Gorgeous weather.
New hair.
Flip flops in season.
Favorite ice cream.
Mani-Pedi.
Played hooky from work.
Thought about cute boys.
Wrote poetry in an outdoor cafe.
(still wished I smoked)
Happy I don't smoke.
My sunglasses are beautiful.
I want to explore.
I want to know what they know.
I want to lie on the grass wrapped in his arms.
Who he is, I don't know.
Well I might, but not telling right now.
Music
My soul serenade
I danced on the street
I flirted with the waiter
I got my nails done the color I love.
with little thought of what I should get
but what I love.
Mama sounds angry
all that stuff coming up, and nowhere to hide it.
Just be and love her regardless
cry with her when you need to
love her regardless.
I need to kiss more men
Chased out of a shop for talking.
No really, for talking.
I need to kiss more men.
Maybe not more men, but kiss more.
Yes definitely kiss more.
My French boyfriend is gay
like my latin and theater and work and gym and london boyfriends.
Someday, someday soon, they will hand me over to my beautiful
partner
my man among men
like ladies in waiting.
(those bitches).
My soul serenade.
My perfect day.
(and it didn't include a nap)
Tie my hair up
off to bed
not sleepy but TK says it will pass.
I believe TK, he's smart.
He knows the bits that I don't want anyone to know.
I think I am scary-- a mountain of information and emotion and energy.
He can handle it. For now. When he can't he'll let me know.
(waa waa waa)
My soul serenade.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Regressing?
I think that's what I have been doing. Recently, on my fabulous MySpace page I have been searching for songs that make me laugh, smile or cry. My favorite find as of yet was Toxic-- yes, the Britney Spears classic, done by Nickel Creek. A fiddle, a guitar and two whiny voices perfecting the pop princess' vocal accomplishments. Wait, let's make that"accomplishments". There, that's more appropriate.
However tonight I found "Me lost Me Cookie at the Disco" that brilliant 70s classic from "Disco Sesame Street" . I did own this record (circa 1978), and if I could find this record again, I might die from shock and joy. When I get really down, that's the song I sing to myself over and over, quietly in my head, and do a little internal laugh. try it, it's good for the soul.
I have secret fantasies of "nameless faceless man to made miserable by me for the rest of his life" (aka: the unknown factor) to be buying this record for me. Secret secret fantasy-- because that would then mean he really really knows me and loves me. Even better would be if he owned it and listened to it when he was down too. We could have "Cookie listening parties" and we would dance and laugh and sing and boogie. And when he called me Cookie, our special secret smile wouldn't expose our little joke on the "Cookie-ness" of the moment.
Which brings me to regressing. I'm doing all this energy work recently, unearthing memories I don't want to remember. It's like having to go through those discarded half-filled boxes never fully unpacked from years ago, and really sort out the stuff, but it would be so much easier to have someone else go through it. Have someone else live this life. But it's my life, my memories, my pain and joy and sorrow and heartache and my pieces of my puzzle.
And why then does this song mean so much to me. I think I loved it so much and was about 6 or 7 and would sing it all the time, and someone called me Miss Piggy at school or on the block, and I didn't think it was a bad thing until it was pointed out that Miss Piggy, although beautiful, was fat. And fat=bad. And so then I thought that I could learn to dislike Miss Piggy-- she's pushy and needy so don't be like her. Be like Cookie Monster-- he's a little rough around the edges, he can't control himself around cookies but other than that, he's sweet and kind and sometimes even generous. People like him.
Someone else pointed out Cookie Monster was fat too, with eating all those cookies and whatnot. I thought he was beautiful, soft, and fuzzy-- something I would like to have as a stuffed animal, or even better, maybe even a friend. What I really wanted was the Miss Piggy hand puppet like all my other friends had that year, but my mom kindly didn't get it for me, as she knew the less paraphernalia I had with a pig on it, the better off I would fair at school and such. Shortly after the 2nd Muppet Movie I embarked on my first real diet, and haven't ever been off one. Hasn't helped tremendously. Or at all.
So I spent days in my room, dancing away to "cookie at the disco", wanting to have cookies to eat and then to lose them at the disco and yell out "Come back to Cookie, cookie". I still am not sure why the song makes me so stinking happy, but it does. My little girl inside smiles all day with her Cookie Monster, her friend, singing along.
Regressing-- maybe. But delightfully regressing. Lovingly regressing. And slowly but surely another piece of the puzzle is unearthed.
It's not a bad life. It's just been so frozen for so long that I forgot what it was like to feel real joy. That song, totally causes joy. Joy that can't be taken away. And that is worth regressing for.
Goodnight. I am still not packing for London and Paris. I took tonight off from my life and watched bad TV, cried and listened to good music. Check out Amy Winehouse-- all of her songs make me want to shimmy and wiggle and be one of those women that laugh too loud, drink to much, smoke and have sex with friends because "what the hell, you'll do" and it never means anything. In other words, she rocks.
In another life I will be a lounge singer, I swear. Actually, I promise.
However tonight I found "Me lost Me Cookie at the Disco" that brilliant 70s classic from "Disco Sesame Street" . I did own this record (circa 1978), and if I could find this record again, I might die from shock and joy. When I get really down, that's the song I sing to myself over and over, quietly in my head, and do a little internal laugh. try it, it's good for the soul.
I have secret fantasies of "nameless faceless man to made miserable by me for the rest of his life" (aka: the unknown factor) to be buying this record for me. Secret secret fantasy-- because that would then mean he really really knows me and loves me. Even better would be if he owned it and listened to it when he was down too. We could have "Cookie listening parties" and we would dance and laugh and sing and boogie. And when he called me Cookie, our special secret smile wouldn't expose our little joke on the "Cookie-ness" of the moment.
Which brings me to regressing. I'm doing all this energy work recently, unearthing memories I don't want to remember. It's like having to go through those discarded half-filled boxes never fully unpacked from years ago, and really sort out the stuff, but it would be so much easier to have someone else go through it. Have someone else live this life. But it's my life, my memories, my pain and joy and sorrow and heartache and my pieces of my puzzle.
And why then does this song mean so much to me. I think I loved it so much and was about 6 or 7 and would sing it all the time, and someone called me Miss Piggy at school or on the block, and I didn't think it was a bad thing until it was pointed out that Miss Piggy, although beautiful, was fat. And fat=bad. And so then I thought that I could learn to dislike Miss Piggy-- she's pushy and needy so don't be like her. Be like Cookie Monster-- he's a little rough around the edges, he can't control himself around cookies but other than that, he's sweet and kind and sometimes even generous. People like him.
Someone else pointed out Cookie Monster was fat too, with eating all those cookies and whatnot. I thought he was beautiful, soft, and fuzzy-- something I would like to have as a stuffed animal, or even better, maybe even a friend. What I really wanted was the Miss Piggy hand puppet like all my other friends had that year, but my mom kindly didn't get it for me, as she knew the less paraphernalia I had with a pig on it, the better off I would fair at school and such. Shortly after the 2nd Muppet Movie I embarked on my first real diet, and haven't ever been off one. Hasn't helped tremendously. Or at all.
So I spent days in my room, dancing away to "cookie at the disco", wanting to have cookies to eat and then to lose them at the disco and yell out "Come back to Cookie, cookie". I still am not sure why the song makes me so stinking happy, but it does. My little girl inside smiles all day with her Cookie Monster, her friend, singing along.
Regressing-- maybe. But delightfully regressing. Lovingly regressing. And slowly but surely another piece of the puzzle is unearthed.
It's not a bad life. It's just been so frozen for so long that I forgot what it was like to feel real joy. That song, totally causes joy. Joy that can't be taken away. And that is worth regressing for.
Goodnight. I am still not packing for London and Paris. I took tonight off from my life and watched bad TV, cried and listened to good music. Check out Amy Winehouse-- all of her songs make me want to shimmy and wiggle and be one of those women that laugh too loud, drink to much, smoke and have sex with friends because "what the hell, you'll do" and it never means anything. In other words, she rocks.
In another life I will be a lounge singer, I swear. Actually, I promise.
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