I Just Wanna…. Stop!

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Well. It is even worse. Limited communicado. Or hardly any since that awkward night.

Not awkward for me anyway, I think it was for him. But who CARES.  I mean WHO REALLY CARES. What do they say about pizza and that stuff.. It can’t be all that bad. Again, I am assuming this because well… I have not said how I feel. EVER to him.

We don’t even text that much anymore….”It’s so funny, that we don’t teeeeeext anymore, ” as [Sir] Cliff Richard would “say ” (Isn’t he a “sir?” Feh. It doesn’t matter) Anyway, I am still pretty crazy for Mr. So & So.

I will gladly gladly take the texts he throws my way, Yes I am stupid I care that much. But affection and stupidity go hand in hand as Connie Francis would say…. I mean we chat and what not but I feel * and I mean this sincerely * that he does not really need me anymore. I know he had a lot of healing to do, and I am glad he is getting on the other side of that shit, but it does not change the fact that….

I… just wanna STOP and tell ya how I feel about cha’babe.. I just wanna STOP…the world aint right without ya babe, I just wanna STOP… fo’ your loveeee.

So I have been writing this blog for three days because of chronic interruption. And it is hard to get my feelings across the way I want them to. I have been waking in the morning really feeling emotional, it has been rough — biting my tounge till it bleeds not to say a word about how i feel. I mean it isnt some thing like ” it got physical and now I feel some attachment…” not at all. I felt this way — way before and I don’t feel it going away anytime soon. What is it, I mean can you treat these kinds of feelings like some kind of disorder that just sticks around. I am trying to think of it that way. I have been having some ROUGH mornings, but songs like this wont help… ( Don’t mind me and my love for  Frankie Valli and the 4 Seasons )

But ugh, it gives me the feels because Mr So and So is SOOOOOO not avaliable and that is one the key elements in me not wanting to get tooooo close but I can’t stay away at the same time, It makes it so hard. I want to ask him so any times to come over, to have dinner to just… I don’t know… I just dont know.

I think I have landed in the friendzone for good.

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Well, Fuck Pt 4.

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Well Shit.

Now he’s coming over tomorrow. I sound like I am in High School when really I am a mid 40’s, Obviously smitten crazy person.

So. were going to listen to records, which is usually  stare at each other and talk in code…

I swear on everything holy, if he sees this I won’t know what to say…or maybe like Jake in the Blues Brothers:

I ran out of gas! I got a flat tire! I didn’t have change for cab fare! I lost my tux at the cleaners! I locked my keys in the car! An old friend came in from out of town! Someone stole my car! There was an earthquake! A terrible flood! Locusts! IT WASN’T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD

Would it be so horrible, wait, wait..wait.. Lemme think about this a sec…

Yes,  Yes it would be horrible. But then there’s wishing and hoping”..it would be all faboo. Sigh, Oh Dusty…Do I Really Show Him That I Care? #mortified

Well, Fuck. Till Tomorrow.

Update: Rescheduled.

Well, Fuck Pt.3

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“Hello I Must Be Going,”  a relateable theme, and film  in my life.

What a fucking week. What a weekend! I threw my back out, breathing.

You know, just being middle-aged you throw your back out for no reason at all. So I have been keeping busy and keeping a distance, which has been really rough because, “so and so,” has had a rough weekend too… you know I want to be there and make sure all is copasetic and all that… but I gotta be okay too.

So, I shelp my teenage son with me to go crate-digging in the buck-bins at a nearby record store, and I anticipated I would be sneezing and coughing from dust, the remainder of the weekend (which I have,) but it was worth it with all the scores I found on vinyl, wow. But that is for an entirely other blog.

I have kept my distance, yet so has he — I am sure for his own reasons ( work, life, hangovers, stuff) but for me, for now, he knows nothing.

Like NOTHING.

I have concluded that I wish him love and happiness, and I know he will be ok through all he has been going through the past almost 9 months we have been talking and texting. Meanwhile, well I accidentally  fell in, well I.. just stumbled into really caring about him . so very, very much…I just have no words.

Lyrics- yes, many many lyrics. But words. Very different.

So ….yeah I have been trying to keep very….. very busy. I still have all the records out and divided up from what, 3 weeks ago when we were spinning wax on late winter’s night.

So I thought I will keep them out and divide them  up into genre. So I came up with these: ( I have to go into this shit, as I must stay distracted… I can’t just think about how things  would possibly all blow up in my face, or won’t work out…or just what a great person he is…when he meets someone he really does want to date… I gotta just stay busy- so here I am, over here watch me staying busy!) That reminds me of a Jerky Boys call, with Jack Tors. ” Watch Me Spin, Watch Me go!”

I  digress….Records..OK!- Genres include- 40’s – 50’s – then 60’s ( singer-songwriters/ bands), 70’s ( Sub: Singer-Songwriters/ Bands) 80’s ( Sub: pop/rock/punk), Comedy, Spoken Word ( for all my McKuen), Novelty and Compilations. There it is–and in the midst…of it all yeah my back goes out and I am not stepping around thousands of records half divided up into piles around my floor. I mean this is a good thing, I think it almost is a blessing in disguise, I say this because It gives me something to do- and…

Dammit he’s texing.

Of course I answer in two seconds because I am nuts for the fucker. Me eating cream cheese out of a container some some stupid mini spoon( bless the Ketogenic lifestyle) and writing this saving grace blog.

Hi Hi.. he writes.

Hey Hey Hey, I respond.

*Crickets*

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No, I did not eat this entire container. But my heart won’t let my stomach, stomach much else but gin martinis with large olives ( too many carbs!) and well, this cream cheese. Adulting at it’s finest.

Ok then; SO… the records are left so it will give me something to focus on and plan to do after work this week. I am back to the long commute tomorrow. I don’t mind it so much, as it gives me time to cry in the car,  listen to music and get centered before work, honestly, I have a lot going on in my life besides this, and a lot more shit to deal with so, trust me — I am not all weeping-willowy over this shit, i just hear a song sometimes, alot of the time that reminds me of him. I could finish this playlist that I started from Well Fuck Part 1. But.. Hm.

So I am taking a Facebook break. Yeah… It’s like going to the social media mikvah.

That was damn funny. Social Media Mikvah. HA!  I just thought of that…!

So, yeah ( and he still hasnt responded back, so I write and continue…) I took the FB break and start my commute– I am supposed to go see George Thoroughgood next Saturday, which should be fun, but the company will be rough since my mind will be elsewhere.

I know, I know, I should just go and enjoy- but the way I am feeling it isn’t so easy… and he tells me that he is just ” a mess ” I feel awful and want to help in the mean time I can’t go telling him how I feel. No way, never. It is like in the movie “Love Actually,” when  the guy from The Walking Dead visits Kiera Knightley and after which he says “Enough…” I can’t do it to me, or him…. and if he knew I would be mortified. COMPLETELY.

But, then again… you never know. It would be healthy for him to move on. But no matter how great a person, I may think I would be for him, If he aint ready- well,  “A Twat is a twat and that is that” as George Carlin would say.

But I am having an interesting conversation about my simplistic, even mimimlistic responses in a text messages by a pseudo-suitor, or at least wants to be and they are expressing  how ” I don’t let people get to know me.”

Well shit, my brain is kinda occupied at the moment… but they did say “how is a common layperson supposed to get to know you, as you are quite an uncommon creature” Which I, personally, thought was flattering. But the way I a feeling, flattery will get no one anywhere…

These entries are so goddammed scattered which is so far from who I have become in the past six years.

Me: Funny, but  a ittle stoic in the workplace, results and action driven, goal-oriented, OVERLY organized at work, and pretty much at home ( except for my record collection and hair products) other than that- I am pretty simplistic and naturally a happy person.

So this other text is going on and, stil; crickets from ” so and so.”.. so I have emersed myself into a text convo bout Sacco and Vanetti and modern-day, anti-authoritarian concepts and modern day Anarchy and the crossover on todays “trend,” of Minimalism.That morphed into a conversation about Radiohead’s “OK Computer,” vs ” KID A.” Sigh. Talk about “let down and hanging around – crushed like a bug on the ground.”

Really? When I wish Sir So and So , would just come over and kiss me hard ( Kiss me Hard, Crybaby Kiss Me Hard!) and stare into my eyes with his awesome eyes and just lay here and watch TV, and just be. I mean every time he talks to me or smiles at me, I just…am so screwed arent I? I am screwed.

I gotta go to bed,  I thought this post would have some form of resolve of.. ” I am done and moving on.” You heart really does do the choosing.

My stomach hurts from the cream cheese. I am getting  diet coke and going to bed.

Song Pairing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdhikXRlWB4

Movie Scene Paring  ( the “Enough” Scene ) : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B7u6bMBlCXw

Good Night. zzzzz.

 

Well, Fuck Pt.2

Now that I’m home and had some time to put this into some reasonable sense, I don’t even know if I should keep up part one. But I am a smartcookie, and I don’t want to write like someone is looking over my shoulder. The chances anyone is reading this is close to zero. If you are then comment below, ::Crickets::

I mean the whole “thing,” whatever “this,” is. Is it words or feelings? I have the feels yeah, but hey, I can’t be apologetic about it. It is what it is, I feel like I have broken some unspoken rules of friendship. I mean have I? I am usually the one who is aloof and very together, logical.. but Well, Fuck, I love how I feel about MYSELF just being around him.

I really love being around him, he has a good soul. I like listening to him talk… I like watching his mouth move when he talks…I like seeing him smile and look at me like I am crazy when I laugh at myself uncontrollably. I feel like an idiot around him, kind of giddy and I can’t remember half the things I am saying because I am stating at him and my heart is pounding out of my chest so hard. I have never had these kind of reactions with someone before. EVER. I mean this shit started happening, so much that I went to the fucking doctor! Nothing. Everytime he would text… Boom Boom Boom… my heart would pound. I chocked it up to… whatever. Then I started noticing a real connection.

It was similar to a panic attack, but more of excitement. So I ask my Dr, who knows me really well… he knows I am not a rash or that I do not do things impusively or obsessively. I am a pretty damn straight-forward thinking woman, with a good head on her shoulders. I have my moments but far from the strange and stalkery women I have known in my past. Holy crap. I have always steered clear of those kinds of people and found them quite intrustive in my life and lives of others.

But even with formers, I did not find myself with these physical symptoms of attraction… so Doc asked if I had the following:screenshot-2017-03-02-at-8-47-04-pm

* butterflies

*heart palpitations

*shortness of breath

*stomach pain

*loss of sleep

Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. He asked if anyone was on my mind…Oh COME ON! Seriously.He took pity on me and gave me a few 10mg of valium, and sent me on my way. So, with all this logic and straight forward thinking. Still the heart does it’s own thing. I am trying to shake it off like a cold or something but alas it doesn’t work like that.

Whenever I am near him, I swear to god, its like  I can’t help it, I am so weirded out by this… it is out of my in-control charachter. Most of my side of conversations with him in person go something like THIS . He is amazing company…and great to be around. I miss him when he’s not around. Normal shit, right?

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But, I do my thing, I do not go out of my way to see him, or contact him.I act so stupid, I think when I am around him. If I smoke around him I am more relaxed but not less nervous. Argh. Such as life. I guess I am wondering what he is thinking. I dare not ask and don’t want to know. I just don’t. I’d rather err on the side of, I don’t know.

I made him a playlist, it was a total 80 songs long. Like some Time-Life collection. Who rips 80 SONGS for a playlist…!

Who Am I?

 

Movie Pairng: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EbHxNLzmNkA

Music Pairing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Pv_IZoQDbI

 

Sad Songs They Say So Much, Kinda.

My computer crashed on me at least 7 or 8 times this morning before I could even get started on this blog, I was rethinking yesterdays post. Hm.  I am resolving that  I should have probably worked on research paper that I have due quite soon.

After my ridiculous time I put into my yesterday’s blog, I headed home yet at the last minute detoured into Summerlin Parkway and headed straight for the mountains, into what they call Downtown Summerlin now. A new suburban area with shops and crap.

I sat in a parking lot at Downtown Summerlin looking around wondering if I should take myself to a movie or head home. Dammit.

I opted for take out Chinese, and went home with food and a frown. I told myself I would go crazy  if I had to spend another Saturday night looking at my four walls. Yet, started feeling really ill after I ate. So of course I started Googling health issues. Bad idea.

Since I was an early teen, my step dad ( a doctor), always had DSM’s laying around. I would sit and diagnose myself with ever disease possible .  I was quite an intense young lady.  Nothing much has changed except for maturity and acceptance.

I was diagnosed with really bad panic attacks around the age 17 and they have stuck around pretty much all my life but now I can take it with a grain of salt.

Reading helped. Music helped. Yet I always find myself steering toward the equally troubled sorts of artists. Maybe not officially troubled but those with a seemingly somber sadness.

Song writers like Paul Williams, who is quite apologetic in his music. Emotional with words questioning love– love that will never be or that was, rainy days–Mondays.

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He just gets me. There is so much regret and sadness enmeshed in his lyrics as he waxes poetic over his unique vocal styling. I adored him in Phantom of the Paradise. One of the songs in the film, directed by Brian De Palma is called “Faust”. The song starts out with a hauntingly,” soul-be-damned” piano intro, in which  William’s sets an immediate tone of complete regret and disparaging, gut wrenching, self flogging lyrics of utter failure and heartbreak- all before the second stanza.

On the soundtrack album which is fucking wonderful, William Finley sings it.

If you have the LP the song where William’s himself sings in a more laid back 70’s style, which plays out almost in a sense of “this situation has not only killed me but sucked the life out of my soul” gospel– and with a devilish ending guitar solo—you then realize William’s isn’t taking us to heaven….baby.

His version is so awesome it makes my vagina throb, I adore that man, his lyrics and music. (Not to mention he’s a stone 70’s singer songwriter fox!)

Faust

I was not myself last night
Couldn’t set things right with apologies or flowers
Out of place as a cryin’ clown who could only frown
And the play went on for hours

And as I lived my  role, I swore, I’d sell my soul for one love
Who would stand by me and give me back the gift of laughter
One love who would stand by me and after making love we’d

Dream a bit of style
We’d dream a bunch of friends
Dream each others smile….And dream it never ends

He gives us the excellent “Hell of It”,  ( I have never seen this footage of William’s stage performance before… wow) which brings us William’s love for ragtime piano, mixed with the “fuck you sounds of damnation”- that this soundtrack brings. It’s like Bugsy Malone meets Satan.

The lyrics alone have similar undertones of Harry Nilsson’s “Your’e Breaking My Heart”. 

Hell of It

Good for nothin’ bad in bed, nobody likes you
And you’re better off dead, goodbye
We’ve all come to say goodbye, goodbye

Born defeated died in vain
Super destructive, you were hooked on pain
And though your music lingers on
All of us are glad you’re gone

If I could live my life half as worthlessly as you
I’m convinced that I’d wind up burning too 

(partial lyrics)

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But why do these sad musical pontificates of regret, sadness and loss make me feel better? I am drawn to them like magnets. Speaking of magnets- I am absolutely drawn to the talents of Magnetic Fields’ song writer; Stephin Merritt

Merritt

According to his website,” House of Tomorrow”‘; Merritt has gained official recognition as one of the country’s best recent songwriters; the “Cole Porter of his generation”.

Nothing ever really works out for Merriit in his songs.

Someone always is sad, left behind, far away, only momentarily lucky, ugly, won’t dance with him, the dog’s leash is too long or just plain absolutely cuckoo.

Sounds like that sums up my typical day in my head in a very large nutshell 🙂

Many of his songs read like prose and are short, repetitive and to the point; and end thusly;

Reno Dakota

Reno Dakota there’s not an iota of kindness in you
You know you enthrall me and yet you don’t call me
It’s making me blue, Pantone 292

Reno Dakota I’m reaching my quota of tears for the year
Alas and alack you just don’t call me back
You have just disappeared
It makes me drink beer

I know you’re a recluse; you know that’s no excuse, Reno
That’s just a ruse
Do not play fast and loose with my heart

Reno Dakota I’m no Nino Rota; I don’t know the score
Have I annoyed you or is there a boy who– well he’s just a whore
I’ve had him before
It makes me drink more

But again why do these songs of sadness make me feel better, or do I just like feeling worse before feeling better. Maybe I just feel that these singer songwriter vocal and lyrical consolations help bring me a sense of  ” You are not alone”.

Still curious on why I will go for something more melancholy like  Merritt’s ” I Don’t Wanna Get Over You” than say, Van Halen’s “JUMP”?

According to Today.com , researchers say that emotive and over-romanticized sad songs evoke four distinct rewards.

First being allowed to feel sadness without any of its “real-life implications.” In other words, you can safely explore what it’s like to be a little blue without experiencing the intense grief of mourning a loved one. Even if it’s what you really may be going through, it’s someone else’s words.

Second reward was “Emotion regulation”– as apparently, experiencing sadness through music help to express and release your emotions.

Third was the reward of “imagination” letting us  feel as though we could express ourselves as richly and mournful as the music.

Last, the reward of  “empathy”, it makes us  feel good by sharing the sadness of another human being through the song.

I agree with bits and pieces of this study, I suppose.

Especially the empathy. But most of all I feel empathy for me in particular, as if I wrote the song or a living my situation through the song: like a really bad 90’s movie music montage ( example here…)

I mean if you have ever seen a group of drunk girls Karaoke the song ” Before He Cheats” you know what kind of pathetic empathy I am talking about.( Oye…) These girls may not be drunk in the video, but you get the picture.

Jerk-Off’s and Lady Assholes

People are just annoying. If I never had to deal with the public ever I would be thriled.I have to say the car accident that took me out of my life-long career of hairdressing -was a blessing in disguise. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my clients, and I love doing hair.

That’s really not the public I am talking about.

I am talking about just your regular, day-to-day jerk-off(s), that lack  any sort of social consideration.

When labeling these rude, crude and socially unacceptable people; I have come to find that some terms are deemed more effeminate and some more masculine.Usually you hear someone called a “Dick” to be male and “Bitch” to be, assuming, female.

Well I have heard many men say to other men “ Stop being a Bitch” which may or may not be degrading to females. 

I have to admit I have referred to a guy as being a “big ol’ vagina”;yet there are some terms that I use regularly that seem to have their place in their respective male/female categories.

Let me be more defining of some more commonly recognized terms:

Jerk-off (m) : A guys who publically talks way too loud in comparison to their surroundings. According to EngineeringToolBox.com in social situations people often talk with normal voice levels at distances of 1 to 4 meters. In such cases the noise level should not exceed 55to 60 dB(A).

Talking with a normal voice approximate to a sound pressure level of70 dB, a raised voice to76 dB, a very loud voice to 82 dB and a shouting voice to 88 dB (1 ft distance). At a cafe or coffee shop, at least the one I am in, the area between me and the next table is approximately about 2-3 feet. The regular considerate person, usually is talking at a level of- oh, for fucks sake, including background music, let’s say; 72dB.

This is close enough so you can hear them, but if you have headphones or are more focused on background music you can pretty much drown them out. Now the jerk-off sitting next to me is clearly talking at a solid 82dB.  That’s freaking loud. Who does that? It’s just plain rude.

I have no desire to hear your talk in terms of a bunch of “alphabet soup” in any sort of public-based call.Not only is it annoying- but just plain obnoxious

.e.g. “.. So this weekend Joel’s internship ends and he will then transfer to BFK then onto another aspect of IDP and then to IQQ”

Or let alone they are trying to have a conversation with Siri….“Siri, find “GARBAGE COLLECTION” Garbage SIRI!!!… Stupid Siri.”I am begging you, Please stop arguing with your technology. It isn’t that advanced to care.  Yet, as I am human –I am advanced to care.

People, CEASE arguing with Siri… PLEASE! Unless you are Katie Holmes, and you are disciplining your daughter: Shaaaadup. NO ONE CARES. ( and even then no one cares…)

In addition, if you are in doubt about if you are encountering the  typical jerk-off ; some good word indicators would be the use the words: “party” “drink” “cock” “fuckin’” “dude” and “yeah”  more than once- in the same sentence. Probability= High. Unless he is a chicken farmer, a caterer, or quoting someone else. He’s a certified jerk-off.

The etymology of said terminology comes from the word “jerk” which was coined in the 1540’s as “to lash, strike or whip”. I can safely assume this then mutated into the slang “jerk off”– which means to masturbate or just plain ol’ waste time.

There is nothing I can find that brings the term to modern day into this possibly fraternity-based, derogatory adjective; except for maybe Andrew Dice Clay in the film “Ford Fairlane” 

Lo, women are not exempt here. When haters, hate-they gotta hate equally. Because on the flip side, we have the “Lady Asshole.”

Note:  I can’t believe I actually said the term” Haters  hate”- Really?

Lady Assholes (f): This is a term me and my friend Sam coined about a crazy “buck-toofed” acquaintance of ours. We use the word “lady” solely because she is a bit older and isn’t a horrible person per se; yet she is just really full of herself and thinks that her shit don’t stink. She’s an asshole – a LADY asshole.

She doesn’t return phone calls, she never gives credit where credit is due and doesn’t keep her word. Not to mention she posts insane close ups of her yellowing crooked teeth poking out of her gaping pie-hole…. it is just frightening. The only way I can describe the horror that is her mouth is Sloth from ”The Goonies” and that is insulting poor Sloth

She posts on her Social Network every-time she goes to the hairdresser, a before and after picture. Only the”after picture” has a lens-flare on it and she has squeezed her sausage-like physique into some “shmata” that is gratuitously glittery, her arms f-stopped in all their rippled “Bingo Wings”  in all their glory; and her hair LOOKS THE FUCKING SAME!

The decision for her to go get her hair done, is as good as the decision to buy a good pair of sunglasses. You may as well go to a bar, throw $80 on the table and leave. She should do the same to her hairdresser. Throw him a check, he should throw that dog a bone and send her on her way. She is just scary.

Once me and Sam get on a text thread about her, there is no stopping us. But, as with any Lady Asshole, you can usually go on tearing her apart for days. It’s comforting.

 

Blog Music Pairing: Jerk it Out– The Caesars

 

Sing Sing Sing!

 

Most days I go around with the first-line to a great story everywhere I go. I walk my happy-ass into Starbucks and in my head was authoring:

She opened the door too hard again today, hitting her head on this broken door for the last time. She thought, until… HE walked over; tall and cavalier and savvy enough to open the door before she had another opportunity to knock ( pronouncing the “k”) herself in the “kepie” again.”

Interrupted in thought, with droves of hot pink Lululemon tushies in line in the Las Vegas North West Summerlin Starbucks location.Me, in my jewjeans with with jewgenes.

To me, Lululemon sounds as if it is either a drink you have on a cruise, or something you squeeze into your Swee-touch-nee tea at Nana’s house.I have to say my favorite first line is usually in the form of a song. And Benny Goodman’s “SING SING SING” is a doozey especially when I feel like I am on my A-Game and going out somewhere. ( <–yes, this is really me)

When that is playing, any line is a good line and I usually get there feeling pretty dang good, swinging it hip to hip.

On arriving to whatever destination I get to, with “SING SING SING” I’m feeling a size 4 and all in glitter ready to walk into “the” bar, a plethora of men named Charlie yell “He-ya Kitten”… as I wave back knowingly with one hand donning one long red glove a velvet dress and a tiara ( It’s my scene, I have to have a tiara, you wouldn’t make fun of Rita Hayworth… OK then)

As make my way in, saying quick casual smarmy hellos to passers by, a steward lifts a round bistro style table over his head placing it at my feet as quickly as a chair is placed right behind me. White linen table covers, effortlessly drape the table followed by a candle and vase with flower.

Maurice, a slick looking waiter holding a towel and bottle of champagne on his arm whispers silently to his lackey who appears post-haste with a crystal champagne glass and a light of my cigarette…. ( the song fades)

( Fade In: Reality) 

… it seems that Sweet Tomatoes Salad bar closes at 9 p.m. on Sundays * sigh*

so me and my birkenstocks opt for Chinese take out and some SiriusXM England Dan on the way home.

caine

The song just never really continues to all it is supposed to be.

In movies, like Annie Hall, ( Woody Allen is king of Soundtracks), Manhattan Murder Mystery, or Goodfellas, the music just goes along perfectly; the people live out exactly what the music is portraying it to be.

picnic

Songs from movies like “Moonglow” from Picnic in the scene where Kim Novak and Bill Holden dance, is just AWE-some. I do mean; jaw-droppingly, breath holdingly awesome eveytime I see it.

The romance, the peach-colored lens making everyone look dewy and ripe. Fresh faced Novak and horribly-horny looking Holden, is nothing short of a fucking-liciously perfect October evening.

Nothing, I did in October came close to anything like that; except maybe, embarrassingly enough, flirt shamelessly with someone half my age who has zero interest in me…..That doesn’t even come close to that scene.

But every-time I hear that song, I may as well have.

annie

At the moment, “You Made Me Love You” by Harry James just popped on and I drift to the “Hannah and her Sisters” scene with Michael Caine and Barbara Hersey dancing, forbiddingly clandestine in a New York City hotel room with a bottle of Perrier-Jouet bedside.

Reality, I sit in a cafe in North West Vegas drinking a, now cold, half-caf latte in the red cup. The red cup” is the only reminder that the holidays are on their way– and it will be another season that will be the best time anyone  will have, in my head. Ugh, Really?

Another prime example: “Rhapsody in Blue” doesn’t exactly match up to the next crap ass situation:

A guy holding a baby walks up to a Jewish girl at a cafe, ( this is the beginning of a joke right there.. as this happened not five minutes ago) and asks if she remembers talking to him a few weeks ago about “all things Jewish”. She said, “ Yes I do”– as his, obviously annoyed, Meg Ryan looking wife looks on agitated, then he turns to her saying:  “Remember,  I told you, she’s the one about the Jewish stuff” “

Oh, uh-huh” she shakes her head; knowingly-unknowingly, looking like she just unexpected ate piece of gristle from a steak.( No One Expects the Spanish Inquisition)

Nice to meet you”; she says obviously not remembering, as obviously he never told her.

I look awkwardly at her, as I never introduced myself to warrant someone to say “nice to meet you” and say

Yes, Yes” and nod at her through squinted eyes red and sore from computer glare.

Trying not to be rude; I focus mostly on her, gratuitously asking about her kids, autumn activities and the weather– as I know what it was like to once play the part of the “asshole wife.”

I am too cerebral for this town….

As “I’ve Heard That Song Before” swells in my blue-tooth headphones, I clean the lenses of the ugliest glasses I have ( the backup pair) looking around as the Friday crowd piles in with their spray tanned bodies squeezed into their hooded tank tops ( That’s Vegas for you) carrying shopping bags, first-world problems and acrylic nails.

The cute guy with the long hair and green shirt is here again–always wearing an orange ballcap… which means he is bald with long hair (ouch). That is almost leaning toward mullet territory…. that can turn “attracted to a nerd” into, “Ugh you’re giving me GERD” ,quickly.

Coleman Hawkin’s “Out of Nowhere”, shuffles into my headphones, and I think to myself: Dude, Just shave it, guy you can’t wear that hat forever. Bald is beautiful Own it. ( <–hot!)

As the old timey sounds of “She’s Funny That Way” by the Erroll Garner Trio plays on,

I shake my head, and roll my eyes and hope I look better than I really do in the reflection of my computer screen. As stated, life’s situations and songs just never really match the over romanticized moments in life I lend to them…. or equate to their movie’s counterparts soundtracks.

Life: It makes music sadder- not the other way ’round.

Another Friday Night in Vegas