Hide The Mess

Old Friends

My friend Michelle, who I have known for like 15 years, never ages. Ever. And I don't see her often enough but when I do it's like we just pick up where we left off, as if no time has passed. I love that. She is one of my favorite people.

na na na!na na na!lika lika lika lika lika la la la

I heard the song - I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers yesterday - what the hell ever happened to those dudes anyway? Huh. The have like seven albums - who knew? Annnyywaaaaayy - that one song, the 500 Miles one? If you hear it, it will play in a never ending loop inside your head - ALL THE LIVE LONG DAY. And even though it was trying to torment me, I still kinda dig it. Reminds me of the time my cousins and I turned my Aunt's living room into a Dance Club and proceeded to dance all crazy and insane - ok, fine - we were dancing like drunk fools - but I blame the German's for that. Yeah. Blaming the Germans. That's not random at all is it? Leeme 'splain. That was the night we drank some god awful liquor my cousin brought back with him from Germany that tasted like licorice (which means it also tasted like ass) and, I swear to the Baby Jesus, it had a plant inside the bottle. A fern. A Hydrangea. I don't know. Somethin' like that. Oh and it wasn't good, but we drank it anyway. And then there was a dance floor, and The Proclaimers and quite possibly the most brilliant idea we've ever had - making Jell-O shots with Bacardi 151. Turns out if you use too much 151 it never really becomes the jell part of the Jell-O and you just end up with some Jell-O-Bacardi-ish concoction that isn't quite Jell-O, and isn't quite a drink. But it was a mixture my then 15 year old cousin shoveled into her mouth by the spoonfuls, and who we found later lying across the staircase, drunk and smoking a cigarette and it was then that I explained to her the awesomeness of self induced vomiting since she was clearly going to be sick later - she just didn't know it yet. Geesh. And she thought we didn't love her! Come on - nothing says love like Jell-O & Bacardi.
Oh and one more thing: na na na! na na na! lika lika lika lika lika la, la, la. 

Send In The Clowns

We'd just moved to Nebraska so not only was I the new girl, I was also supposed to be wearing a clown costume for this very strange Christmas program that involves ... Raggedy Ann? Wait, were we toys or something? Huh. I have no idea. But I do remember that we couldn't afford to have a clown costume made and my Mom couldn't make me one because she didn't sew at the time (but she learned damn it) so my parents did what they could. Unfortunately, this is what they could. And I can still hear someone whispering behind my back "Why'd that girl dress like a hobo?" Why indeed! And from the look on my Sad Clown Face, I think this is when I started to work on my Powers of Invisibility. I wanted to be anywhere but standing on that stage.

I Heart Richard Marx

Yesterday at the gym I look up at one of the TV's and Rick Springfield & Olivia Newton John are selling this: Love Songs Gold &  80's Gold  - and for the record, what happened to Rick Springfield's face? Did he get some work done or something because he looked ... plastic? Waxy? Not Human? Granted, I didn't have my glasses on, and I was not very close to the TV so maybe it was just me and my old lady eyes - at least that's what I'm going to tell myself. Denial is such a pretty place, come visit me sometime won't you?
Anyhoodle, so I'm watching Mr. Jessie's Girl & Ms. Let's Get Physical and realize that every song on the 80's Gold album is awesome and that I will most likely be forced to purchase it for its sheer awesomeness. No, for real ... look at the TWO DISC track listing. Every one of those songs - except maybe that Diana Ross tune - Upside Down - which  I can't really place but I'm not going to say I don't know it, it's possible that I do and just didn't know that was a Diana Ross tune, but that track is really the only blemish on an otherwise perfect collection of songs that seem to have been put on CD for me personally. The only artist missing is Richard Fucking Marx who I will love forever and ever amen (oooh, Randy Travis Song! Shut up. I love him too. Yes. RANDY TRAVIS.), in fact, I'd switch out the Diana Ross song for Don't Mean Nothin' or Should've Known Better...
Oh hi, I'm back. I've been on Richard Marx's website and you know what? He is still awesome. To the MILLIONTH POWER. I don't even care about this blog anymore, I want to get back to Richard's website and read his journal. So I'm going to do that. And join the mailing list. I am so very 15 years old again.

Drinking On A School Night

I met my old friend  Aaron for drinks last night. It's always fun to catch up with someone who knew you when you looked like this:

 

 

Damn. I don't even know when that picture was taken, and clearly  we were under the influence of some mind altering substance because seriously? No Memory of it AT ALL. I'm fascinated with his t-shirt, which at first I thought said 'fucker fucker' but no, it says 'pucker pucker' which ... huh? What the hell is that? And my lipstick ... did I think "whore red" was the color of the 90's?  Because that's just hideous.

Nobody Puts Baby In A Bon Jovi Video

Patrick Swayze turned 53 yesterday. FIFTY FREAKIN' THREE. WTF? Seriously, how is that even possible? How could I have been so in love with someone who is now 53? Yeah, you read that right. I was totally in love with him. Because of the Dirty Dancing.  Because of the "nobody puts Baby in a corner" and yes, because of She's Like The Wind … which at some point I started calling  She Broke Wind because I thought it  was  hi-lar-i-ous.  That movie came out the year my parents split up and  I remember going to the theater with my Mom to see it.  At the time, I thought it was sort of my job to take care of her, and do things with her, and be her friend because my Dad had just split and my sister was being a total bitch all the time and was barely home anyway, so in my 15 year old head that meant I needed to ditch all my friends and interests and take care of my Mom. Mind you ... this isn't something she asked me to do, nor do I think she expected it ... but our whole life had been turned inside out and I always thought she was a little frail and I worried that she wouldn't be ok and I worried that I wouldn't be ok, and I worried, and worried and worried. Because it was really all I knew how to do.  Years later she would tell me she regretted letting me take care of her that way, because it wasn't my responsibility and I missed some stuff, not big stuff,  just some teenaged girl stuff. But I did manage to develop a monumental crush on Johnny Castle, or as you may know him, Patrick Swayze, which was VERY teenaged girl … so I don't think I missed too much. Also very teenaged girl? The  mind blowing crush on Richard Marx (SHUT UP!)  and Jon Bon Jovi (SHUT UP some more). In fact the crush on Richard Marx was so bad that I paid my hard earned babysitting money to join his fan club. Like ... officially.  As in,  mail this card and send $15  kind of join.  For my money I got a welcome letter, a poster, and  a CD single. Back then I didn't have a CD player nor did I know anyone who did, but I didn't care.  I was a member of the Richard Marx fan club people! It's on the books somewhere. There's documentation of my LAMENESS! Out there. Somewhere! And of all the things I got from that fan club and truthfully I think that's all I got for my $15.00 ... I still have that CD single.  The crush on Jon Bon Jovi … I blame on MTV. It's their fault for playing the Born To Be My Baby video four million times forcing me to sit for hours just waiting for it to come on. HOURS & HOURS.  At one point I  sort of thought he might be singing directly to me ... and no, I wasn't drunk or stoned. I was just a very sad and very lonely teenaged girl.  Awww ... see? Now don't you feel like an asshole for laughing?

Passing Notes

A note passed in Ms. Lindsey's Psychology Class - 1989

Cute Boy In Psych Class - You have never let a guy you like feel your boobies, ever?

My 17 Year Old Self - Nope sorry to disappoint you. I hardly ever fool around. Guys terrify me plus I never get asked out.

Cute Boy In Psych Class - I am sorry. I would say "if I weren't going out with my wife I would ask you out" but I'm practicly (sic) married. What I am saying is you are real nice. If my girlfriend read this I would be dead but, I am glad you are a friend. I know we aren't close but I trust you, and I know I could come to you. Even though I haven't known you that long I feel like I know you. I understand you is what I am trying to say. Sorry I am being stupid.

My 17 Year Old Self  - Thanks for saying that even though I have a hard time believing it. You are such a sweetheart and I feel like I can trust you or I wouldn't have told you what a little virgin I am. At times I want to just go out find a guy and then just do whatever but I've got a complex and I can't. I know you think that this is all my dads fault or something like that but it's not. I just don't think I'm good enough for any guy. They can always do better. I'm not perfect so no guy could possibly want me. Do you understand what I'm saying?

Cute Boy In Psych Class - Will you shut up! You are so nice, the right guy just hasn't seen you. You are so sweet plus you have big boobs. J/k I am here for you when you need to talk to a guy. And shut up about you not being good enough.

My 17 Year Old Self - Thanks (I think) for telling me I've got a large chest even though I don't. Youre too nice to me. Please know that if you ever need a friend I'm here too.

Cute Boy In Psych Class - Thank you. And they are HUGE.

I have no idea why of all the notes passed in high school, and believe you me there were an ASSLOAD, but of all the notes to survive my many moves and fits of purging that found me throwing out everything with any sentimental value ... this one still finds itself wedged between the pages of my senior memories book. I remember the cute boy and I remember wishing he didn't say things like "you are real nice" because even then, I knew that being "real nice" was just a heartbeat away from the mother of all polite compliments ... you know ... the one that contains the words "good" and "personality".

Sentimental Value

I have a tendency to keep things. Random things. Like the instruction manual for a portable CD player I got for Christmas back in … 1993 maybe? A CD player I don’t even have anymore. In fact, I think I had to pawn that CD player for gas money back when money wasn’t really tight, it was non-existent. I never got it back but I have the instruction manual … for no reason whatsoever.  I keep stuff like that in a box,  and I limit my pack rat self to what will fit in that box. I have letters, cards, pictures,  my senior memories book from high school, (do they even DO that anymore?), and random stuff like the musical program from a production of Godspell  put on by the Theatre Arts Department at Texas Wesleyan University. A performance that, in hindsight,  would prove to be life altering. If it hadn’t been for that musical I would  never have considered Texas Wesleyan as a college choice, but after being on campus, I changed my mind in April  of my Senior year,  threw out my acceptance letter from the University of North Texas and headed to Texas Wesleyan.   I’ve kept that program, and I couldn’t tell you why … it’s just a piece of paper from a college I never graduated from… but I can’t imagine parting with it.