The songs I sing and sing and sing

I sing a lot. I sing songs that I hear on the radio, that I mak up my own lyrics for. I sing songs from the past including a Navaho lullaby that I learned when I was 12 that may or may not really be a Navaho lullaby. I tend to ask and answer questions in song. I also like to opera-ize songs especially the rapper ballads…

Anyway I guess I sing because I always have a song in my head. Although they come and go, a few days ago I realized that I have atleast 10 steadies. By steadies I mean the songs that I have had in over the last 12+ years that I sing I would say on a weekly basis.

After all these years I have never been able to shake them…and I don’t even know how to try, so a couple days back I just decided that yeah they are a part of me and will always be and I am cool with it.

So here they are and I guess if you wanted to be accurate and as lame as it sounds these songs would make up the soundtrack of my life.

So here are the top 10 for now…

1. I don’t know much but I know I love you, Aaron Neville. I haven’t mastered much in my 29 years, but I can confidently say I am pretty close on this one.

2. Je suis un enfant de Dieu – I can’t even tell you how often I have referred to this and how many people I have been able to impress. Thank you Glenda.

3. Baby Got Back, Sir Mix Alot – I like to sing the original as well as my own lyrics I wrote a few years back.

4. Blackbird – I think it may be a Beatles song but I have changed the lyrics to: “Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly punka#@ fly” not sure why I have to thrown in the punka#@...

5. It Could Been Me Standing Next to You, Billy Ray – Nobody has summarized so much in so few words. And Stacy this one all started with you…

6. Shoop, Salt and Peppa – I wouldn’t dare mess with these lyrics, if they aren’t perfection what is?

7. Biggie Biggie Biggie Can’t You See – I have cut back on this song after the unfortunate tum tum incident with a good friend…what I wouldn’t give to turn back time…sorry Tiff.

8. Looking for Something In Red, Lorrie Morgan. I like to sing this when I get dressed in the morning - judge me.

9. A Child’s Prayer – a primary song from back in the day. Helps me CTR.

10. Regulators (Mount Up), Warren G – This played a big role back when I was dreaming of being black.

I am sorry but it's just too soon...

Well, I guess it is official…I am not super awesome at blogging, I’ll credit it that back to my commitment issues. It has been awhile. But if it counts for anything I have been busy, busy working my way out of a funk. I don’t want to speak too soon but I think I am back.

If you know me, and you have asked me how I am or what I am up to in the last couple months, I can 99.9% guarantee that I have responded with “Oh I am in a funk” or the popular “Oh I have to get my life in order.”

So I have pinpointed this whole, “I am in a funk/I need to get my life in order” thing back to mid-March when I found myself at the local Shopko contemplating about which gel arch supports I should purchase.

Yeah that is right I was buying arch supports. And yes, I feel that there are several things wrong with this.I was buying them because I needed them, my paws were in a bad way, didn’t know why but the bottoms of my feet were killing me. Of course, I was convinced that I had fallen arches and that my feet would never be the same again and I was destined for a future where my only footwear choices would consist of those white old-people/nurse shoes or crocs or running shoes. Sick. And who knows if this would even help with the pain… But still this pretty much meant I was going to spend the rest of my life ensuring people I was not A) a lesbian B) a coach C) 64 years old and D) that I wasn’t a frump.

So the purchase was made and after immediately ripping the package open in the car and inserting into my shoes right away and even though I felt immediate relief I thought hmmmm…this is not where I wanted to be or what I had planned…..

I mean it was a Friday evening ok it was Friday night, I had just made an appointment with a Bulgarian Massage Therapist with the hope his natural remedies could cure my feet, I had just turned 29, too young for arch supports and I was in a ghetto Shopko parking lot, alone, preparing to accept a life void of any footwear that makes me feel pretty or happy which would surely lead to a life void everything I have ever dreamed of and of everything that i I currently love: traveling, the beach, pretty wedding shoes (and don’t get me started on all the shoe pictures), fun with friends, the mountains, cooking good eats, love, marriage, babies, an RV, I mean I was seconds away from the Jazzy (AKA Rascal [see pic above])…and I wasn’t ready for that, it was too soon. I was whirling and I guess something inside me went into a coma that day….

Well it turns out that my feet are back to normal, big shocker…it seems like they were back to normal about a week or 2 after the Shopko incident. So it turns out that I may have over reacted a bit…weird. Looking back I guess I tend to do that…because I have been enjoying a summer feeling like a girl wearing flips and high heels...But that Friday in Shopko started a string of, well let's just say unnecessary incidences…any way it has just taken my mind a few extra months to pull out of it…any way I am back. I am back but with a lesson learned – I have made a promise to myself, a promise to never stray again from the theme song of my life. Thank you Kenny and I am sorry.

(more to come on the theme song)

Baby-sayer

I want to be a baby-sayer. And I always have. It all started with the vision I had when I was a little girl. I saw myself being 68 years old at the local grocery store wearing 18 bracelets on each arm and heels that click on the tile as I roam the store for muffins, canned tomatoes and pine nuts. When I was ready to check out and the girl asked me if I wanted paper or plastic I would say “paper is just fine, baby.” Then when I would leave and a nice teenage boy would hold the door for me I would say “that is so sweet of you, thanks baby.” I think this steamed from the hours of watching Steel Magnolias as a child.

Fast forward 20 years. I still want to call people baby. I have been trying to decide if I can or not. I feel confident I can for sure pull off the old lady “baby” but that’s 30 years away and I am ready to get started now. I am feeling nervous about being a white girl in my 20’s calling people baby. To make matters worse I feel nervous because people that claim to care about me, have lovingly let me know that I am no baby sayer, instead they say I am more of a “punkin”-sayer or a sugar-sayer

Duh… I already know that I can say pumpkin and sugar and that people like it but I want to say baby. This is hard for me but I have to admit there is an art to calling people baby and let’s be honest not everyone has got it. In fact, I have been secretly studying to learn more about this amazing skill, with the hopes that something will rub off on me.

Here are my findings:
> The majority of white girls under the age of 55 are not baby-sayers, with the exception of my 4-year old niece. Listen for you girls like me I know this is hard to read and I am sorry. I was mad too.
> Good old country boys, especially the oldies are baby-sayers.
> The term “baby” doesn’t belong in corporate America. And yes this was learned the hard way.
> There are several facets of baby-saying including: 1) The bedroom baby-sayer 2) The oldie baby-sayer 3) The good game baby-sayer
> If you are black or brown, there is a 80% chance you can call people baby and they will like it.

So to my friends who tell me I am no baby-sayer – you win, I throw in the towel, you are right. I am no baby-sayer. And yes I may have tried to take it and make it my own, like I do with most things and yes that may have involved referring to some men as babyboo but I surrender, I am in a corner.

I am just hoping that those of you who can call people baby, that you will do so and do it proudly and I can only hope that I am one of the lucky recipients.

My back is aching and my belt is too tight?

My back is aching and my belts too tight...
Okay, yes that was a cheer, granted it was a cheer circa 1992, my middle school years, 7th grade to be exact, but a cheer, a cheer that I liked, okay I mean like. And to clarify by cheer I mean an actual phrase that cheerleaders would shout as they clapped and jumped and kicked in front of a crowd while 12 year-old boys would be on the free throw line, making a lay-up, taking a TO etc... And if I remember correctly it was one of the good ones, I dare say the most requested cheer. I think the entire cheer may have gone something like this:

My back is aching and my belt is too tight
My hips are shaking from left to right
Say mmm mmgowhaw, the bears have got the power

The mmm mmgowhaw is not a typo. That’s what they yelled out, and I yelled it out too.

I really wish that back in 92 was the last time I heard that cheer but unfortunately I’ve heard that cheer at least every week for the last 13 years. I am embarrassed to admit it, but I have heard it because I say it. I say it a lot. I don’t really know why. I mean I hear the words and they are so lame, and they don’t make any sense, but I just can’t shake it.

It is not even that I can’t shake, I really think I like it. I especially like to shout it out when I am tired, or struggling to get off the couch, or when I am sore, or when I feel that I am coming down with something. I also like to sing it when others I am with are tired or sore or have any sort of look of discomfort. Sometimes when I am with people I take it and rephrase the words a bit to form a question: your back is aching and your belts too tight?

So I have been happily doing this for years…and just this last week for the first time I stopped and thought “Hold up. What in the hell am I saying? And why have I been doing this for so long? And why is it that more people in my life aren’t asking me to stop or at least making fun of me to my face in hopes that I lose the confidence to continue? Am I telling people that I think they are fat with that belt too tight comment? How is it the I still have friends? When I have a child am I going to force her to be a cheerleader, because I never was but always wanted to? Then will she grow to resent me because I turned into one of those sick moms who lives vicariously through their child?”

Listen, enough said. All I can do now is say sorry, I think I might be done. It was a good, solid, long, and yes maybe semi-unhealthy run.

Times are Tough

My dad never calls me. In fact, I dare say that he has no clue what my phone number is or where to find it. I am not mad about it, I mean I know my dad loves me and plus I find it semi-endearing. After all, my dad is a good old country boy. And good old country boys like my dad don’t worry about calling people and “touching base” they have better things to do.

They spend their days worrying about things like: the price of gas, what kind of meat to have for dinner, whether or not it is worth it to shoot the neighbors dog the next time it chases the chickens, where the mustard is, when a major earthquake will occur, when their children who live in the city will get mugged, when the Yellowstone caldera will erupt and cause mass destruction that will lead to a nuclear winter and the whole earth will die, how many packages of meat you can keep in the deep freeze, what will be on the History Channel tonight etc…When I call the house every once in a while my dad will answer, and we will chat for no more than 2 minutes.

A few months back when I called I was surprised when my dad was almost eager to talk to me. Well he was eager because he had something to say. I could hear him in the background “tell her to go buy some rice.” Excuse me, rice? Yes he needed me to get down to the store to buy some rice. Apparently the whole world was in a major rice shortage and I needed to get down to the grocery store and get my supply. The initial recommendation was followed by roughly 8 to 10 minutes of ranting about how tough times are these days. Keep in mind that he wasn’t speaking into the phone rather he was just speaking and my mom was holding the phone. I was catching about every 3rd word.

But I got the gist of it. He was worried. And I laughed and told my friends he was a “up in the night” and what not. But I guess because I love my dad and because, let’s face it I am somewhat like him, I somehow found myself down to the grocery store picking up three bags of rice. Yes, they are still sitting on my shelf but at least I know my dad would be proud and plus times are tough.

I cry now – sue me.

Well I cry now. I was just getting ready to blog about it when what do you know Tiff decided to tell the world about it first. Cool. I sort-of feel like I deserve it. I have been waiting. I mean I did have a crush on her boyfriend for a year or so and I thought I was about time to "get mine," as they say. Note that I never actually “took him from her” we all know that this was never an option and I did confess my feelings for him to her over ice cream. I have been wondering what my payback would be, I guess maybe this is it. I mean a year-long crush on her serious boyfriend verses unsolicited exposure via an unauthorized blog post, fair, I will take it.

Anyway back in the day (pre-summer 2007, pre-my head smacking into a truck at small-town rodeo) I almost always kept it together. You didn’t seeing me crying in movies, crying when a cop pulled me over (okay that did happen once shortly before a somewhat embarrassing incident at the Target parking lot) or crying over TV shows like Little People, Big World or crying over the pretty snow or a compliment from a old lady or homeless people or single men over 45 or babies or boyfriends or fruit stands. But now I cry about all of these things and much more. And I really cry. I am talking about tears down my face, down my neck sometimes getting the collar of my shirt a little damp. I even bought those little mini packets of tissues to keep with me. At first I told people I bought them because they were mini and I am in love with mini things but let’s be honest I bought them because I needed them. I needed them in a bad way.

The most embarrassing part of this new me, is that a large majority of my crying seems to happen while I am working 9 to 5 down to the office. I am getting all choked up in meetings and I am crying at my desk when I hear something touching. I am crying in the break room in front of large groups of people. People at work don’t know how to react to this. Even my dear friends don’t know what to do with me. That is why every time I start crying and I get these “What in the hell...” looks and the only thing I can come up with is “I cry now.” I am not sure what else to say.

The worst part is that when I am tired it is a double wammy. I cry over anything and everything. And I am still trying to come to grips with how to handle this.

Listen I got problems and I know it.

But all in all I kind of like this new sensitive me.
Are there benefits? You bet.
Do I milk the tears once in a while to get what I want? Yes Sir I do.
Is it worth the awkward interactions? Sure.
So this is the new me, I cry now.
Take it or leave it.

I call people dog.

For some reason as I start this blog, and write my first post I feel the need to confess something about myself…..
I call people dog. Not all people, just some people. And I am thinking about trying to stop. Here is why:

• I am a white woman, almost 30 years old to be exact. I am a working professional. I wear dress pants to work. I use terms like “let’s touch base on this project tomorrow” and “the action items from the meeting are…”
• I grew up in Idaho in a town of 600 people. There were cows in the fields behind my house and chickens scampering around the yard. I ain’t got no street cred.
• About a year ago I slipped and called my boss dog while in a real corporate meeting. Luckily he liked it and asked me to continue. Since then he has introduced me as “Courtney, she calls me dog”
• When I was 12 I wanted to be Black, more than anything in the world. Turns out maybe there is a part of me that still does.
• Apparently I have heard from my “hip and cool” friends that I don’t spell it correctly, should be dawg (as in Top Dawg t’s , big hit back in 94) or Dogg as in Snoop Dogg. I know I am no Dawg or no “D O double G” so just decided to take make it my own and give it back, thus dog.
• Once while playing trains with my nephew, I said “That is a sweet bridge dog.” He said “Courtney, I am not a dog a I am boy.” It could get confusing for a little one.
• People judge me, especially when they first meet me and see me throw out the term. I think they think I am trying to be cool. No one knows how to react to it. It can get pretty awkward. I mean you have seen me? Let me be the first to say I am not trying to be cool or hip. I mean I get it that no one will ever think someone like me will be hip or cool by saying dog. I mean my mannerisms are more like a g-ma than a g.
  
  The thing is, I think I started it as a joke back in 94 and I haven’t been able to stop, as sad as it is it has now become me. Even more sad, is that I can see myself at like 70 lovingly referring to all my grandkids as dogs. I may even stretch it to gdogs (grandbaby dogs)
  
  Maybe not stop but for sure try to cut back, fair?