The three-chord segue
I have been a music fiend lately. It’s the perfect place to hide, get lost, visit other places. I don’t know about you, but sometimes I day dream – correction: I day dream ALL the time – that I am living out my dream as a member of a silly girl group (think Tenacious D meets The Donnas – and not that I necessarily like The Donnas…they’re just the first girl group that comes to mind that’s not all estrogened out like the Bangles or Go-gos). In this day dream, I am about 30, which is the age that in my mind, I will finally have the discipline to be an above-average musician and will be wise enough about the world to bring a certain charm to the stage – not the charm that comes from a 22 or 25-year-old youth who is more likely to display a bouncy-tittied, wide-eyed optimistic kind of charm, but a seasoned, mad-at-the-world, I-had-the-chance-to-grow-up-but-didn’t-wanna-dammit attitude with toned arms and slightly smaller titties. Only when I’m 30 will I be able to bring that. I’m not sure what I’ll play or do – I know I’ll never be the guitarist my wee brother is (he’s seriously the most talented musician I’ve ever known and I will never tell him), but I can play your basic three-chord song. And I can sing. Maybe my voice isn’t fantastic, but I’ve got passion. It comes from my crotch.
And in these day dreams, my silly girl group only plays small venues with no expectations or hopes of being “discovered” or famous. We’ll only play the venues that match our soggy, mal-adjusted (but still fantastically charismatic!) insides. They will be small dives, but not too dank, with smoke dancing slowly under the too-bright sky lights that the owner of the establishment once thought were classy. The clientele will be there not to see us. No, they came to enjoy the $2 Coors and just happened to be there when we were there. And at the end of the night, they will like us. They won’t love us, mostly because they won’t know us, but they will go away thinking, “man, I should catch their next show.” It’s next Tuesday, that’s when it is, motherfucker. Be there or be drunk at home listening to your crappy Dave Matthews CD.
And in these day dreams, my silly girl group only plays small venues with no expectations or hopes of being “discovered” or famous. We’ll only play the venues that match our soggy, mal-adjusted (but still fantastically charismatic!) insides. They will be small dives, but not too dank, with smoke dancing slowly under the too-bright sky lights that the owner of the establishment once thought were classy. The clientele will be there not to see us. No, they came to enjoy the $2 Coors and just happened to be there when we were there. And at the end of the night, they will like us. They won’t love us, mostly because they won’t know us, but they will go away thinking, “man, I should catch their next show.” It’s next Tuesday, that’s when it is, motherfucker. Be there or be drunk at home listening to your crappy Dave Matthews CD.
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My moment of me-lodrama (emphasis on ME)
I have these moments throughout the day – you just happened to catch one. Here goes.
I think I have the predisposition to lead a very lonely life. Those of you who know say, “wha? But she’s bubbly for a nearly 25-year-old and plus, she’s got perky tits!” Yeah, I know. But despite my silly, perky disposition, I don’t answer my cell phone, much like my darling Mando, and I don’t call people. Ever. I don’t even call my parents. I don’t even want to answer the door when my gorgeous friend Crystal comes over. But that’s because my house is crowded these days. Maybe that’s why I’m in love with my man M’s headphones.
Let’s talk about him for a second.
I love that man more than I love life. He’s the constant, driving force in my life. I wake up for him. I work for him. I live to love him and make him happy. I will always answer his call and he mine. Every song I hear I’m either singing it to him or he’s singing it to me. He is with me even when he isn’t. He’s no longer known as my man M. He is Matt. He needs no alias. I feel it in my crotch.
But seriously, I’m just waiting for my people to say “fuck this bitch. She never answers the phone!” when all I really want to tell them is that I’m depressed/spoiled/stupid and am waiting until later. Later, when I have better things to say. Later when I’m not so negative. Not so into music or something.
End melodrama (or so you think).
Someone else answered the door and now we have company. My gorgeous friend Crystal’s here and now everybody’s watching Scrubs. I guess I should stop being depressed/spoiled/stupid and join the living. The bunch of nice people in my living room. But the music from the ear phones is so good. I may just stay a little while longer…
I have these moments throughout the day – you just happened to catch one. Here goes.
I think I have the predisposition to lead a very lonely life. Those of you who know say, “wha? But she’s bubbly for a nearly 25-year-old and plus, she’s got perky tits!” Yeah, I know. But despite my silly, perky disposition, I don’t answer my cell phone, much like my darling Mando, and I don’t call people. Ever. I don’t even call my parents. I don’t even want to answer the door when my gorgeous friend Crystal comes over. But that’s because my house is crowded these days. Maybe that’s why I’m in love with my man M’s headphones.
Let’s talk about him for a second.
I love that man more than I love life. He’s the constant, driving force in my life. I wake up for him. I work for him. I live to love him and make him happy. I will always answer his call and he mine. Every song I hear I’m either singing it to him or he’s singing it to me. He is with me even when he isn’t. He’s no longer known as my man M. He is Matt. He needs no alias. I feel it in my crotch.
But seriously, I’m just waiting for my people to say “fuck this bitch. She never answers the phone!” when all I really want to tell them is that I’m depressed/spoiled/stupid and am waiting until later. Later, when I have better things to say. Later when I’m not so negative. Not so into music or something.
End melodrama (or so you think).
Someone else answered the door and now we have company. My gorgeous friend Crystal’s here and now everybody’s watching Scrubs. I guess I should stop being depressed/spoiled/stupid and join the living. The bunch of nice people in my living room. But the music from the ear phones is so good. I may just stay a little while longer…
posted by deconstructionist at 8:37 PM
2 Comments:
hmm ... sounds like i've rubbed off on you a bit too much. you know, with the isolationist stuff. i've been like that very much lately. although everyone's given up calling (except for, ironically, leanne, who's the laziest of all people i know). we should talk soon. maybe this weekend. because i'm sick (again). and i've been going to sleep early (i'm an old timer). i miss aqua teen.
Oh, so much love...you are all my lovely little boogers that I want to make out with on Jupiter. (Especially you, my gorgeous Matt, who was so moved by this one neurotic post to learn German and create a non-blog.)
Mando, you are my aqua teen.
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