A Short Autobiography

I wanna be a writer... but being a writer is incompatible with the other things I am. I put a lot of crazy shit on FB, but I never finish the story. If you're reading this, you deserve some kind of explanation, so here it is:


I was a litigator for 14 years. I'm still a lawyer. No one took away my degree or my license. But this job tried to kill me, and I nearly let it.

While I was practicing law, I could not have a blog, because I had clients and partners, and I wanted to remain employed.

Then I became an English teacher. I really loved this job. I have never loved anything more than I loved being a teacher.

I wasn't a teacher for very long, because I nearly killed myself trying to do this job. I loved it so much, I didn't know how to do it only part-way. I didn't sleep. I forgot to eat. I never went anywhere. But deep down, all I wanted to do for MYSELF was write.

I couldn't though. There wasn't any time. And when I was a teacher, I especially could not have a blog, because I had students, and the students had parents, and I wanted to remain employed.

I wanted to write things on Facebook, but when you are a teacher, you cannot post things like this on Facebook.

(There's a really great caption for this ridiculous photo,
but there's so much going on here, even I can't write a caption that long.)

I could not have a blog either, because I am a daughter, a lawyer, a teacher. A daughter, a lawyer, a teacher should not have a public forum for her potty mouth.

I can't do anything about being a daughter,

a sister,

or an aunt.

I am also a fake wife and mother.

Todd is gay. That IS Todd's dog, but the house
and the children don't belong to either of us.
Even the kids are not related to each other.

I overdo things, so I have two faux husbands, and an assortment of children.

James is gay. The children belong to one friend;
the house belongs to another.

A REALLY long time ago, my best friend told me I HAD to be a writer, that I would never be happy if I didn't find a way to write. He was right, but I didn't listen. I went to law school.

Not knowing how sad I was because I wasn't doing what I wanted to do

(Paul is now married.)

made me a confusing sort of girl. I lost all of my relationships

(Sean is now engaged.)

and never got married.

(Arif is now married.)

Perhaps it was also because: My ideal man is a fiction;

this is the only thing I like to eat;

this is what my refrigerator looks likes (all the time);

I still do this (no one likes this);

I have more friends than I deserve, but I have difficulty connecting;

even I don't understand it, but I actually PREFER to live in a car instead of a house;

and maybe,

just maybe,

I have some kind of drinking problem.
(The problem is, I don't drink. Writers are SUPPOSED to have drinking problems.)

I went to school to write, because that's what I like to do.

So many people have said such encouraging things... strangers, and also not strangers, but stranger still, old friends and new friends, people who are reading Facebook when I had NO IDEA that you even knew we were FRIENDS on Facebook. Friends of friends. Relatives of friends. Mothers, aunts and uncles (weirdly, none of them actually mine)... If you have sent me a message, an email, or made a comment like this on FB, don’t think for a minute that my heart did not soar with glee. If I did not respond (I probably didn't, because, as I said just earlier, I have difficulty connecting), this is what I said to you in my head: “WHAT THE FUCK?!" and then, "Oh, JOY!! Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. THANK YOU!”

It took years and years and years for me to hear it, but I'm going to stop now, stop killing myself with careers, and see what happens if I do what I like to do.

I'm not making any promises about what will come of it, but for the first time, I'm going to make THIS my priority.

"Do. Or do not. There is no try."

The end.
[Except, not really]

Because if you wake up, it's not the end.  More stuff happens, and by the laws of nature, things happened, amazing things, since I first wrote this on my 40th birthday in January 2014, and posted it on Facebook:

• I spent a month at an ashram studying meditation and practicing yoga. 
• When I came back to Nashville, I worked as a waitress at IHOP to see if I really could perform selfless service and have a job instead of a career.  I could! I liked it.  It was a good job, but I couldn't earn enough to make ends meet. (TN does not have a living wage, so restaurants don't have to pay minimum wage; at IHOP, servers are paid $2 an hour, so when you are a waitress there, your entire income comes from tips.  You really are not much more than a beggar holding out a bowl.) 
• A law firm with national business needed counsel for its TN clients. They hired me specifically because "I have compassion."  I have worked at 7 law firms, and not once has the issue of compassion come up as integral to... anything. I don't get paid much, but I work remotely, and the hours are flexible, which leaves me time to write.... Of course, whether I ACTUALLY write is up to me.

Oh, and one more thing:

I fell in love and got engaged to a wonderful man.

I mean, that ACTUALLY happened! 

The Grammys (2014)

Isn't it kind of funny what I did last year... a big build-up about how I was going to watch the Grammys in Vancouver with my friend Christine and her Australian friend, Vicki Tickle, and then I didn't write anything about it at all. Not for lack of material, mind you, but I couldn't keep up. I was in Canada, after all, and although 3/5 of us are not Canadian, we became Canadian-funny. It was powerful. Christine peed her pants. With four women in the room saying four funny things all at once, I got lost and could hardly watch the Grammys because I was transcribing so hard. I typed as fast as I could, and if I knew anything about Twitter, you would have really enjoyed what they had to say. But I don't know anything about Twitter, so you missed out. I'm sorry. If it helps, the Grammys were stoopid, as per usual, and nothing interesting happened at all, but I had a blast!

I didn't even know that the Grammys were on tonight, but an App on my iPad just dinged to tell me that I could listen to Grammy music. "What?" said I. "... Uh oh. I'm too late! I'm too late!"

The Grammys are on tonight and I am ill-prepared. I hate the Grammys, and I usually spend at least two days getting ready. I sit in front of the TV and change the channels for a MINIMUM of 26 hours, watching only commercials. I do that for 3-hour stretches while chain smoking and swearing and being really angry. And then, somewhere during the 12th or 13th rep, I go numb. When I'm singing along with a Chili's commercial, I know I've trained well. It's time to begin the work.

I examine the nominees. This takes time, because I listen to music whenever there are ears attached to my head, and yet, somehow, I never know any of the songs or albums that are nominated, and I haven't heard of most of the artists. Well, that's not entirely true. I know all the underdogs, and that awful Taylor Quick. I really don't want to see her AGAIN this year. She isn't still making music is she? Probably not. Has it been long enough... could she be in that "Where are they now?" category by now? Please say that I don't have to see her this year. I don't want to. I didn't have time to properly prepare for this, AND I'm alone, which is unprecedented. It's like going tandem sky-diving without the experienced guy strapped to your back. I won't know when to pull the cord. I don't know if I can make it through the show just in general, so if that scrawny punk shows up, things could be SO bad for me.

This year I am in Nashville, which is a cool place to be on Music Night, except, it's not country music night, and we're in the middle of a deep freeze, which the forecasters are going crazy about. It's 64 degrees. But will be 7 degrees tomorrow. Hmm. That IS weird, if you're not from Chicago, and if you didn't blog about the Grammys from Vancouver last year, so I think I'll stop talking about the weather, and get back to music.

For reasons I don't know how to explain, I've been listening to a lot of Christian Rock lately. I just told you I can't explain it, so I'm ending this paragraph now.

What, oh what, is coming our way tonight? I'm about to go to the official web site to find out, and then blog passionately about a bunch of songs and bands I've never heard of until... right... now...

Well, can't go wrong with L.L. It's the hat. How can you not like the hat? This year, I'll count L.L.'s hats. I'm betting there will be 7 of them. At least half of them will be on backwards. I also think he should try it without the hat, just once, one appearance without a hat, but instead, a big comb. That would be so L.L.

Oh, L.L.

Why are the ladies' college basketball shorts longer than the mens' college basketball shorts?

(I'm sorry. Did I say that out loud? I'm a little frantic right now, and I'm triple-tasking to make this happen for you. The 5:00 news is on, and it seems the Vandy girls took it bad from the Gamecocks. Which reminds me that I went to the Olympics in 1996, and was able to score a ticket to ONE event: Women's Basketball. Imagine my disappointment. This was 1996. I was from Chicago, and I watched a GREAT DEAL of basketball at that time. Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Steve Kerr these women were not. I was at the final game, and saw the U.S.A. Women's Basketball team win a Gold Medal. It was SO fucking BORING!!! Why do women bother doing ANYthing?)

I'm obviously approaching this as if it's the night before a term paper is due. I haven't done my homework at all, and now that it's down to the wire, I'm hanging out at a bar, pretending to study, but really... I'm drunk.

Focus.

A bit about the process, because there actually IS a process. (I fully understand that this must come as a surprise, so I'll let you take that in.)

Done?

See, you don't blog about the Grammys year after year, hating them as I do, and not devise a way to form REALLY STRONG opinions about songs you heard for the first time not more than 4 minutes ago. I'm a lawyer/teacher/audiophile, so naturally, there is a process. Mine has 11 steps:

STEP 1: Put the name of the song into a search engine.

STEP 2: Sort through 4 to 18 videos on YouTube trying to find the ACTUAL "Official Video" for the song.

STEP 3: Watch an ad for something really odd waiting with mouse poised for the first available second when you can click "SKIP AD."

STEP 4: Click "SKIP AD" (Look, I'm not taking anything for granted here. Things get complicated later,and I don't want to lose you before we get to the harder parts. If you don't like things spelled out, don't read a blog written by a former 5th grade English teacher. We do things a certain way around here, so put your hand down, turn your mouth off, track me, sit up straight, and follow the fucking steps!)

STEP 5: WHILE the song begins to play, toggle back to your blog and immediately start writing about it while it's playing in the background. This is the "Listening Phase." It's the equivalent of being in a bar (let's face it, I haven't been to a bar in like 12 years, and this is a nicer, more authentic blog now [that comes shining through, doesn't it?!], so I'll be real. New sentence. It's like... when I watch Parenthood, and I'm super pissed off at myself because I'm watching Parenthood, and I KNOW better than to be watching this show. Naturally, since I'm watching Parenthood, I'm bawling my snot glands out. Lord knows I have reasons enough to cry. I hardly need to self-inflict additional crying by watching a TV show that makes me wail EVERY GOD DAMN TIME I WATCH IT. So, I'm watching Parenthood, and hating how it's SO DRAMATIC, and everything is going so well, and then everything goes terribly, awfully, irretrievably WRONG, and then someone gets engaged or has a baby or kicks cancer. Every show. Every episode. One of those three things happens at the end. So, I'm watching Parenthood, and there is really good music playing, and I'm holding my iPhone up trying to catch it, and even though the characters won't shut their traps, are CONSTANTLY talking over one another, and not doing it in the really fast-paced, cool way, like on The West Wing, but more like, it might make me have a seizure or feel like I need to take anxiety medication just to get through all 48 minutes of it. So, I'm watching Parenthood, and my phone catches the song. And it's this: After All Is Said And Done. Now THAT'S a song. I could (and have) driven Indiana length-wise listening exclusively to Junip. When I have to drive Nashville to Pittsburgh and back, which I've done four times this year, you have to take Kentucky on the diagonal. This is unfortunate, but it happens, and when it does, you can easily get 10 repeat listens of Revenge in without noticing that you listened to it more than once. It's because the band is called Sparklehorse, but it's actually Danger Mouse. And The Flaming Lips. Then, when you hit the panhandle of West Virginia (yeah! there's a panhandle on West Virginia!!), treat yourself to Various Methods of Escape and do it at 112 mph. There are no cops in the WV panhandle (I've done the reconnaissance, trust me), and even if there are, at that speed, you can outrun them for 14 miles and hee hee them from Pennsylvania. 

STEP 6: You didn't hear the song because you were thinking about Junip and wishing you were listening to that instead. Or maybe you were wondering if Trent Reznor could please stop toying with you by saying this REALLY is the VERY LAST TIME Nine Inch Nails will ever perform or release an album, which is a thing he's done four times by my count, and it's really starting to hurt my feelings because a girl only has so many tears. I have to cut back on Parenthood.

You were distracted. Get with it, and relisten. Just listen. But this time, close your eyes. You're starting to evaluate now. Get in the song. What is is doing to you? Here are some things it can make you want to do.... sing along. dance. scratch your eyes out. have sex. unplug the speakers.

STEP 7: Find the lyrics. (I don't care how. You're reading a blog. You know how to use a computer.)

STEP 8: Listen to the song while reading the lyrics. On this step, opinions can convert. You'll see.

STEP 9: Watch the video. This is often a game-changer as well. Anything happening?

STEP 10: Watch the video again. This time, get up and dance. Can you dance to it? Do you LIKE dancing to it? If it's, say, Bon Iver, there are no expectations on the dancing, so sit there and cry like you're supposed to. Is it a good crying song? Did you have to get some tissues? Could you drive through NEBRASKA from east to west listening ONLY to THIS song? If the answer is yes, you found a winner. An example of a winner would be Skylar Grey. I perform Dance Without You in my apartment 2 hours every day. Never gets old. It's an angrier version of that one song that we still can't get out of our heads... what was it called?... maybe call me and tell me if you can remember it. [NOTE about the Dance Without You video: Do NOT watch the video. The video is NIN creepy. Just listen to the song, which will increase your internal wattage by a power of 1,000,000,000,000. Seeing the video mucks up the vibe.]

OH FUCK, the Grammys just started. Beyonce's ass is ALREADY in my face, and I really do wonder if everything always has to be about Beyonce's ass. It seems that it's been this way for a while now. When will it be over? How long did Madonna reign in this fashion? But if that's how we're kicking it off, I'll look, but I'm already upset. I didn't do my whole regime, so I can already feel this turning into a rough night. I haven't listened to ANY of the songs yet. Record of the Year is one of the last awards given. So, while this post may not come out till August, rest assured, my process will be no less thorough.

The nominees for RECORD OF THE YEAR:

Oh my gosh! I have actually heard ALL of these songs, and I know ALL of these artists. Boy, did YOU just luck out! Now I'm going to have some messy and objectionable opinions that are heartfelt rather than made up on the fly. YAY!!

1. Get Lucky recorded by Daft Punk (feat/ Pharrell Williams & Nile Rodgers) (Track from: Random Access Memories).

Um.

I think I lied, but I'm not sure. The thing about this band is, I am almost positive that I know who they are. They've been around a long time, right? But I'm confused because...

Are they hiding their age? I watched the video, and they don't seem to be 10-15 years older than me. Is that Milli Vanilli under there? (I mean, the real Milli Vanilli, the fat guys with the voices, not the hot guys with the hair and the stomping.) I KNOW I know this band, but I lied before. I don't own any of their albums, and this is the first time I've ever heard this song. I will make a confession though: I like it. On fourth listen, for the dance portion, I got a good groove going, and I think that if I were at a party (if, say, Pete would have had a party, but he didn't, so I guess I have to wait till next year), and this song came on, I would do some toe-tapping. I haven't sparred it off with any of the other songs (the 11-Step process is arduous and time-consuming, and I have to take water breaks, and so on), but my verdict is: this song does not win. In fact, it comes in last place, unless Taylor sneaked in again this year, in which case, she will win in reality, but in my heart, where things matter, she gets last place. (Crap. Apologies again. I'm confusing things with the Olympics now because of all of the commercials. There isn't a bronze medal at the Grammys, is there? ACK! It hasn't even started and I hate it ALREADY. I'm DREADING this SO MUCH!! WHY???? WHY do I have to watch this? I want to see Shawn White. Please let Shawn White show up!) 

2. Radioactive recorded by Imagine Dragons (Track from: Night Visions).

LOVE this song. Won't win. It's good though.

3. Royals recorded by Lorde (Track from: Pure Heroine).

WINNER. This song is so fucking amazing, I turn into a gangsta werewolf when I hear it, and I start to dance. I don't mean that I think about dancing or bop my head or bend a knee. I actually DANCE, full out: Treadmills (I know. This doesn't sound right, but it's a skill I have, which isn't to say there haven't been accidents, but I can do this. I really can. It's mostly in the fist pumps.) Airports (MDW, BNA, ATL, LAX, PGH, and ORD... OK, it's on my iPod and I purposely put it on when I go into airports because it makes me walk with purpose, and I'm so much more badass when I'm listening to it that I don't even care if I have to plow over a Chinese family of six to maintain my strut. [That happened, and I felt bad, so I turned around and said I was sorry, and the dad said something back, and it didn't seem like he was accepting my apology, but I'm not sure because I play my music really loud and "we don't care... that kinda love's just not for us... you can call me Queen Bee" and someone in my family is dead or dying, which is why I'm in an airport instead of a car, so I really need to get going. I'm sorry, Chinese people.]) Dentist's waiting room (It happened once. Just a little bit of dancing. Not enough to upset anyone. But it it didn't go unnoticed by Louise.)

4. Locked Out Of Heaven recorded by Bruno Mars (Track from: Unorthodox Jukebox)

Like this song. Totally danceable. But no. Just, no. Wasn't this up last year? And the year before? "Your sex takes me to paradise." (?) Come on. Did someone take me up on my 2012 suggestion for a 5150 and put you in a ward to have a talk with a professional about Grenade? I'm suspicious. Did Taylor write these lyrics? 

5. Blurred Lines recorded by Robin Thicke (feat T.I. & Pharrell) (Track from: Blurred Lines).

I thought I liked this song about enough to listen to it, but it mostly annoys me, and I feel bad about that, because T.I. is SO STREET. How did he get caught up in this? If Rihana had been involved, I might be swayed, but they needed to "feat." a few more names to make this combination worthwhile. I tried to get through all the steps with this, but I just couldn't. I'm sorry. But, JESUS, this is a shitty song! Holy what the hell. Also, fact: I made a mistake. I've been seeing this guy's name a lot all year, and I HONESTLY BELIEVED that Alan Thicke had some kind of Shatner/Hasselhoff-poking-fun-at-himself-by-being-himself funny song out. I was wrong. This is a real person. And he's white. T.I., find Rihana. Make music. Win Grammy.

--

So, to begin with, why are you showing me all of the most awesome things from Grammys past? That's like making me...

Shit, Beyonce's ass just made me lose ALL of my thoughts. (It also made me go into my bathroom and take a look at my own ass. Am I doing it from the wrong angle? I can't find anything that round on ANY part of my body, let alone the area where my butt is supposed to be.)

OK, now all I can hear is the word "surf board" and a lot of bleeping. Is it my TV, or is she drinking while surfing AND swearing?

That's a nice tuxedo, Jay. (We're on a first-name basis, so I don't have to say the "Z.")

Did they really have to make their next baby in FRONT of us?

We're GO! HAT #1. Black. Not him, I mean he is, but so is the hat. Not on backwards.

Ooh, ooh! I know you guys. you're Daft Punk! I know lots about music people!!

Stop. STOP. When he said that Music has the power to blah blah blah "surprise us... like Beyonce did with her a..." I thought he was going to say "ass," but he said, "album." THAT surprised me.

YOKO and SEAN!?!?!?! (I always feel sorry for Julian.)

I can't believe they're starting in on me so early. I needed those prep days. I needed 'em BAD. Fuck Taylor coming in with the opening monologue. Don't you DARE talk about her sharing her truth like she's Alanis Morissette. Because she's not. She is NOT!!!

I made a mistake. I accidentally recorded this on the channel that is NOT in HD. I haven't seen not HD TV since 2004. My eyes hurt.

That hat on Pharrell reminds me of James' prop hat from The Crucible.

BEST NEW ARTIST: Macklemore and Ryan Lewis
These really ARE new artists, because I've only heard of 2 of them.  I really wanted it to go to Ed Sheeran so I could say things about his hair being "too much."
I'm confused about how this category for a new artist goes to TWO individual artists who perform separately, as far as I know.
And also, I am confused about the fact that this gentleman speaks so articulately, even when using the word "reppin'." Nice speech. Sorry that Ryan doesn't get to talk, and that his jacket is made out of the upholstery from my dad's 1971 Ford Fiesta.

Lorde performs Royals. Well.
I'm not proud of my address either. It's as if she actually IS the song, because she clearly didn't have the money to buy a nice outfit for a performance at a party. I think she's wearing my Portillo's uniform.
LOVE the talons. HATE the correctional/functional shoes... unless she actually needs them. If she's Forrest Gump or something, please don't get mad at me. I didn't have time to do research stuff about her feet.

Hunter Hayes performs Invisible. He's daring to be different, all right. I think I'm not the only one who just found out that the Grammys were on tonight. Black pants, black shirt, white sneakers? Why do all the performers look like they just yanked on the first two things they found in their closet? L.L. hasn't even changed his hat yet! If Beyonce's sturdy bathing suit is the most dressed up anyone is going to get, I need a Chili's commercial STAT.

I don't know who this is or who cuts his hair, but I have SO much to say about his accent that there isn't room here for me to write it.

BEST POP DUO OR GROUP PERFORMANCE: Get Lucky, Daft Punk (feat. Pharrell and his brown hat)
What a lot of fun hats on this group. All different kind of hats! It's like a Dr. Suess book.

Katy Perry performs with Juicy J (my other street name). You know, I just love this girl. Maybe it's the Christian Rock beginnings. (I still have nothing more to say about that.)
Cool, her bra changes colors. It's as if she heard me crying out for something less boring, but still, everything else is black. What a dark night. Oh, right. I get the horse. The song is called Dark Horse. At this point I'm not writing a blog. I'm just trying to talk myself through it, and I'm concerned because I'd rather watch the preview for The Monuments Men and Applebees than the Grammys themselves. And if Sony is going to use Spike Lee and "Wanna Be Startin' Something" in their commercials, I'll just watch THAT all night instead.

Is Chicago really playing backup for Robin Thicke? Is nothing sacred? I just had a flashback to 1998 when I witnessed Sting playing backup for Puffy. Oh, this is the oldie Chicago, not the Peter Cetera Chicago. Fuck 'em. Without Peter, they can do whatever they want with Robin NastyMustache.

Keith Urban, who is the only man alive to appear to have had more plastic surgery than his wife. I don't understand this man. As I'm listening to his song, I really like it, and even as I'm sitting in Nashville (I mentioned that I'm not proud of my address -- I actually live two feet southeast of the Nashville city line where it's cheaper, so you can call me Queen Bee, or Juicy J, or Baby D. I answer to anything because I still haven't made any friends.) But back to Keith, I live in Music City and I'm a minute away from hearing WAY better music in at least 30 bars and dives and holes in the wall for free if I left my house right now. And I feel embarrassed that I live here and have honestly never knowingly heard a Keith Urban song, assumed I didn't like him, and am completely wrong about that. I like him the best so far tonight, and not I want to just go downtown and listen to some real musicians.

FUCK. TAYLOR REFERENCE #3, as if she is royalty. When did she become Michael Jackson? I don't understand. Who is promoting the idea that this girl is something we are eagerly awaiting and peeing our pants for the chance to see? CHILI'S!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (When I do that, what I'm trying to channel is some form of "serenity now" that will keep me sitting here watching this when I hate it so much.)

John Legend. So talented. But, snore.

But, nice performances so far. Really. So, my question is, when do they unleash Kanye to edge this thing up a notch? It's too civilized. I wouldn't mind hearing Dave Grohl say something snarky and insulting to everyone. There's a slot for that. He does it every year.

Why doesn't Kevin Hart ever stand next to someone smaller than him? There ARE smaller people.

BEST ROCK SONG: Cut Me Some Slack (Paul McCartney, Dave Grohl, 2 other people)
First of all, which one of these things is not like the others: Beatles, Rolling Stones, Nirvana, Black Sabbath... Muse (one of my favs, but there's a GLARING decades gap here in a funny way).
Second, HOLY SHIT. Are they reading my MIND?!?! Please say something awful, Dave. PLEASE say something just terribly wrong and mean. Dave borrowed Hayes' outfit, less the sleeves, and of COURSE, he does all the talking. OH, SNAP!!!! "I called up Paul McCartney and he came over and we jammed out a Grammy-winning song in a couple hours in my basement" and he actually said this part verbatim: "and to me, that's what rock 'n' roll is all about." (implied: "SUCK IT, fuckwits! I don't even own a comb!")

Oh, Jesus. Here she is. I'm just fast-forwarding.

CHILI'S!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A standing ovation? Does that mean it's over? Was it AMAZING?! Is she the most talented person with long hair who ever lived? Were the lyrics profound? Did she break your heart with honesty.
Now, wait a second here. Even fast-forwarding, I saw her doing something with her head. You're not Alanis Morrissette, but you are also very much NOT Tori Amos. Don't you do that while sitting at a piano. Until you can do that while playing TWO pianos and a harp while having sex with the piano bench, you're a novice and I'm sick of watching you grow up. Get off the fucking stage.

P!nk and Nate. Good one. Still with the air dancing. Lots of bathing suits this year! No polar vortex in L.A., I take it. Are they even going to SHOW Nate? This is a duet, no?
Oh, thank you for this specimen throwing P!ink around instead of making me look at Nate. I just found the man of my dreams...
Here he is. The Yosemite Sam mustache is not even hipster. Wondering how many references to my father in the 70s they are going to force out of me tonight.

BEST POP SOLO PERFORMANCE: Lorde, Royals.
NIIIIIIICE!
Oh, someone gave her a dress and new shoes!

Ringo Starr. It is a song, but I want it to be over. There is a hint of an old man who stands up in a bar and starts singing and then everyone sings along, kind of.
I was kind of hoping for "I'm Looking Through You".

Jamis Foxx is taking some liberties that I'm not so sure about.

BEST RAP/SUNG COLLABORATION: Holy Grail, Jay Z & Justin Timberlake (in abstentia)
Cute = "I wanna tell Ivy that Daddy got a gold sippy cup for you."

1 hour, 43 minutes in, L.L. hasn't changed his hat.

Kendrick Lamar and Imagine Dragons. This is a super effective collab. I love the all-white outfits and drums. Rivaling Kanye here for "There's a 40-year-old white lady who buys your rap music." But then, who's ruining it for everyone? Guess. Head banging, TS? Don't do that.
EVERYONE in the audience is singing along. But the best spot was Steven Tyler
WOW!

Kacey Musgraves. I can't tell if she's a country music act. Her skirt and Christmas Tree Light boots aren't cliche at all. She'll turn into Katy Perry by next year year's Grammys. I'm legitimately jealous of any woman who (1) can whistle, and (2) doesn't have to wear a bra.

Yay! 2 hours in, I caught up and switched to HD. It's the most elaborate, random-bunch-of-famous-laden Pepsi commercial ever. Mike Ditka and Terry Bradshaw. But all I want now is a cheeseburger. Where did that come from? Because it's 10:50 PM, and I'm only halfway through this thing, and I've been writing this for 6 hours straight. Someone put a cheeseburger in my computer.

You know who should be giving this Beatles speech instead of Julia Roberts (nothing against her, but her award show is next month): Queen Latifah. She's too missing tonight. I like my Grammys with more Queen L.

Is it wrong that I would prefer Mull of Kintyre to whatever Sir Paul is doing right now? He looks more like Linda every time I see him.

PRODUCER OF THE YEAR: Pharrell Williams.
Wow. I am feeling REALLY weird about never having heard of this chappy in the cappy before tonight. He's already won 3 Grammys.

BEST POP VOCAL ALBUM: Unorthodox Jukebox, Bruno Mars.
Hugs TS first. Nice bolo. He's cute. but OH MY GOD!!!!!! The camera caught a VERY BAD MOMENT.  Just as he was stuttering out, "I wanna dedicate this award to" they cut to his girlfriend, the Latina Jessica Rabbit (her name is actually Jessica), and Jessica was waiting for him to say her name, BUT HE DIDN'T!  He DIDN'T. They kept he frame on HER when he said, "... to my ma." and the corners of her mouth went down and she was PISSED!! He thanked his deceased mama, and his girlfriend is PISSED!!

Jeremy Renner. He is not a music person as far as I know, but he is the best dressed guy in gray of the evening.

Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson. Mildly awkward because they look like a corpse band at Showbiz Pizza.

The cuts to Yoko and Sean are sweet. I like how everyone is smiling so big and lovingly while singing along to "Don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys." This song reminds me of Mandy. I had never heard a country song before I met her.

Zac. Brown. Take. Off. Your. Hat.

BEST COUNTRY ALBUM:  (THE "KICK SOMETHING IN THE ASS" AWARD) Same Trailer, Different Park, Kacey Musgraves.
WAIT WAIT WAIT.  HOW is TS in THIS category. But you can eat it, but Kayce is a LOT prettier than you, and she just thanked Nashville the city in its entirety, which made me feel nice.

L.L. -- same hat!! You're killing me!

Neil Patrick Harris introduces Daft Punk playing Get Lucky with Stevie Wonder, Nile Rodgers, Pharrell Williams (new hat!) And Stevie is where he belongs, in FRONT. I like this version better than the recorded one. Because, Stevie. This is a GREAT performance. I'm getting chills. Freak out. Robots! There are so many songs happening, I think I missed 8 of them. Everyone is dancing. My favorites are Yoko, Katy, and Steven Tyler, who is trying to start a conga line. Nice work, Daft Punk. You are the Deadmau5 of 2014.

Cyndi Lauper introduces Sarah Bareilles playing with Carole King, one of my favorite things in the world (see last year's post), and since my mom played the Beatles, Bob Dylan, or Tapestry whenever she was cleaning the house (which was always), I have to dust everything now, but I'll be back in 5.

SONG OF THE YEAR: (remember, this goes to the song WRITER, who may or may not be the performer) Royals (Joel Little and Ella Yelich O'Connor, who is, SURPRISE!! Lorde)

Jared Leto. Hi. I've missed you. Gives death announcement of Lou Reed. And introduces Mettalica with Lang Lang on keys performing One. I didn't know that I liked this song because I was holed up in a dark room listening to The Joshua Tree when Mettalica was happening to other people. I respect this band, but it's confirmed. I don't like their music at all. I know that's upsetting to hear, and I'm embarrassed to admit it, because they have really beautiful guitars and all, but I'm going to go back to dusting till this screeching is over.

Steven Lyler and Smokie Robinson... Which one will melt first?
Is Steven Tyler ad libbing?

Here it is. Can I get something right for the first time in Grammy history?

RECORD OF THE YEAR: Get Lucky, Daft Punk, harrall Williams, & Nile Rodgers.
Nope. But after seeing them perform live, I'm totally down with it.
And I love how Pharrell speaks for the group so sweetly, refers to the robots and thanks their parents and France for them.

OK, I can't get a win call correct, but I know what belongs at the Grammys, and Queen shows up to introduce Macklemore and Ryan Lewis performing Same Love (I don't know if I can get away with saying this word, but I'm saying it anyway: These lyrics are DOPE!!) with Mary Lambert and 33 marriages. I have chills and they won't go away. Queen is the officiant, and then Madonna (who better!) in cowgirl persona, Open Your Heart. I'll stop making fun of this now. It's taking the cake. SHIT. This performance is the coolest thing I've ever seen a the Grammys, or just generally on TV. Even Keith Urban is crying. And I still have NIN and Dave to look forward to?

MUSIC EDUCATOR AWARD: Kent Knappenberger

IN MEMORIAM: (people died, some of them too young)

Lambert and Green Day --> hair off

Am I watching the Grammys or Parenthood? If I wanted to cry, it's not like I don't know how.

Say something mean again, Dave, so this unfamiliar feeling of sincerity will go away.

ALBUM OF THE YEAR: Random Access Memories, Daft Punk
French Robots give each other longest hug in Grammy history.  Who will speak for them?
Most beautiful thank you speech of the evening by a little fellow.

But no more tears -- let's rock.  NIN with Queens of the Stone Age, Lindsay Buckingham, and Dave Grohl perform Copy of A.  Then Josh Homme TRIES to sing My God Is The Sun, but they interrupt with ads and credits, so I guess I can go to Chili's now?

One hat on L.L. Zero Grammys bestowed on TS. Two fantastic hats and 38 Grammys for Pharrell. 2 French robots. And 33 marriages yield an appropriate amount of healthy and warranted weeping. Not what i expected, but it never is, because I know nothing about music.

Everyone loves excuses, so here are a bunch of 'em

A shout out to those of you who sent messages to me requesting proof of life. Woot!! It is very VERY surprising to me that ANYONE reads this blog, let alone takes the time to send me an email saying that they enjoy reading it and would like to read more. I am so very flattered when I get such kind messages.

Also, I feel rotten.

READER: "I happened to notice that you aren't doing your job of entertaining me. When do you suppose you will get back to it?"

ME: "I am MONUMENTALLY averse to responsibilities and obligations, and the minute I start to feel like something is expected of me, I start barfing all over the place."

The sincerity of these inquiries, rolling in at a steady pace of one or two a month for three years, completely disarms me. While they give me a live-affirming boost (because I am inevitably in the middle of referee-ing some blood-curdling custody battle that is converting my soul into a gerbil pellet), these pleasant messages make me feel guilty, and I wonder myself why I am not paying attention to "the blog" (I still feel like a jackhole even referring to this thing). But then I have to remind myself: This is just a hobby. I wonder if you know how blogs work? I don't get paid. Was that not clear?

Please don't take that the wrong way. I know what you meant when you wrote to me asking where I had gone off to. What a totally unmerited blessing to have enthusiastic readers – many of you have never even met me! But, then I started to think, who ARE you? I mean, we're on the same page here, I hope. We're all fully aware that I'm no one special, right? I hope it's not the case that a friend of a friend of a friend of a gay guy forwarded this to you and you think I have credentials or something. I am not, just to be clear: (1) important, (2) knowledgeable, or (3) famous, in any shape or fashion. I pay $15 a year for a domain name, and here you are reading this. I apologize if there has been some sort of misunderstanding. I hope that by now you recognize that I don't know anything about outer space or Alanis Morissette's marital status, and that I don't date Brian Urlacher – even though, in spite of all of your emotional support, not a one of you lazy fuckhats, who I guess can't afford to buy books, has come through with his address or even told me what bar he hangs out at. Shame on you.

So even though for all you know I'm serving 25 to life, I still can have a blog. I know. It doesn't seem right, mostly to me. But it is fun for me to write totally wrong things about Chick-Fil-A and Iceland knowing that people actually read this for some reason. Some people even feel compelled to send me very serious messages to "school me" or debate "facts" or refute claims that I've made (primarily re: D.B. Sweeney). Half of what I write in this blog is a clarification that the other half of this blog is total bullshit. Then again, when was the last time you heard anyone talking about D.B. Sweeney? Personally, I think I'm doing him a favor.

Someone from Europe posted a comment addressing me as: "Poor Dumb Polak [sic] Girl." To this person, all I can say is, "POOR YOU!!! I am REALLY sorry!!! Why are you reading a blog that you hate? Are you being held hostage at a Dark Site? Are they making you listen to a lot of Taylor Swift? If you have free will, and access to the internet, why in the hell are you reading THIS? Order yourself 'The Hunger Games' trilogy! It's totally awesome!"

Since the last time I wrote, some things did contribute to my slacking off on the blog: I moved three times. I had a boyfriend. Then I didn't have a boyfriend. I had a JOB. I couldn't find a pencil.

About the boyfriend – right around the time I met him, I ran a blog post up the flag pole about anal-sex. Of course he was not a fan. I have 9,000 other posts involving NO anal sex whatsoever. I can aver that 99.9% of this blog is NOT about anal sex, but after a year and a half, my boyfriend still had only gotten around to reading the butt-sex post, which was clearly purposely ridiculous (even though it was 100% true). He did read the post in which he is featured as offering to let me wipe my sweaty face on his shirt at a concert, and he liked that one, perhaps because I had portrayed events exactly as they had occurred, or because I captured his sense of humor accurately (because I DO literally write down things people say WHEN they are saying them, and some people don't mind that, while others, understandably, find it REALLY STRANGE). He did NOT find it strange, and that is because he is a narcissist of the highest order (i.e., his narcissism is so stealth that he honestly believes that he is the opposite of one, and being a lesser narcissist myself, it took me over a year to even BEGIN to pick up on hints about it), so of course he liked to read about himself.

Even some non-narcissists don't mind reading about themselves from another person's point of view. But most people really DO NOT like it. They might THINK they would like it. Lots of people say, "Are you gonna write about this!!!" And I say, "Yes, but you won't like it." And sure enough, the blog post goes up, and 14 minutes later I receive a tactful email from my friend saying how her aunt is on Facebook and if she clicks through she'll see my blog and know that [friend I wrote about] is "Skippy" [in X blog post] and "could you please remove Skippy from the story, or if you wouldn't mind, just remove the post altogether, and I really do like your blog, but just not when I am in it, you know, because of my aunt."

Aunts are just the worst.  I can say that, because I am one.

So anyway, the day after I wrote it, the boyfriend (who wasn't my boyfriend yet) forwarded the post about us going to see MGMT to some of his friends under the guise of showing them that he had gone out with a girl who… I really don't know what message he was trying to convey… that he went on a date with a girl who writes down conversations verbatim and then plugs them into the internet? That he went out with a girl who goes home from a date and stays up all night transcribing it? Is that something you want your friends to know? Did he like it? I can tell you that most people do NOT like being the subject of, or even casually mentioned in, one of my blog posts, so why this guy got a kick out of it and passed it on to his family and friends, well, I should have seen the red flag. Maybe I thought he respected my "craft," but who am I kidding. This isn't a craft. It's a BLOG. A dirty, filthy, blowjob-laden BLOG, with no value whatsoever. I liked this guy a lot, and although I don't believe that he meant to dissuade me from writing, when he tendered his opinion that I didn't need to write "things like that," I felt tsk'ed, so I stopped writing. I loved him and I didn't want to embarrass him or hurt his feelings. I didn't want to write things about my mother that made it seem like I don't love my mother, because I DO love my mother. But he got me to thinking that if I had a kid, well... I shouldn't be allowed to have kids and also have a blog. I was starting to regret the things I'd written, mostly because I was getting a very strong vibe that the person I loved had it in his head that I would be a terrible mother.

And a regrettable girlfriend

It's not totally unforgivable that he wasn't keyed up to be dating a girl who wrote about that time she took pills and begged someone to fuck her up the ass. Twice. That makes sense. But that ship has sailed. I wrote it. It's out there. I can't take it back. And according to eBlogger, which shows which posts are being read AND the cities where people are reading them, that ONE post has gotten as many hits as the footage of the Snooki-face-punch. And for some reason, the people of Iceland, perhaps ALL of them, based on the number of hits from unique IP addresses, are really curious about anal sex. Now, this had really nothing to do with what I'd written. This was about how search engines work, and people search for whatever they search for.  It just so happened that after a couple of weeks, you could type "anal sex" into Google, and UP came MY blog.

That's not really what I was going for. Not at all. I'm sorry, Iceland. I really am, but I can't be one of the top 3 sites that come up associated with... well, sex of any kind. I mean, it's not flattering. I wrote it. I know that. But it wasn't intended to define me or destroy all of my personal relationships.

But it did.

Because he took to the concert post, I mentioned him in the brutally honest butt-sex post. I thought I was dating a guy who was cool with me having a blog. I think he thought he was cool with me having a blog. But it wasn't worth it to me to push it. I couldn't figure out how to be a nice girlfriend and a weirdo blog-writer at the same time, so I stopped posting... and worked really hard at being a girlfriend. As surprising as this may sound, given all the flattering things I've disclosed about myself, my best wasn't so good. I was a less-than-satisfactory girlfriend, as it was related to me in the end. Too bad, so sad.

But at the time, discontinuing broadcasting the escapades of my youth wasn't a hard decision to make. While I had strangers who had no problem with the things I wrote, I had real-life people who were expressing that my blog was "distasteful." My boyfriend's brother's girlfriend (now wife), who I did not meet until over a year later, on the very day that my boyfriend's brother proposed to her, turned out to be supremely cool. But long before my meeting her, she read the non-blowjob-themed post about my date with her now-brother-in-law at the MGMT concert. I don't know if she read any other posts, or if someone gave her a Cliff's Notes version of the blog, but my boyfriend related to me her concise review of WindyCityChick.com, which was: "She sure likes to give blowjobs."

Oh.

My.

Then, that same week, my father unexpectedly, and surely inadvertently, made a reference to a non-raw portion of an incredibly raw post, indicating that, even though there is no reason in the world for my parents to know that I have a blog, they DO know that I have a blog. And they read it. Ack!!!!

Even though my blog is mostly NOT about sex at all, but about me being an idiot when I was in my 20s, it seems like my blog is just about blowjobs and anal sex, and the only people reading it and admitting to it are my dad and my ex-boyfriend's sister-in-law. So, my own blog has been grossing me out for the past three years. I kind of wish burqas were in fashion, because I'd like to wear one for the rest of my life just to avoid having to look my father in the eye.

When I thought about my boyfriend, his brother's wife, or my dad reading any of this, I felt sick. On the other hand, I really LIKED writing it, and I genuinely missed doing it; so I continued to write, but I couldn't bring myself to post anything.

But there are yet more reasons why I stopped writing:

Against the advice of some caring readers who encouraged me to stop lawyering and start writing more, I became a partner at a law firm, which is the best way in the WORLD to have loads of free time! But before I got myself into a 6.5-day-a-week, trials-back-to-back position, I had to find the job, interview for the job, and survive night sweats and pants-shitting terror over the idea of a potential employer or client entering my name into Google and finding out that I am a blowjob addict with a public forum. So I took the whole thing down.

Three years have passed. I am single. I quit my job. I had a series of "adventures" (I was homeless). I became a middle school English teacher in Nashville (which makes even the NAME of this blog a lie). There are plenty of things I'd like to write about to catch you up on all the excitement, but I think it goes without saying that being a teacher and having a blog like mine is TOTALLY UNCONSCIONABLE. Kids today don't know much about the internet, so it'll probably be fine. But just in case, I've been wearing a fake mustache and a cape to class every day with the hope that my students, co-workers, and superiors won't recognize me in my normal blogger form, which by now should be very clear in your mind: a girl with cocaine-caked nostrils gagging on a dick.

Hi, Dad! :)

40th Birthday -- Unplugged, Unslinged, Unplanned

[Last year, on Saturday, January 5, the day before my 39th birthday, my brother's and my friend, Pete, had a party. It was a get together with a bunch of my brother's friends and their girlfriends and wives, people I've known for years and years. I had no plans for my birthday, not because no one had offered, but because I didn't want any. I'd just had surgery, and for other reasons unrelated to birthdays (you know how I like to stay on topic and not digress in endless parentheticals), I wasn't in "the mood" for having a birthday. But there was this party, and my brother and sister-in-law encouraged me to go, so I did. I'm glad I did. It was fun. Even though it wasn't a birthday party, it was the night before my birthday, and I was at a party. I wasn't alone, and therefore, I wasn't sitting somewhere thinking how dumb it was that even though I could be with people, I'd made a choice to sit by myself on my birthday for no reason. (There was a reason, but that's a whole other thing, and again, I'm respecting how you don't need me going off on tangents.)

At midnight, I turned 39. A wink from my sister-in-law and a couple of girlfriends who knew -- that was nice. I felt happy. Content. It was the exact right amount of birthday acknowledgment I could handle that day, and if every birthday could be that way, I think I would like it. But this year, my birthday is on a Monday, and also, I don't live in Chicago, so there are some considerable barriers to someone just happening to have a non-birthday party this Sunday in Nashville.

I've decided to appeal to Pete, who, I'm sure, would probably want to have a party 3 days after New Year's Eve anyway. Lots of people like to go to parties the very first weekend after all the holidays are over. That's why the timing of my birthday is so awesome to begin with... it's usually the first day back to school or "real" work (not "In-between-holidays-I'm-just-here-because-I-have-to-be-but-really-I'm-spending-8-hours-looking-at-everyone's-Facebook-pictures-from-Christmas-and-Jesus!-Did-she-ACTUALLY-wear-THAT-OUT-to-a-New-Year's-Eve-Party?-Why?-Also,-should-I-send-an-email-to-my-friend-asking-her-to-take-down-this-picture-of-me-where-my-muffin-top-is-just-like-REALLY-prominent,-or-would-that-seem-vain?" work.) It's the time of year when NO one really wants to be ANYWHERE except home in bed. Including me. Which is why I never want to celebrate my birthday. But there's still the hope of Pete. For some reason he did it last year. Why not this year?]

***  ***  ***

So, uh, Peter, are you going to unknowingly have a birthday party for me again this year? Saturday works... if the lovely Gigi is free to clean up your place and make it look like a caveman doesn't live there. If she doesn't want to clean up, that's fine too. As for food, I don't need anything fancy. Just cook up those 20 boxes of Macaroni & Cheese that we made fun of you for having after we opened all the cabinets in your kitchen.

This year I'm in pretty decent shape for a party, unlike last year, when I was recovering from shoulder surgery and wearing a comically gigantic sling:

January 2013
The sling and the huge pillow in between my forearm and torso hold my arm in place, but they do not serve any protective function for the part of the body where the surgery happened. While it LOOKS like the elbow and forearm are in distress, the shoulder, with six incisions in front and back, is totally exposed. It must be human nature to slap someone on the shoulder when you see her wearing such a wild contraption (it had REFLECTORS ON IT!), and it makes perfect sense that one would deduce that the person wearing it had met with some kind of elbow misfortune.

It works really well as cup-holder.

Last year at your party, EACH and EVERY PERSON who entered the party, said hello to me and then inexplicably punched me RIGHT in the stitches, causing me to spit-take Diet Coke in agony while smiling and saying, "No, no, I'm fine. It's OK." Then I moved into an empty area of the house that I'd had to seek out for just this purpose, pressed my face into the wall, and screamed noiselessly for 2 minutes. Then I came back out to the party, acting like everything was cool, even though I suspected that after the fifth or sixth jab, and two of them from like REALLY BIG DUDES (you know exactly who I'm talking about), at least ONE of those stitches HAD to have popped open. But I wasn't going to complain or be a baby about it. If people want to greet me by punching me, that's OK. I used to have cats, so I understand that friendliness can be expressed in a variety of ways that don't seem friendly at all.

So after I caught my breath and adjusted my sling, I came back into the room, and I positioned myself strategically so that no one could get near my shoulder. But no matter WHAT I did, people just kept finding me and punching THAT ONE SHOULDER. You know I'm not making this up, Pete. And I think I was a really good sport about it.

The whole point is, my shoulder is fine and totally punch-able now. In fact, I INVITE you to punch it! Accordingly, because I'm able-bodied this year, there should be dancing, preferably to music that you've written... perhaps with me in mind? I'm not asking for much, just maybe a 10-track album entitled "Jules -- The Entire Inspiration for My Life of Music"? That seems reasonable. Thanks in advance.

(Side note to my sister-in-law, and Mindy, and Loradona: Like last year, I'm again requesting that you not tell anyone at Pete's party that it's my birthday, because, like last year, I don't want anyone to know it's my birthday, even though I kept accidentally mentioning it... but only for the purpose of IMPLORING you not to tell anyone, which you didn't, and I really appreciate that.)