Cause and Affection

“I go crazy wondering what there is to really see
Did the night just take up your time, cause it means more to me
Sometimes I forget what I'm doing, I don't forget what I want,what I want
Regret what I've done, regret you? I couldn't go on” Kiss On My List – Hall & Oates

This year I met someone cool. I could be myself completely with him and he entertained ME just as much as I captivated him. He was so awesome that when I was with him, it made me forget. Yep, forget. I forgot about the mean people, the collateral damage done to me, the romantic injuries culminated over the last few years.

All was peachy until he kissed me. It was almost like he had a vendetta against this sensual act. It was soul-less and harsh; something akin to a disdainful, drive-by, flesh stab. I’ve had more passion from the gay dudes I’ve made out with. This guy wasn’t gay, at least his hands were proclaiming the opposite as they invaded me with vigor, but he wasn’t a kisser.

I asked what the deal was and he just looked puzzled. He had never thought about it, but upon reflection, he didn’t like to kiss anyone at all. It just wasn’t his thing.

I became uncomfortably numb. Here was a discovery I never expected to make. I can’t fathom anything sexual without kissing. It’s the gateway, the decision maker if you will, for most women as to whether NAKED happens later or not.

Not. Probably a good thing too as this would’ve had to be a long distance thing, and had he been 100% awesome, I’d be pining away until the next time we saw each other. I’m a kisser. Nothing provides more delight to me than a sweet, smooth, lip massage. =(

I met someone else that was ok - very cute, but too young. I wish I could be crazy about the ones that are crazy about me, dang. Against my better judgment, we hung out for a while, but he made me remember.

Yep, all the shit came flooding back to make rounds in my brain. The longings for what I can’t have (and shouldn’t want anyways), that trapped feeling of someone who likes you too much too fast, and the familiar need to bolt before I hurt them. I love the affection, and it’s been since like February that I’ve had it so genuine but it’s not right, or right enough it seems.

He can’t make me forget, and that’s what I want.

Nuh-Stah-See-Ya's Song

“I can already hear your tune
Calling me across the room
When the world and his wife
Are on my back again
Not enough pleasure
Too much pain” Swamp Thing – The Chameleons UK

If you have a peek at my Blogger profile it has a teeny, tiny listy of bands that I mentally ingest. The above mentioned band is VERY there, so it was with great honor to accept an invite to play a set of Chameleon’s tunes last Wednesday, with the founder/singer/bass player of the band, Mark Burgess.

I had my friend capture some of the event on video, but the sound on those are total shit so I’ve only included a small clip of “Swamp Thing” until I receive a copy of the “professional” dvd. It also sucks in that he only taped the half of the stage that I’m on, um duh! Of course I want to be somewhat visible, but I want everyone in it! I'm in the dark far right in the clip under that EXIT sign - Yeesh.

We had two rehearsals and only one with Mark. I’m not a keyboardist in general (played on six songs though yeay), so we basically pulled this out of our asses, but it went ok. I wasn’t in charge of the gig itself so I won’t comment on booking etc (grrrrr), but it was awesome not only to play those songs with the writer, but also the other dudes that performed as well.

The bass player, Brent, I had never met (he was on SubPop – Nirvana’s first label - with Beachwood Sparks) but we played a festival together with Sebadoh ages ago. He freaked me out a little because he looks and talks so much like Stalker Hater, it’s Discovery Channel worthy; my friends couldn’t stop laughing at the freaky similarity.



Above: Brent, Me, and Paul.

Musicians from Boston, D.C., Miami, and Tallahassee flew and drove to Tampa to play with Mark. Those that know the Chameleons LOVE them. They are obscure and basically an 80’s band, but they left heavy prints on any ear they landed on. Bands today that attribute their sound to Mark’s work are The Killers, Interpol, The Editors, and White Lies. In Tampa, the press could care less, but in L.A. (a real place) the show had all kinds of tongues wagging last night (http://blogs.laweekly.com/westcoastsound/synthful/mark-burgess-live/). There is rumor of me playing in a NYC show; if that happens, I'll mention beforehand =)

I yakked so much that I lost my voice, plus I got a cold. Most of the conversations were shop talk like “Hey you remember that narcoleptic guy that used to manage so & so before they hit it?” or “You know them too? I toured with them in blah blah”. Stuff civilians can’t relate to or you sound like a big old name dropper. Most of us in round about ways know the same people but at different times in our lives, it was interesting to say the least.

Doubly bizarre is now being friends with this man who was a mentor to me. It’s rare you get to meet someone from a different time that changed your life, let alone bond with them. I learned to sing and play bass at the same time because of Mark, and he also got me through one of the darkest hours of my teen years without knowing it.

I brought my 1966 Hofner Bass to rehearsal and he picked it up and played “P.S. Goodbye” on it:



I can’t tell you what that song means to me without tears forming a protest line down my cheeks, so I’ll skip it.

We started our set with “Nostalgia” at my behest, as it’s the only song I’ve ever heard that sounds sort of like my real name, and Mark said “Nuh Stah See Ya’s song”. We closed with a Door’s like version of “Second Skin” where he dedicated “this melody” to the backing members, which was cool.


Above: Mark, Omar, and me with creepy green earplugs that kept falling out.

When I dropped off Mark and his awesome girlfriend Lydia, after a wild Thursday evening of drinking and debauchery, he told me that not only was I the first female Chameleon, I was the ONLY one he ever shared the stage with.

(Sound of a feather being gently placed in my cap.)



Above: Mark, me and my cleavage yikes!

Kitler

"You say goodbye and I say hello
Hello, hello
I don't know why you say goodbye
I say hello" Hello Goodbye - The Beatles


I was on the dance floor when some belligerent troll was being escorted out of the club in a headlock, arms flailing about. A gentle hand guided me out of the path, and this sweet guy put himself between me and the mess that was provided by Jagermeister as it gyrated by.

"I like the whole gentleman thing you just did there," I said.

"I like your face,"he replied.

(Ding Ding Ding) My brain sorted through the rolodex of compliments, and that is one I actually have not received. Eyes, smile, lips, eyebrows even, but never had anyone said they liked my face. At least not in a while.

We yakked for two hours as we danced. He's fun, interesting, a photographer, 25 (the teetering shoe is about to drop), and from Denver.

"I'm only here for a week." (Buzzer sound)

Thanks for playing, we have some nice parting gifts for you - please exit to your left.

********************************************

I told a drunken group of besties that I had read a blog by this Irish chick about ingrown boob hairs (One of Those Bad Boys), and most of them were amazed that hairs even grew in these remote areas.

I declared that if I can hatch some, I'm growing a Hitler type moustache under each nipple. Then I wondered aloud if the "soul patch" was actually just a relocated Hitler moustache? Like it fell below the lip and got a new name.

At that point, I was informed about this web site that only features cats that resemble Hitler - "Kitlers". http://www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com/cgi-bin/seigmiaow.pl

Key She

I was honored to play keyboards on six songs with some of the coolest people on the planet Wednesday evening. When I have more time, I'll tell you who, and you'll probably have to Google em heheh, but it meant a lot to me.

Count Smackula

“The emptiest of feelings
Disappointed people clinging on to bottles
And when it comes it's so so disappointing
Let down and hanging around
Crushed like a bug in the ground” Let Down – Radiohead

Wouldn’t it be awesome if people came with microchips that we could scan and were loaded with a sort of Wikipedia rundown of the person, or even like Amazon customer reviews?

“**---This girl has obvious daddy issues, but she is always well prepared and rocks in bed. She’s fun but doesn’t bathe nearly enough. She also lets her dog stick his tongue in her mouth. I gave her two stars because she is reliable, prompt, and has nice nostrils.”

Forewarned is forearmed right? It would be so nice to opt out of so much time and experiences with someone to find out the ugly side. Howz abouts some hints up front? Yes please!

Reliable.

I’m the type that when I say I’m going to do something, I DO IT. If for some reason I absolutely cannot, I profusely apologize and tongue kiss you until forgiven (unless we’re related).

“MAYBE” is such a fantastic word, I wish people would use it more. “Maybe I’ll show up to practice”, “Maybe if we still know each other we’ll be doing Halloween together”, or “Maybe when I come visit, I’ll take you to that restaurant.” I HATE people that say they’re going to do something and then don’t and aren’t even remotely in touch with an apology or accountability. “MAYBE” could’ve prevented a lot of ills for me.

Can anyone be counted on anymore? Culpability must be the uncoolest thing there is because humans would rather drown in oblivion than peer in the direction of this type of honesty.

In relationships, if the female early on says anything future related, dudes flip out and bail, even if the girl is just talking about next week. Girls, however, tend to think a guy really digs them if they talk in future tense, depending on what and when. I had only known one guy a few hours and he was like “I can see us living together.” I saw myself dedicating my life to Yugoslavian worm research before I could process his vision, so yeah, yikes times ten.

I had one guy actively pursue me, and when he spoke in future terms, I stupidly bought into it and oh how I hateth myself for that (not as much as I hate him though). When someone talks that way, it tricks you into thinking they’re someone you can count on – they'll be there for you, even in the future. Because of that experience, my trust levels are shakier than Michael J. Fox after a Starbucks run. Now if someone even hints “us” beyond a week, I tell them to cease, desist, and to please incorporate “MAYBES” until we are a thing, if it’s going that way.

Guys don’t talk future until you’ve been naked with a girl at least five times, please. You can get laid without such maneuvers and if you no likey afterwards, you can’t be hated for misleading the witness. Capiche?

Everyone else, if you commit to anything and can’t back it up, fucking apologize already. It’s the very least you can do. Acknowledgment of the other person’s feelings IS a big deal.

Recognize.

Emo Scarfish

“How can I? How can I?
How can I make my body shed for you
How can I? How can I?
How can I make my body shed around your metal scars?
Loretta's scars, Loretta's scars, Loretta's scars”
Loretta’s Scars – Pavement

I was hanging out with some teenage boys a couple of weeks ago, and they were good guys, but I felt bad for them because they have an abusive, religious dad and a wicked step-Cunt that take the act of deception to the sickest of levels.

Their background story is so sad that even the folks at Lifetime would be like “Please stop, really even we can’t…just stop!”

The one is going to be 16 soon and this week he found that horrific place that we all do with someone at some point. That place where things between you and some Fuckface are beyond repair. He had tried to talk to his dad about easing up and was shut down for the last time. Now he’s sentenced to a life of listening to Staind and an unforgettable feeling of not being heard when it’s needed most (which is nearly as excruciating as being subjected to Staind).

Emotional scarring, in my opinion, happens when a Fuckface reaches in and breaks off a part of you that they don’t caress, value, or nurture. No they look at you, smile, and then shatter that part into 472,000 pieces. Poof, it’s dead. Maybe it’s your spirit that’s sapped or your humor (mine has been decimated in the last two years), but you can never go back to how it was before (if you can, then by all means please tell me how). Beyond repair.

There’s a void when parts die and we humans try our damnedest to shove squares where only circles belong. Fame, alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, food, sex, and what have you will never feel as good as the missing part did (imitation crab ya dig?). I wonder if the parts are originally stolen because the Fuckface in question had so many of their own missing that maybe they thought a part of another could make them whole again. Is it an unconscious act, or are they just plain evil?

Beyond repair?

Maybe we can pretend we’re starfish and grow our parts back?