Throwback Thursday…Big Hair and Bright Pink Lipstick

Waiting, in a daze.

She hears a song.

Wistful about times gone by.

a moody eyelinered man sings about love, and love lost on a mix tape now discarded.

Music beams her back.

Permed hair, lots of hairspray.

Bright pink lipstick.

A skirt that swirls just a bit, tanned legs

Dancing, feeling weightless, no pain.

Her eyes are closed, feeling happy and tranquil.

Lost in memories of friends and good times.

Then, “ma’am, MA’AM, its your turn”.

Nothing like being called ma’am

to jolt one back to harsh reality.

Not much to say about this one, except that I confess to having big hair at one time.  In summer the bright pink lipstick usually went with a tan, in the days when I didn’t worry about aging or skin cancer.

Throwback Thursday…Big Hair and Bright Pink Lipstick

Waiting, in a daze.

She hears a song.

Wistful about times gone by.

a moody eyelinered man sings about love, and love lost on a mix tape now discarded.

Music beams her back.

Permed hair, lots of hairspray.

Bright pink lipstick.

A skirt that swirls just a bit, tanned legs

Dancing, feeling weightless, no pain.

Her eyes are closed, feeling happy and tranquil.

Lost in memories of friends and good times.

Then, “ma’am, MA’AM, its your turn”.

Nothing like being called ma’am

to jolt one back to harsh reality.

Not much to say about this one, except that I confess to having big hair at one time.  In summer the bright pink lipstick usually went with a tan, in the days when I didn’t worry about aging or skin cancer.

You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine

There is a little voice in my head that tells me I should be the best possible version of me each day.  Seriously.  Acting on what the voice tells me is another matter. Unfortunately once the holiday season comes I struggle mightily with listening to the voice.  Who knew that Thanksgiving, the time we should be grateful, starts the season of bah humbug for some?

I’m told by some I should try to placate the needs of other family members during the holidays.  I try really hard.  Cooking and cleaning…I can do that.  But there is a giant voice that rumbles from within when my mom starts telling her latest tall tale.  Apparently we are distantly related to Good King Wenceslaus and our ancestral home is now Transylvania.  Whether this is a bit of mental illness, a bit of early dementia, or the natural extension of my mom’s need to be a social climber and present to the outside world that we are indeed very important people.  Not only are we very important, but we are important in a unique way, that is key.  For not everyone can claim their ancestral home is Transylvania. Speaking of good King Wenceslaus, I recently discovered that R.E.M. has their own  of the version song.  How did that escape me?  You would really have to be a big R.E.M. fan to listen to it, and like it.

I fell asleep in my clothes last night.  That is never good and makes one feel extra slovenly.  I felt slovenly and didn’t care to interact with the  world.   I went to the pharmacy in my hoodie and sat there waiting for my prescription trying to not make eye contact to the guy singing “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine“.  Of course he put extra emphasis on the lines “Late in the midnight hour, you’re going to miss my lovin”.  He added a part to the song involving back rubs that I don’t recall hearing before.  I don’t know if it was my hoodie and slovenly appearance, but his own brand of magic he was targeting at other female patrons, never came my way.  Now Lou Rawls has invaded my brain making me think about the lovin’ I am going to miss.

 

Pour Some Sugar on Me

It was almost quitting time at her dead-end job.  Most everyone claimed to be on the road to something better, this place was just a short pit stop.  He wasn’t her type. They guy with the long blonde hair in a ponytail and the unexpected brown eyes.  He who would play annoying music when the boss left.  His latest kick was old hair metal.

They all sat there, eating cake, cake that was meant for the customers.  She watched him while he ate. Envious she was, he could eat 2 or 3 pieces of cake and still be skinny. Did he have tattoos under his long sleeves? What was his middle name?  She excused her thoughts as just something to break up the monotony of the night.

She thought he was wide open, everything was on the surface, whether it was annoying or interesting or strange.  She felt quiet around him, but wanted him to see her, the good and the bad.

She barely noticed him at first.  They didn’t always work the same shifts.  Slowly something changed.  Her empty spaces seem to expand. Something needed to happen, anything at all.

How did she make it happen, in a way that wasn’t socially awkward.  She had odd thoughts about letting his hair out of the ponytail, still thinking he wasn’t her type, even though she couldn’t stop thinking of him.

If she revealed herself, there was no turning back.  If she was wrong, she couldn’t come back to work.  Rejection, could she deal with it?

She finished her cake and continued to day dream about him as she went about the last tasks of her shift.

She put the concert ticket in his jacket pocket, with a note that said “See you Saturday night”.  She’d either be a total loser on Saturday or she wouldn’t.

If I had marched…

Why would I have marched…..

To see the development of a real health care plan that could lend a hand to my sister with both issues of addiction and mental health.  The ACA provided her with a very high deductible health care plan.  It is hard to get help if the first several thousand dollars come out of your pocket…several thousand she doesn’t have.  I don’t understand how people think the ACA benefits someone like her, or a man in her same situation.

To call out the so called Christians who have an opinion about how each gender behaves and should function.  To the greasy unkempt guy who thinks himself a marriage expert and likes to perpetuate harmful stereotypes that he believes are divinely inspired.  Oh, and stop being the modesty police, and breathlessly talking about how the women folk are causing the brothers to stumble if they show a hint of cleavage. The little women who stand behind these preacher men, you don’t do women any favors. Oh, Emerson Eggerichs and Shaunti Feldhahn, you can stop with your gender stereotypes as well.  I can’t imagine my work being centered on this kind of nonsense.

To eliminate subtle but harmful gender expectations in the workplace.  Outright misogyny or misandry should not be tolerated.

For the parents out there that let their kids listen to music where every other word is ho or bitch, well I don’t know what to say.  You probably don’t give a fuck what I have to say.  I met one of your little teenaged darlings recently….to his mom who doesn’t care she is raising a little misogynist…stay klassy lady.

To make sure that we are doing right by kids from disadvantaged backgrounds when it comes to education.  I see everyone is an uproar about Betsy DeVos.  But can anyone tell me what Arne  Duncan has done the last 8 years to improve education, at the classroom level?

For the people in my life who just stood there and did nothing to call out injustice to women or perpetuated harmful stereotypes…screw you.  Yes that includes people close to me.

Before we all go making an idol of Planned Parenthood, ensure they are providing quality care….in the case of my sister, they did not.

To make sure the condition of women doesn’t slide backwards to some sort of old world antiquated notion where women were barely human.

To nurture a system where the average Josephine has a voice,  and to have journalists who will give her a voice.  I could really care less about what any celebrity has to say.

To nurture a system where there is an abundance of highly qualified candidates for public office.