Nobody cares for me, nobody.
Man, you guys, the past couple weeks have been rough. Depression is kicking my ass and I've been feeling pretty hopeless. Thankfully, somebody does care for me. My roomie, James, who was trying to console me suggested I try listening to music (something I seem to forget to do when I'm down in it). He said to think of a song that used to comfort me in childhood. The first song that came to mind was, you guessed it, David Lee Roth's "Just a Gigolo/I Ain't Got Nobody." As soon as I thought of it I laughed, because I remember feeling like I could relate to it so much as a kid. Just a little gigolo. Then I remembered more of the chorus and felt sad.
I'm so sad and lonely...
Won't some sweet mama come and take a chance with me, 'cause I ain't so bad.
Ok, that part is funny.
Anyway, I went for a walk, played that song a few times and before long found myself on a Van Halen kick. Van Halen holds a special place in my heart because they were one of my first favourite bands, and also Eddie Van Halen was quite possibly my first crush. Sadly, we lost him last Fall. I remember being a wee one and discovering that Valerie Bertinelli was married to him. I hated her instantly. For some reason, when you're a kid you believe that you actually have a chance with your celebrity crushes. Even when they're like 25 years older than you.
As I continued on my walk, I put on what's probably my favourite Van Halen song, "Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love." Man, what an opening riff. It's so badass. The whole energy of that song is fucking cool. It really is a perfect rock song. One of my past long term relationships started due to bonding over that song. So after that gem, I put on another fave: "Jump" with the "1984" intro, of course. My vinyl copy of that album is one of my prized possessions. To me, that record represents everything that ruled about the 80s. I just recalled a time when I was with some friends in a casino parking lot and "Jump" started playing. Each of us took turns running and jumping off a concrete block, doing our best David Lee Roth impression. Next up was "Panama." Another perfect rock song. It's sure hard to skip a song on 1984. That whole album makes me want to get wasted and dance with girls. After listening to "Top Jimmy," another good one, I decided to switch things up and throw on some Van Hagar, circa 5150. That's right, I said it. I love Sammy Hagar.
Some buddies were having a Van Hagar discussion on Twitter and I had to jump in and show some love. I love Sammy's whole vibe and happen to adore his voice. His style is so different from David Lee Roth's and I kind of love that. Plus, those ballads. SIGH. The topic of Van Hagar sure brings people out of the woodwork. It's funny how heated it always seems to get. I, for one, like them both but I also lean towards Paul Di'Anno in Maiden and Ronnie James Dio in Sabbath so I'm no stranger to feeling like an outsider in these matters. I actually happen to love Dickinson and Ozzy, but my ears do not deceive me. It's actually fun to see how passionate people are about their favourite singers and musicians. That conversation kind of brightened my day, to be honest.
Now I will leave you with another favourite Eddie (above). My bother had this Iron Maiden Killers flag in his room when I was a kid and I used to sneak and peek at it from a distance because it scared the shit out of me. One day he said, "You know, Kenna, Eddie eats children." I will never forget that.
I think that listening to and writing about music I love just lifted my mood a bit. It's either that or the edibles. Whatever the case, I'm going to enjoy this ridiculous video and probably listen to some more music.
Take care out there, and go listen to something that makes you feel good.
It's Free Library Friday once again, folks! I've been creating these posts every Friday on social media for a while now, where I share a book or two that I found at one of my neighbourhood free libraries. This one was originally published in June of 1960, and boy is that cover dreamy! This post is actually not about this book at all, but the cover seems fitting. This post is about a book that was published almost 6 years ago that I was just made aware of, and it features a chapter about me.
It was written by a guy that I had a casual thing with roughly 15 years ago. He wrote this book about 100 of the women he's slept with, and the book divulges graphic descriptions of his escapades, including specifics about body parts and performance. I wasn't sure if I made the cut, until I was. The chapter heading was a dead giveaway, and anyone who knew us would know that this chapter is about me.
So I tossed the question out to Twitter yesterday: do I read it? The replies were mixed, which is exactly how I feel. Am I curious? Hell yes. Do I need to know what this guy thought of me and my body? Hell no.
The past is the past. I was a 25 year old kid who was going through a transitional time in my life, and I was trying to figure out who I was. So, the fact is that this guy didn't even know me then because I didn't know myself. What I do know is that I think I enjoyed our time together, from what I remember, and I don't think we had a falling out or anything. Things just went away. Clearly for him, that was not the case.
Things must have weighed heavy on his mind in order to include me in this book, which from what I understand is supposed to read more as an apology to the women he has hurt over the years. But when the chapters are titled "Shovel Face," "Dirt Bag Filth Trap" and "Fat Chicks Love Anal," to name a few, you do start to question the motives. The title of my chapter is nowhere near as vulgar, but who knows what the content is. I mean, we fucked. That's when you're at your most vulnerable, right?
While my curiosity almost got the best of me and I considered having a trusted friend read my chapter just to let me know how bad it is, I ultimately decided against it. Because who really cares whether this guy thought my vagina was garbage or gold. It really doesn't say anything about me.
There was a time in my life when I would not have been able to resist reading something like that, but that wasn't the real me. That was a young woman who was self-conscious and scared, who deeply wanted to be liked and cared what others thought about her, despite the tough exterior. The thing about that young woman is, I love her. I really do. She wasn't able to love herself then and neither was anyone else, but that's ok. I've learned in recent years that how others feel about you is not important in the least. An opinion is just words strung together in thought. They are not fact. Even the opinion you have of yourself isn't the truth. But right now I can safely say that I'm feeling pretty good. I'm proud of myself and the woman I've become. And, you know what? My vagina is gold.
I'm finally doing it--pulling my insides out and splattering them around for all to see. Here we go!