With the apathetic tolling of the midnight hour and just beyond the deep depression lurking behind the legendary Dick Clark translating “Happy New Year” on my television set, I found myself straddling a rather curious conception. For the first time in over twenty years, I felt, well… virginal; an odd consequence after over a decade of marriage. Moreover, for someone who has squirreled-out two strapping ten pound baby boys, sensibility screamed,
“For the love of God, woman, you are far from virtuous!”
And yet, there I was, a seemingly delicate little flower skipping into the uncharted meadows of 2009 without a clue. When suddenly, the tender music montage of my sensibly sweet life came skidding to a halt; interrupted by a freaky little twit B-reeling nonsense within my snappy little brain,
“OMG! It’s 2000… uh… NINE and you don’t know how to text? LOL! Yeah, and guess what else? Your i-Pod… SUCKS, totally. You wha’? …You joined a FB group, ‘Conway Twitty Turned My Life Around?’ ROFTL! Put it together, girl and get with the 90’s at least! Ha, ha, ha…You’re a total geek! CU!”
I desperately wanted a superlative comeback, but then I realized, even my comeback was lame, you know the old… “Talk to the hand ‘cause the ears aren’t listening.” Oh my! This was way worse than I thought. For added insult, my mind settled upon our creepy landlord in California. Allow me paint you a picture, after all, I was an artist.
Imagine for a moment, you’re sitting in Malibu feeling the warm sun kissing your million dollar, smokin’ hot bod. (Why not? I do.) When, scanning the beachcombers for blazing beauties, your eyes settle upon the lonely day breaker: a blob of balding, bottle-bleached middle-aged manhood donned in a 3X floral tent shirt and dime store flip flops. Say, Jimmy Buffet on crack. To make matters worse, this bozo thinks you’re interested and shuffles your way. He starts gabbing and somehow finds the dreaded and elusive angle to boast (and boast) of his glorious “studio” days. Gag me!
Could I really be comparing my dork-factor to this busted up Monkee who composes heavy adult contemporary electrical pieces in his garage? Oh heck no! I decided there was no better time than now to take stock of my life. A checklist would suffice.
Random, Yet Crucially, Important Things Girlfriend Must Accomplish in 2009:
· Loose ten pounds… Get real, for desired “foxy” factor, drop 20! Crud.
· Quit smoking. Triple crud. I’m not promising anything yet, just itemizing.
· Get rid of any and all pairs of “underpants”... make the switch to thongs for cryin’ out loud.
· Give up painting FOR-EV-VEEEER! Too much heartache, for too little money. See Chuck Conelly Documentary at HBO “On Demand” for sick, disturbing ‘This is My Life” imagery.
· Find a PAYING day job. Mental Note: This blows! Immediately, disregard anything boxy and remember you are just itemizing.
· Learn how to TEXT… “I must, I must, I must increase my… texting linguistic competence!” Oh boy.
· Purchase a Sham-WOW! Support the creatively retarded.
· Cut back on the roadie sodie’s! This will be tough.
· Finish your comedic screenplay! Promote delusions for as long as possible so that by the time you actually make a living, you won’t be too disappointed when the whole thing blows up.
· Get a life… first step, find hot new music to “jam” on your I-pod! Secondly, delete the word “jam” from your vocabulary, synonymous with the now defunct boom box, Lame-o.
I looked my list over once and became so terrified that I shelved it into my overflowing “I Don’t Dare” files. However, after purchasing new shoes and saging my house in a ridiculously superstitious effort to welcome the Chinese New Year without attachments, I actually found myself quite optimistic. Perhaps, the year of the ox would ride me into the sparkling fields of new found glory! Fingers crossed.
It was as if the gods of the super-duper lucky were smiling down upon me that day because, it was not long before the most incredible morsel of singularity appeared within my inbox. A random press release entitled, New Found Glory. (A leftover casualty from my former P.R. days.) What tha’? Incredible, I had to read on:
New Found Glory
With Special Guests: Bayside, Set Your Goals, and Verse
Live at the Royal Oak Music Theatre
Sunday April 26th, 2009!
Royal Oak – AEG Live presents New Found Glory…blah… blah… blah… Tickets will go on sale Thursday January 29th. Blah… blah… blah… New Found Glory is a band that needs no introduction. (Ha! Except to me.) Blah… blah… blah…, the band has risen from an obscure group (I can identify with)… blah… blah… to an international powerhouse (I can NOT identify with)… blah… blah… blah…
For more info visit www.newfoundglory.com (Mental Note: check out their new single)... Blah… blah… blah … they will arrive at the Royal Oak Music Theatre (close at least) on Sunday April 26th, 2009 (Available!). Tickets… blah…are $17.50 (the price of 3 packs, well now likely 2 packs of smokes- taxes) in advance and $20 day of show. blah… blah… blah…For more information visit www.royaloakmusictheatre.com or call 248.399.2980 (Will do.)
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Like a hawk scanning the landscape for juicy bunnies, I tore through all fluffy rigmarole, and dug precisely into the meat. Yes, indeedy, it would appear as if America’s finest punk rock stars will be rolling into my back yard and, no doubt, I was NOT going to miss this one! Relevance was calling my name. Amen!
I decided that I crack open my file again and scan the list for empty spaces awaiting plausible checkmarks. First up, purchase a Sham-WOW! This would be easy enough and required nothing more than a Visa or MasterCard and an extra twenty bucks in my pocket; which under the current conditions, I didn’t exactly have. However, I justified the moronic purchase by promising the cut back on the frequency of my late night beer runs. And even better, I could to make two hefty check marks on my list. Perfect.
Secondly, the paying job situation was waiting, I should say, wailing to be addressed. And seeing as though, I just spent another twenty bones that I didn’t have, I decided to fish around in our local waters for some bait. Luckily, I had some writing chops hiding beneath the surly smile and it wasn’t long before this little angler found some nibblers. Setting the hook, I started reeling in the gigs. Ironically, when looking through my scope, I realized that my trophy fish had actually lured me (into the vastly exciting waters of the Splash variety.) Employment sans boxes. Check, Check!
Reveling within my recent accomplishments, I felt about as puffed up as a prickly pufferfish slinging wimpy great whites back into bottomless oblivion. Now, I was 100% determined to find my New Found Glory and quick, April was fast approaching. I knew what came next.
“Oh boy. Give up painting forever? Really?”
I felt like Ren with those enormous black puppy dog eyeballs welling up with tears. However, as luck would have it, that little nit-wit piped up again, “Ren who?” which caused me to abruptly change channels. My sentiments now settling upon the horror show I watched not long ago; the one plus painful and devastating hours of good ole’ Chuck Connely pounding nails into my coffin. Yes, my friends, the checkmark had to be made. I knew it! And not being so open to a potential future of starving, going berserk or becoming an outrageous maniacal alcoholic, I could justify the marking. At least, now that I fancied the idea of becoming the next Eudora Welty, that is. Check one for reason. Check two for promoting delusions. Awesome!
Besides loosing twenty pounds, quitting smoking, learning text lingo, revamping my I-pod and finishing my screenplay, I was truckin’ right along. (Pedal to the metal, baby.) I contemplated adding more bogus items to my “Relevance List” in an effort to continue feeling the glorious false sense of accomplishment. However, my finger was twitching… and like the circus, the checkmarks must go on! So I decided to do a little research and take a few moments out of my grueling schedule to learn this new kiddie-poo lingo of the techno age. (Research = asking other moms.) I determined that if anyone knew, they would, especially the type who became my worst nightmare in high school. (The totally ‘in yo’ bizness’ variety.) And I knew just the dastardly wench.
Bingo! Of course, my sneaky source promptly directed me to the translator traitor (and nosey new’s best friend) website. However, only after I endured an excruciating ten minute editorial as to why we mothers need to “go Rambo” on our kids. But hey, I got what I wanted! And it wasn’t long before I spanked that ‘Can you translate this?’ online test.
Fellow comrades, it was the moment I was waiting for. That little twitty twit had it coming to her, so I laid it out like a feast fit for a king, or queen, rather. Fingers primed. I texted:
“ha, twit! gw? I dn't h8 u , coz 2 h8u , id hav2 think about u +2 think about u id hav2 care. +btw, f i wtd ur opiniN Id av askD 4 it welcum 2 Dumpsville, pop. = U. lol. o+gal! aml – me”
Translation:
(Hey Twit! Guess what? I don’t hate you, because to hate you, I’d have to think about you and to think about you, I’d have to care. And by the way, if I’d wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it. Welcome to Dumpsville, population = YOU! (Laughing out Loud) Oh, and get a life! All my love, Me)
Oh my! That felt fan-friggin’-tastic! Wonder Woman sized Check!
(Back to reality.) My editor reminded me that, in fact, I really must start producing some finished pieces should I desire my relevance… err credentials essential to my future writing career in Detroit. Ding! Ding! I suggested we start with an interview with, say New Found Glory. After all, I’m partial to the name and there was no better time than now to blow up my career. I half expected to be turned down, but then something told me. “You know what? You just might get it.”
And when I heard those exact words confirmed in via e-mail, I boogied down. For a minute. Holy Smokes! I still had checkmarks to make before I could appear in public puckering with pride, confident that I had transformed myself into an authentic little hip chick. I decided to check out NFG’s website; which, incidentally, was where I struck gold upon my discovery of Listen to Your Friends. I downloaded, oh yes fellow fledglings, I download… the whole kit-n-caboodle. Ha! This was exactly what the doctor ordered for my new found physical fitness regimen. I was locked and loaded; all I needed now was a gym membership, and girlfriend gets what she wants. (4YLP- for your listening pleasure: www.newfoundglory.com)
Which leads me to the Now; my hefty thighs blazing with burn and on a brighter note, really coming around, my I-pod updated with the latest, at least the latest, New Found Glory and all my checkmarks made… all except one, which shall remain nameless. (puff puff) I now feel ready to emerge into the dawn of the new age at the Royal Oak Music Theatre on April 26th. And I look forward to giving you, my beloved readers of Detroit, the most engaging tales of the relevant variety from this point forward. Oh, and be on the lookout for my ‘tricked out’ New Found Glory story following the show. If you see me there, be sure to stop by and say “hi,” I’ll be the one throwing my numerous pairs of old “underpants” on stage. (wink-wink)
