Name That Tune

From time to time, while strutting down the street or hustling from store to store in a mall, I get a song stuck in my head that I just can’t get out. Sometimes it’s “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks, other times it’s “Under Pressure” by Queen or “Sleep to Dream“ by Fiona Apple, it just really depends on my mood and level of walking confidence. Sometimes the lyrics play a role in my song choice and other times it has more to do with the way that the beat and tone of the music matches each step. Either way, in those moments, the noise of my surroundings is drowned out by the music in my head and the song that plays up top is not just any song, it becomes my theme song - the score to my life.

So, maybe this is just confirmation for some of you that I’m ten types of crazy, but before you open a new browser window and Google “psych ward” and “St. Louis” hear me out. Wouldn‘t it be insanely interesting if everyone had an audible theme song?

I imagine that there would have to be some parameters to this concept, otherwise the world would be a loud bumbling mess of noise (as if it’s not already), but I have a solution. Each person’s theme song would only be audible to those who were looking directly at him/her, sincerely interested in who that person is and how they are feeling at any given moment. I’d imagine that sometimes the blank stares on someone’s face would be met with white noise and other times, when someone’s mind is racing, there would be a loud indecipherable mass of notes and words, but in between the two extremes would be a window into people’s lives that would either confirm or reject your physical impression of them. Instead of reading someone’s mind, you could hear their mood.

It’s very Ally McBeal of me to think this way, I realize. And since I know you’re wondering…yes, sometimes when I’m certain that no one is watching, I will dance a little to the music in my head. It’s not a big deal.

Driving Me Crazy

I feel like I’ve been driving more than usual lately and on a couple of recent trips I've found myself thinking about some of the odd scenarios that play over and over in my head whenever I’m on the road. I often catch myself daydreaming and upon reflection, noticed that many of my daydreams are reoccurring and their content is highly dependant on the day part that I drive during.

Here are scenarios that I often think about while driving in daylight:

• I pull over to help a stranded motorist change a tire and when they pull away (after thanking me profusely for my assistance) I discover that my car isn’t working. No one stops to help me and I’m stuck on the side of the road. For the record: I don’t usually pull over to help people on the interstate because I don’t want to be murdered
• After noticing something odd lying in a wooded area along the side of a highway, I pull over to discover the dead body of someone who has been missing for a long time. I wonder why no one else has noticed and call the police.
• After spotting something odd along the roadside, I pull over to discover that someone has abandoned a baby on the side of the road. The baby is unharmed. I call the police and end up taking care of it until a suitable home is found.
• I’m itching my eye while driving and the car in front of me stops short. I don’t notice it in time and end up hitting them and poking out my own eye. Imagine the odd timing that would be involved. I wonder if it’s actually ever happened.

Scenarios that I often think about while driving at night:

• A small woodland creature jumps out in front of my car and causes an accident. Note: For some reason I don’t picture hitting actual animals, but rather cartoon animals, with the lovable bunny Thumper from Disney’s “Bambi” landing at the top of the list. It’s weird, I know
• A stranger in distress jumps in front of my car and ultimately kills me. Yes, he has a hook for a hand and I do know that this is an urban legend. I still think about it.
  

If anyone knows what any of these daydreams mean, I’d like to know. Just don’t call to tell me about it while I’m driving…I’ve got other things on my mind.

Bonus Blog: A-list

Things that annoy me

• Cell phones. I don’t like the idea of being accessible at all times…In fact, I find the notion to be quite burdensome
• People who start speaking with an accent when they are emotional (I’m talking to you, Tyra Banks and Mario Lopez)
• Drivers who refuse to change lanes when traffic is merging from a ramp
• Lindsay Lohan
• When people use ‘I‘ instead of ‘me‘ in a sentence when referencing themselves and another person because they think that ‘I‘ sounds more proper
• Biting into something hard while eating a chicken nugget
• When my mom asks me to walk behind her to make sure that there’s nothing stuck to her ass. What does she thinks she’s constantly sitting in?
• The stalkers in shopping malls who want me to fill out surveys in exchange for a chance at winning a decent prize and a lifetime of being hounded by telemarketers
• Target’s exchange policy
• My alarm clock (or maybe it’s just waking up that I find to be annoying)
• The excessive use of voiceovers on reality TV shows

The secret's out - I'm a list maker.

A Trip Down Wisteria Lane

This Halloween I decided to resurrect my idea for last year’s costume and go as Bree Van De Kamp (Hodge) from the critically acclaimed ABC primetime soap-esque indulgence known as “Desperate Housewives.” Traditionally, I’m not a fan of Halloween or the idea of dressing up, but I figured that this year I’d get in the spirit while adding a little order, and a few muffins to the holiday.

My ‘costume’ - sadly enough -was not much of a stretch (I had all of the clothes in my closet, undoubtedly purchased when I went through a phase of buying clothes fit for a stroller pushing soccer mom). Add some pearls, a personalized apron, a faux wedding ring and a slight hair adjustment and I was ready for a trip to Wisteria Lane aka Tucker Avenue, St. Louis.

One of my coworkers had tickets to a Halloween bash at City Hall and I was drafted to go. Thinking that the party would be a fancy, but tame affair, I grabbed my basket of muffins and made my way to the party. Upon entering, I knew that I had chosen a fitting costume because I quickly felt like an uptight and very straight laced republican woman in her early forties. I expected to see some over-the-top costumes and what I got was a herd of TWA stewardesses, a couple of scantily clad cheerleaders, and a Pooh fairy…yes, I said Pooh fairy. I may have stepped into City Hall, but I quickly found myself smack in the middle of the gayest party of the year.

Traditionally, I’ve never been uncomfortable in a room of a gay men (not that I’ve been in a lot of rooms filled with gay men…that opportunity rarely presents itself). This time, however, the sheer amount of estrogen* thinly veiled in testosterone** was overwhelming at times. My party -which included three straight women and one straight man who had no idea what he’d walked in on - and I seemed to find ourselves giggling and pointing like a group of tweens in a sex ed class. (Key: *code word for ‘packages’ ; ** code word for ‘Spandex’)

After a few drinks, and many compliments on my costume (Bree has quite a gay fan base, although they do question her motivation for abandoning her gay son on the side of the road - I told them that I regretted that decision and was living in torment), I became more comfortable in my surroundings. As the night went on, I engaged in conversation with a few party goers, and at one point thought that I’d discovered the only hot straight guy in the whole place.

He was dressed in a Top Gun jumper (pretty straight costume), he didn’t really know who Bree is (very straight) and he was eying my muffins (any straight guy would). Could it be?! Our conversation went something like this:

Him: So, are those muffins real?
Me: Yes, of course, I wouldn’t dream of arriving at a party without bringing a snack.

Him: My friends told me who you’re supposed to be…that’s pretty funny.
Me: Thanks (coyly). I like your costume too. I love Top Gun!
Him: Yes, it’s a great movie.
Me: Where are your aviator glasses?
Him: Oh, I don’t have any…one of my friends gave me the costume, otherwise I wouldn’t have dressed up.
Me: So, should I call you Maverick?
Him: Actually, I’d rather be called Ice Man…Val Kilmer was so hot in that movie.
Me Thinking: Damn it! They’re always gay or married…why are the hot one’s always gay or married
Me: Yeah, he was pretty cute, although I always loved Tom Cruise…especially when he was playing volleyball in jeans.
Him: He was pretty hot in that scene.
--introduced using real names --
Him: Well, it was nice to meet you.
Me: Yea, you too.

Shortly after my Top Gun encounter, my party decided it best to leave before things got too scandalous. As I left the party O’ queens, muffins in tow, I couldn’t help but think to myself 'I wonder if they all knew that I’m actually a woman and not a dude dressed like Bree Van De Kamp from the critically acclaimed ABC primetime soap-esque indulgence known as "Desperate Housewives." Surely it’s obvious (looking down at my boyish figure), well, maybe not.'