed. And loving it. 🙂 (And there’s tunage involved for you if you sit through this shit.)
OK, so Carrie Underwood won “Idol” and the wet dream-inducing Bo Bice did not. Oh well. Fuck it. I didn’t agree with the winners for the last two years, either, so who gives a shit, really? He’ll have a better career than her, without Cowell and Company plotting his every move. And maybe Carrie will learn to hit the notes of the song the show gave her to learn. *twitch*
I was quite admiring Bo in his leather pants as we watched the finale on a large-screen plasma TV at a soiree tonight. I remember telling quite a few people that I hope to come back in my next life as those leather pants. Something tells me I will not be forgotten, based on that comment alone. Nor was I alone in that sentiment. 😉
I don’t even go for the long-haired rocker boys in real life anymore, which is the weird thing. But stick me in a Bo/Constantine sandwich, and all I can say is “Eat me!”
Anyway, you’d think that after 35 miles (traveled in 35 minutes — I swear, I got to King Street during Minute 34 — several curbs hit and several innocent people high-beamed, but I got here alive. Hooray), I’d be a lil more lucid. I’m such a freakin’ lightweight anymore — I only had two glasses of wine (Editor’s Note: Consumed in 15 minutes and right before locating the car). She turns 31 and hits old age. Waah! Thank GOD for Crystal Method on the CD player, keeping me awake (although taking my half out of the middle of the road. Oh well!).
This is the first birthday where I didn’t have cake. Or any plans in general. My best friend sent presents from the West Coast, so at least I had something to open. But I got cards (electronic and *gasp* those of the snail-mail variety), and I got special attention. I guess this is what birthdays are when you get older. I got sick of throwing my own bashes, only for people to make up stupid excuses to miss them or to show up and require more attention than I did as the birthday girl, so I really don’t have any complaints. I spent the evening with superbly fantastic people and, quite honestly, fell in love with my company all over again.
I had a few moments to myself, wherein I took a glass of chardonnay out onto the deck and stared into the starless sky and made a wish. It’s a big wish — one that I’ve been afraid to make. It’s a several-parter. And you know me — I’m not sharing it per se, but I will tell you that I am tired of survival. I’m tired of being grateful for the little things. Well, that’s not true — I am always happy with life’s little pleasures and instances of luck, but I want bigger. I want better. I want to live a life I never felt like I deserved before. I want to not lose the energy and motivation that so many others have nearly KILLED in me. I want the passion and energy to continue … and AMPLIFY … so that I (and the *right* partner) can build a strong foundation where dreams can continue to grow. I don’t want to hurt again the way I have. I don’t want to feel like life is a series of near-misses and heroic escapes. I want it to mean something — I want to aspire to be something more than Bo Bice’s leather pants. 😉 I want to have everything I ever wanted (which has never been all that much, truth be told) — and I want a thousand times more. Because I deserve it. I have earned it. And I will continue to earn it. And I will share it when it comes.
And I also want what I have — I want nights like tonight, singing a Billy Preston song back-to-back with T.S. I want talking about dreams and overcoming bullshit to get those dreams like I did with T.E. (who, incidentally, noted quite accurately that the wrong person won the November election, so why be surprised that “Idol” always has the wrong outcome). I want laughs and smiles across a room and genuine hugs and just a feeling of — for once — being included, accepted, wanted — like I got to glimpse tonight.
And I want what I wished for that I’m not the slightest bit brave enough to type.
And with that, that is certainly enough for tonight. 😉
On iTunes: Crystal Method f/Garbage, “I Think I’m Crystallized”
Third time’s gotta be a charm. 🙂
| Your Birthdate: May 25 |
| Your birth on the 25th day of the month (7 energy) modifies your life path by giving you some special interest in technical, scientific, or other complex and often hard to understand subjects.
You may become something of a perfectionist and a stickler for details. Your thinking is logical and intuitive, rational and responsible. Your feelings may run deep, but you are not very likely to let them show. This birthday makes you a more private person, more introspective and perhaps more inflexible. In friendships you are very cautious and reserved. You are probably inventive, and given to unique approaches and solutions. |
On iTunes: Widelife, “I Don’t Want You (Thunderpuss Mix)”
After a two-hour drive home tonight, nothing is a better remedy for sore eyes than Bo Bice on the “American Idol” finale. Well, that coupled with a Vicodin I’ve been hiding in the freezer. whee!
I’ve decided what I want to be when I grow up — the zipper on Bo’s jeans. 😉
What’s up with these weird original songs they have Bo and Carrie singing? Luckily, Bo got to sing “Vehicle” again. *drool, melt, slobber, collapse* And I’d let him “Inside (My) Heaven” any day!!!
“Tomorrow’s (work-related) get-together? Casual dress encouraged.”
It’s the little things — and wearing jeans on the evening of my birthday? Makes me very, very happy. I’d wear a denim skirt, but all 40 of the ones I own are all too short to wear among people around whom I try so desperately to act like I am professional and stuff. 🙂
Now, to find a pair of jeans that will not require me to find a square foot of floor on which to lie down to zip ’em up ’cause the f’ers don’t fit!
On iTunes: Zero 7, “Destiny”
For the second time in a month, I’ve been treated to a shower with NO hot water. It was like shaving one’s legs with an icepick. *brrr* I know there’s still conditioner in my hair and probably some suds somewhere, but damn it, I’m clean. Now I’ll just go stick my head in the oven to thaw out. 😉
On iTunes: Breaking Benjamin, “Rain”