Just when you think, you’ve got me figured out
The season’s already changing
I think it’s cool,
You do what you do
And don’t try to save me.
– Meredith Brooks “Bitch”
I guess you can say that when you reconnect with an ex-boyfriend, your first love, actually, after not having much contact with him over eight years, the last thing you expect him to say is: “You know I heard this song a couple of days ago, and it reminded me of you.”
It was 1998. The song was Meredith Brooks’ “Bitch.” Yes, that conversation really happened. And yes, it was meant as a compliment – or at least I’d like to think it was.
In any case, the truth is, if being strong, independent and outspoken constitutes a bitch these days, then yeah, that’s me.
I’m also all the contradictions. I hurt easily but can forgive what some folks might consider unforgivable. I can outwardly seem as though nothing bothers me, while simultaneously be super sensitive. I may appear completely comfortable in any situation, while my internal monologue is a litany of me letting my insecurities get the better of me. Ultimately though, I’m super friendly, ridiculously outspoken and outgoing and have a loyalty to my friends that can’t be disputed. Basically, I am pretty much an average woman with one really huge love in my life…
I have an almost unnatural attachment/attraction/addiction to music. I’m pretty sure this love was fostered by my uncles who had the awesome task of babysitting me when they were still teenagers living with my grandmother. Thanks to them, I could honestly say I might have been the only six year old to know every word to every Beatles song before I even knew who they were (or that they weren’t even a band anymore). Oh and I know that my teachers at the Yeshiva I went to REALLY loved my rendition of “Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2” (you know “We Don’t Need No Education”) in the second grade. I guess what I’m saying is that I can blame/thank my uncles for my love/appreciation of music.
Now while I can honestly say I love music, I am not a musician. Despite piano lessons as a child and a few guitar lessons as an adult, I play no instruments. I will readily admit to being able to sing (well, in tune.. an my voice doesn’t suck), but the aforementioned insecurities lead me to not being able to do so publicly without copious amounts of alcohol ingested, and then, well, really, have you ever heard a drunk person sing?
To that end, I tend to be particularly in awe of anyone that can go up on a stage and perform songs, which you have to know come from either their own personal experiences or from the experiences of those close to them, night after night, often to a crowd where many people are either drunk and stupid, or just won’t shut up. Oh yeah, a HUGE pet peeve of mine – people who won’t shut up at musical venues. I may be a pacifist, but I often have a mental image of me doing something violent to shut their mouths.
(Seriously lady standing next to me at Sullivan Hall while Matt Lowell was on stage singing a song about a break up – I don’t care if your booty call for the night texted you back. I REALLY don’t care that he’s not all that great in bed. I am completely not surprised at all that you couldn’t get anyone except Mr. Pencil dick to text you back. Now can you shut up so I can hear the man with the guitar singing? Cause that’s what I paid for. K’ Thanks… )
A well written song can set a mood, cheer me up, bring me back to reality, get me through a rough time or bring back memories, fun times and some not so fun times. Music has always played such a huge part in my life and yes, I am THAT person that pretty much says “I LOVE that song” probably way too often, but the truth is, I mean it every time I say it.
My sister, cousin and a few friends all suggested I should start a blog combining my love of telling stories, many of them funny, some maybe not, about situations in my life past or present with the music I love. The stories will be true. The names may be changed to protect the guilty or innocent (or me, from a lawsuit).
So here it is.