Last night, temperatures here were hovering around 80 degrees. This meant I had permission to put on a strapless dress and sassy heels and haul myself out to dinner to celebrate/commemorate my friend Brian’s impending departure from Denver. Brian and his husband Rich have been fixtures in my life since Jason went into the hospital. Rich is the one I collapsed into when Jason took leave of this mortal coil for one more ethereal. Needless to say, they’re important to me — and for so many reasons more than that.
I artfully inserted myself into Beatrice Olivia the Mini Cooper, donned a sizable pair of sunglasses, adjusted the rack around the seatbelt and pointed myself towards downtown. I thought it was quite fitting that the cheesy keyboard intro to Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” began pouring through my speakers as I turned onto the main road.
I always feel a bit trashy when I put on a strapless top or dress and the Whitesnake serenade only amplified my wardrobe decisions. But fuck it. I have no problem admitting that I, like so many other women, have longed for our Tawny Kitaen moment. There is absolutely nothing remarkable or life-changing about writhing around on the hood of a pair of Jaguars, but there IS a certain gratuitous satisfaction in knowing that it is possible. But let’s face it — it is undeniably sexy in the vernacular of the late 80s and early 90s. And — Tawny is hot. Though I can’t support the obvious safety implications involved in making out behind the wheel of a moving car (shame on you, David Coverdale), the video has offered motivation for many a kleenex-and-lotion moment for men of all ages.
But I digress.
It’s fun to have memory triggers that take you somewhere else, especially when your Now isn’t a place you’re particularly fond of being. I’ve been in a place cordoned off by writer’s block and it’s a Whitesnake moment that’s brought me here on a Friday to tell you that it fucking sucks immortal moose balls. To have things to say but have nothing at the same time. I sit in front of a keyboard and with all that’s going on in life and business, I show up to you not with some Bitch Slap about how women and public restrooms disgust me (a bit on this in a moment) or a come-to-Jesus-the-Dishwasher, life-changing rant about the business world.
I show up with a blog post featuring 4:34 song about a (have you ever listened to the lyrics?) guy dooming himself to doing the same thing he’s always done — yet again — featuring a redheaded femme throwing herself at him like a goddamn frisbee.
A bit on the ladies and the public restrooms — are you fucking serious?
I’ve ranted about this before, but do you walk into the restroom in your house, piss all over the seat, not flush, and then wait for someone else to come and clean that shit up? No? Well quit doing it in public. I’m tired of playing Bathroom Stall Bingo, which is a curious game of What’s Behind Door Numbers 1, 2, and 3 (sometimes 4 AND 5), just to find a toilet to use that hasn’t been polluted. The Exxon Valdez cleanup was an easier feat than some of the messes you women leave behind. So quit acting like some magic piss-mopping bunny is going to come hopping along behind you when you’re out in public and do these two things:
Pee IN the toilet, not ON it.
Flush it (twice, if need be) when you’re done.
For. Fuck’s. Sake.
I guess the moral of the story is this: there’s no telling what will break you out of your reverie. I drove for a good five minutes last night writhing around on the hood of a pair of Jaguars. In my head. And it brought me to a good place. When this video came out in 1987, I was a freshman in high school and the most complicated thing in my life was possibly figuring out how to get more than a 4.0 GPA and if there were chemicals that would allow me to bleach my hair to a brighter shade of blonde without turning it orange. Ah, the challenges of youth! But maybe we need to go back to simpler times on occasion — when we didn’t have all of the context we have now. A change in perspective is always good to break us out of whatever rut we find ourselves in and this Tawny Kitaen moment was, perhaps mine.
So that’s it. I’ve manufactured 750+ words today on nothing of raging import, but in the process, reminded myself that I should probably find more time in my life for writhing around on hoods of Jaguars — if only in my head. Have a fantastic fucking Friday. I’m going mountain biking tomorrow and will probably run an off-the-couch half marathon on Sunday. Tune in Monday, as it’s likely that the only thing on my body that will be working are my fingers.
Have you read The Shattering? I recently had a guest “manifesto” featured on 800CEOread’s ChangeThis. People seem to like it. Perhaps you will as well. You can download it on the page linked. (click “download” in orange)
Here is a picture of a pygmy hippopotamus. Because you’re fucking awesome, that’s why.