Tonight I had fully intended to finish an epic post about just what G and I had been up to for the month of August when posting was nearly non-existent. Yup. That was the plan. Except I've just arrived home from a particularly confusing Spanish class and I'm currently in engendered-language-conjugation hell and suddenly I feel like what I actually need to do is sit in front of my already well-worn copy of ¡Hola, amigos! and hundreds of flashcards until I can miraculously speak enough Spanish to a) quell my increasing level of panic and b) pass a quiz on Thursday. And before you say it, I'm well aware that we're in week TWO of THIRTEENEFFINGWEEKS of classes and inevitably it's only going to get harder from here but if I feel obliged to mention that should you bring this up I might (read: will) respond with a swift kick to your manjunk/ladybits.
In liu of my epic post please enjoy this:
"Y la verdad es que me siento solo pues nunca te podre olvidar/Y la verdad es que me siento libre aunque las noches sean de soledad/Y la verdad es que te llevo adentro pues ocupaste tu lugar/Y por tu bien espero que no vuelvas pues la vas a pasar muy mal." -- Decir Adios by Amen (from Lima, Perú)*
I had wanted to include this song in my favourites from my Sad Bastard playlist but I couldn't find it online (turns out I had the title wrong in my iTunes which clearly only adds to my level of I'LLNEVERLEARNSPANISH panic). It was one of the first Spanish songs Jose ever played for me and it remains the saddest. I don't think I'll ever forget what it felt like to listen to his voice translate the lyrics for me as the song played on a loop in the background and I sat on the edge of his bed staring at him, smelling him, melting into a virtual puddle of semi-pathetic-woman-obsessed-with-Latin-man goo. Did I mention things we're a little rocky in the beginning. Um... yeah. Enjoy.
* The title, in English, is Saying Goodbye and the lyrics (translated roughly by me with the jist of the meaning given more weight then a word-for-word translation) are "And the truth is I never feel alone because I can't forget you/And the truth is that I feel free but the nights are lonely/And the truth is I carry you inside but someone will take your place/And I hope that it is not you because you are bad for me."
In the quest to get my life organised before I head off to Peru for a length of time yet to be determined I’ve set to the task of cleaning out my iPod. Unfortunately there are far too many annoying one hit wonders from my club days and an alarming amount of weird yogic chats which I can only imagine must have been snuck on there when I dated an organic masseuse/art auctioneer for a few weeks during my first contract on cruise ships. Anyway, the point is, putting my iPod on shuffle is risky to say the least. And it’s not just crappy songs I’m getting rid of, the overhaul also includes a revamp of my playlists, deleting such gems as ‘Music to Distract You from That Creepy Guy on the Skytrain’ and ‘Pretending to Study’ (both actual playlists on my iPod, thankyouthankyou) and replacing them with things like ‘Tunes for my Baby Rockstar’ and ‘Spanglish – Songs Jose Will Listen To’. As you might have gleaned, I’m a big fan of playlists and had well over fifty of them at one point. Anyway, today I stumbled upon a playlist called ‘Sad Bastard’ that I’m pretty sure came to being circa mid 2007 when Jose and I were just starting what would become the year long on and off again soap opera known as our early dating life. Clearly I was full of pain and angst and if I remember correctly the playlist was on a constant loop in my cabin for a solid three months before my roommate gave me a particularly harsh ultimatum as I lay on the floor and wept. That being said, it’s full of beautiful, haunting songs and while it was created in the spirit of relationship drama I listened to it today and it fits my mood of rage over the whole “absence makes the heart grow fonder” fodder perfectly. Plus there are a few small rays of hope that snuck into the playlist proving that somewhere deep down I knew it work out all along. Just in case you’re in the mood for a good wallow I highly suggest these depressing little nuggets...
And yes... I'm aware this post smacks of highschool angst but it's good to languish in your own self pity now and then. Try it. You'll like it.
"You are a china shop and I am a bull/You are really good food and I am full/I guess everything is timing/I guess everything's been said/So I am coming home with an empty head." --You Had Time by Ani Difranco
"If I was my heart I'd rather be restless/The second I stop the sleep catches up and I'm breathless/This ache in my chest as my day is done now/The dark covers me and I cannot run now." -- Wake Up Alone by Amy Winehouse
"Haven't laughed this hard in a long time/I better stop now before I start crying/Go off to sleep in the sunshine/I don't want to see the day when it's dying." -- Twilight by Elliot Smith
"You are my sweetest downfall/I loved you first, I loved you first." -- Samson by Regina Spektor
"You don't have to lie about where you've been/We both know you've been schemin'/So why don't you give your little voice a rest/Climb on up inside my bed and just pretend you need me?" -- Stay by Coal
"And I'd be inclined to be yours for the taking and part of this terrible mess that you're making/But me, I'm the catalyst." -- Catalyst by Anna Nalick
"I drink good coffee every morning/Comes from a place that's far away/And when I'm done I feel like talking/Without you here there is less to say." -- I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You by Colin Hey
"I want to be a good woman/And I want, for you to be a good man/This is why I will be leaving/And this is why, I can’t see you no more." -- Good Woman by Cat Power
"Don't know why I'm still afraid/If you weren't real I would make you up now." -- Honey and the Moon by Joseph Arthur
"Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth/Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut outs/Speak no feeling no I don't believe you/You don't care a bit, you don't care a bit." -- Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap
"And I don't wanna hear you tell yourself/That these feelings are in the past/No it doesn't mean they're off the shelf/Because pain's built to last/Everybody sails alone." -- Heal Over by KT Tunstall
"I am stil dreaming of you face/Hungry and hollow for all the things you took away/I don't want to be your good time/I don't want to be your fall-back crutch anymore." -- Santa Monica by Everclear
"Mess up my bed with me/Kick off the covers I'm waiting/Every word you say I think I should write down/Don't want to forget come daylight." -- Paperweight by Joshua Radin (with Schuyler Fisk)
"Leave me out with the waste this is not what I'd do/It's the wrong kind of place to be thinking of you/It's the wrong time for somebody new/It's a small crime and I've got no excuse." -- 9 Crimes by Damien Rice (ft. Lisa Hannigan)
PS. I’m also keeping ‘Shake That Ass’ which is probably the best workout mix ever made. Bar none.
When I was a teenager I thought I was pretty rad. I had black hair with ruby tips and pencil thin eyebrows and a tattoo in senior year. In the way only a teenager can I decided who I wanted to be and committed to it. My persona? “I’m with the band.” And I was. For a whole decade of my life I only dated pseudo wannabe rockstars. I started with guitarists (too shy) and moved on to drummers (too crazy). In the end I settled exclusively on lead singers. I revelled in the idea that I was their muse. I established an air of superiority as I sat, casually disaffected, in a corner booth at some local Battle of the Bands. “That song... it’s about me” I’d say. And it was. Of course the inevitable drama of screaming late night fights and tearful wordy apologies and the rampant infidelity eventually got to me and I moved on from tortured artists to a little more stable fare. As I grew older it seemed obvious that there was only room for one diva in my relationships and clearly I preferred that diva be me. Still, before I saw the light I spent the entirety of my formative dating years drinking beers at band practice and imagining my name in liner notes. It wasn’t all wasted time though. If I got anything from my rockband boyfriends it was an absolutely amazing musical education. I used to be that girl. The one who isn’t quite a groupie because her knowledge of all things rock and roll is so extensive you don’t dare whittle her commitment down to some childish desire to sleep with someone famous (or, you know, almost famous). I didn’t come by it honestly. Instead, I listened. I poured over CD collections and read music magazines and mentally noted every observation made in casual conversation. When I moved to England at sixteen my musical education deepened. I became consumed with Nirvana. I wanted to play guitar and be Courtney to someone’s Kurt. I listened to the Foo Fighters on repeat for weeks. Dave Grohl was my soulmate. That much I was sure of. Concerts were my cocaine and I attended them en mass and collapsed into bed each night exhausted from mosh pits and stage dives. You’d never know it look at me now but there were two weeks of my life where I dropped everything to follow Weezer and the Foo Fighters as they toured the West Coast. I frequented music stores and diverged from band guys only once, for a crush on a guy I still call HMV Phil. I can recite the lyrics to every song from the alternative/grunge era with ease. On a good day I can tell you the year songs were produced, original line-ups and the realities of the rise and fall of fame. I will never know anything as well as I knew that particular era of music and that’s the way it should be. It’s the only it way it can be when you fall in love with something in high school.
Somebody told me once that the bands you listened to when you were seventeen will remain your favourite for life. I didn’t put much stock in it. Still, this morning I got in Robin’s car and was happily surprised when I stumbled upon a plethora of mixed CDs I’d made in senior year in the glove compartment. Somewhere along the way I’d left my vast collection of CDs behind and being the scavenger he is Robin simply adopted them all. Driving through downtown Vancouver at 9:00am singing along to Blind Melon I felt like my old teenage self.
“I just want suh-uhm-one to say to me... oh oh oh oh... I’ll always be there when you wa-ake....”
You couldn’t pay me to trade in my happily-married-career-and-mommy-life for the crushing awkwardness and angst of those days but I can’t deny I loved the little piece of it. For a minute it felt like dancing with my eyes closed in the middle of Jenks (my favourite Blackpool club) with a Strobe (a delightful combination of strawberry vodka and caffeine) in one hand and a mohawked manchild in the other. Like the first time I lined my eyes with black or peeling off the eyelash glue I used to stick craft store glitter to my lids. Like catching a lift from some guy I just met because I spent my taxi money on 4:00am pizza. I may be ten years older now and infinitely wiser. I may have been driving out to explore the Ladner market on a Sunday afternoon with my baby asleep in the backseat. I may have given up on backstage passes and guys with ironic facial hair. I may never feel exactly like I felt when I was seventeen and got so close to the stage I could smell the rocker sweat. But this morning, this morning I got close.
