Fair Readers,
As many of you (read: ME) may have noticed, my last three blog titles with the exception of yesterday's and including today have been lyrics. (Gee that chick is whacky!) No, I don't really think that I'm a rock star, and I certainly don't think I am a monkey. Although I have been known to eat shit from time to time. (So! DAMN! PUNNY!). I am sure you all are sitting on the edge of your collective seats wondering what I am trying to signal to you. I'll tell you. Come closer. Closer. Closer. (DAMMIT! I said CLOSER!) Thank you. *wink wink*
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When I was little, I wanted to be Vanna White. Vanna, in all her letter rotating later to become touch screening, one bad outfit after the other, need sunglasses to look at her teeth, Wheel of Fortune glory. We didn't have TV when I was little, but the minute I went to a friend's house, I'd grab the TV guide, pawing through it, noting the next time that WOF aired. Miraculously, I'd show up at the door at 6:00 every evening, like a stray dog. "Can we feed you?" my friend's mom asked, and I'd just shake my head no. "Are you lost?" she'd inquire. Head shake. "MOOM! She's here to watch WOF" "You are?" Nod. Nod. "Ummm. Okay. C'mon in, hon." And I'd glide in as if their living room was my own studio and mimic turn those letters with her. I smiled when she smiled. I gestured when she gestured. I whirled when she whirled. When I knew the answers, I kept my lips pressed in that knowing, demure smile. I. WAS. VANNA. MOTHERFUCKING. WHITE.
Given that I am 28 now, and Vanna doesn't look like she's going to croak anytime soon, I have decided that it is time for desperate measures. I need a new career. Which leads me back to the song lyrics. I have decided that I will do personal interpretations of song lyrics that strike my fancy. Kind of a William Shatner meets Irene Cara, if you will.
When I was 20, my Uncle Jimmy asked me what I was going to be when I grow up. "Famous," said I, confident in my undiscovered abilities. And I'm not just talking about my 15 minutes. I want the whole damn hour. I am certain that my interpretative talents and penchance for unusual dance moves coupled with the love of All that is TOP 40 will be my vehicle. And I, the willing driver.
THHPPPT. Yes. I am kidding. About the lyrics. Vanna White? No. As soon as I found out that Dan Akroyd left Saturday Night Live and that I would never get to replace Jane Curtin and hear "Jane, you ignorant slut," spill from his lips, I was heartbroken. Still am. It's all his fault. Blame him.
TCWH's SANITY SPEAKING: Of course I realize that this post is a direct result of my NOT leaving the house for the last five days. I'm going, I'm going. With the owner of the glasses. If I have to tell you which glasses in which picture I'm referring to, you're in trouble. I'm sure it will be a fun and frolickin' times. I'll post pics tomorrow.
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