Tag Archives: emo

How to Sing Karaoke, Sober

Not an actual representation of me on stage, but I am most definitely drunk in this photo.

Okay, that title is a bit misleading. Because it sounds like this entry will be a primer on how-to do something, and it’s something I’m not even sure I can do. But, seeing how it’s the eve of the big Three Imaginary Girls 10th Anniversary Rockstar Karaoke New Wave Bash, I felt like I had to write something about how my massive stage fright might hamper my desire to get up there and belt out a few tunes.

See, I suffer from this thing called “being old.” And yes, I know I’m not that old. And yet, for some reason, the combination of three things has a tendency to make me very, very, very ill: standing for extended periods of time + being out late + booze. Basically, if I’m out at a show, drinking even the littlest bit of alcohol is like injecting poison straight into my veins.

Even like 1 glass of cider can make me feel like I’m going to hurl all night—waking me up about every 30 minutes to stumble into the bathroom, praying I can eject whatever is making me feel HORRRIBLE as quickly as possible.

After asking my doctor 100x why this is, she said, definitively, and for the 100th time, “You’re just getting old, my dear.” Auuugh. Really? I mean, I realize I probably ruined my bladder with all that Bacardi and Jose Cuervo in the 80s (and 90s … and 2000s) but COME ON (wo)MAN. Continue reading


ON feeling cool, aka: Why I hated school, always

So The Guild posted a hilarious video this week, “I’m the One Who’s Cool” and a million nerdy voices cried out “OMG YES” in unison. And I was one of them. The great thing about the song and video is that it can be applied to almost any bullying situation, because it truly captures the horror of being a teenage outcast.

It’s always funny to me when people refer to High School as “the best time of their lives”, because I so don’t feel that way. Actually, since I was tormented for pretty much my entire school career, I kinda hate all of it: grade school, junior high (THE WORST), and high school.

It all started in Kindergarten, when the other “Aimee” insisted that she was superior to me because her name was spelled better. Also, she had her grandmother craft the most amazing Wonder Woman costume for Halloween EVER because she knew it was my favorite show, and she told me straight up that I could never be a good WW because I had stupid blonde hair and she had the perfect length of shiny black hair. Even when I won the part of Juliet in our class play over her (I went to an “alternative” KG, which would take an entre other blog post to explain), she said that plays were stupid and she didn’t want to be in it anyway. Then she threw her Kool-Aid in my face.

I moved around to a few different primary schools, and at the first one I was involved in an advanced reading class, which I LOVED, and which the other kids so did not. Branded a “stupid brain” for actually wanting to go and read stuff, my books were frequently knocked off my desk, I received notes calling me all kinds of names, and during one specific incident wherein I raised my hand to remind the teacher that it was time for the advanced reading group to leave, I got pushed in the hallway and bombarded by spit balls at lunch. Continue reading

Doubt and Stress don’t make for Productivity

Let's all make the Kermit face at doubt.

Oh look! It’s time for one of those posts where I explain that I know I have a personal blog that I said I was going to update frequently, but haven’t for over two weeks. And uh, well. I could make a ton of excuses, but the biggest one is that I’ve been doubting myself lately. Doubting my ability to write something good, doubting my ability to do what I know I can do, and do it well, and doubting the fact that I’m good enough in pretty much all areas of my life right now.

Basically, I’ll sit down to start writing about something, and then I’ll get about 2 paragraphs in, think it sucks, and shelf it. This has probably happened about 20 times in the last few weeks, which means I have 20 unfinished pieces of writing sitting on my desktop, waiting for the inspiration to finish them.

I know a lot of that is stress: wondering if I can somehow magically stretch the money I’m making to cover all bills, freaking out about not saying the right thing in cover letters, worrying that it might take a long time to find a FT job, getting frustrated about the fact that I don’t feel 100% better, and some days the uncomfortable-ness and twinges from surgery drive me ABSOLUTELY crazy.

And honestly, although I love my city, Seattle’s weather isn’t exactly helping right now.

But! I am starting to feel the twinges of that inspiration again — and slowly starting to believe in myself. You know how it is, sometimes, you just need a little nudge. In the meantime, I wanted to give all y’all who have been reading and commenting a heads up so you know I don’t intend to leave this blog just sitting here, vacant, after a pretty aggressive start.

Thank you for reading and commenting. And thank you for the sweet notes of encouragement I’ve received. It’s really awesome, you guys, and I promise (again) not to quit.

That’s the difference between you and I.

So here’s how my fan devotion usually works: I fall in love with a band during a live performance, and then I dedicate myself to being at EVERY show that band plays, because I’m terrified they will eventually get to big to play the small, local clubs anymore and a) tour a lot b) move to LA or NYC and c) play shows WAY out of my price range.

Thinking about this reminded me of a story about how I used to follow a particular band around Seattle (I swear to you, I am not talking about The Posies – this time, anyway), and coincidentally, I discovered after a few shows that this guy I had a giant crush on in High School was in the band. Remembering him to be cool as well as cute, I struck up a conversation and we began having friendly drinks at every show after the set was over…which was awesome, because at the time I was single, and so was he. Awesome, that is, until I mentioned to him that I was divorced.

“Divorced? Really. Huh.”

Having just asked for my phone number, he was still holding the paper in his hand when he said it. Then he crumpled it up and put it in his pocket, and I knew he would never use it. And sure enough, he didn’t. The next time I saw him, instead of being friendly, he decided to just lay on the insults.  Continue reading

Of Hysterectomies and Granny Panties

This is my surgery face! Ridiculous hats are required when checking into the hospital.

{note: I wrote this awhile ago – it’s just taken me some time to decide when I was ready to post it} 

“Your uterus is a mess.”

That was the first thing the surgeon said to me when she walked into the room where I was waiting patiently, trying not to cry. The second was, “This is going to be a very difficult conversation to have.” Great. Way to make me panic, doc.

Most people assume that as a woman who has made it to 40 without having kids means I’m anti-kid, but in reality it’s more like I was anti-having kids with anyone other than my current boyfriend. I love Jonathan so goddamn much that within a few weeks of falling for him, my brain was all, “Hey! I want to have this guy’s babies!” followed by a “WHAT. DID. YOU. JUST. SAY??!!?”

But the thought has only grown more and more important since I realized that if we were going to do this thing, a decision had to be made soon—since my reproductive lady parts would basically be expiring in a few years. Exploratory talks with my family doctor about birthing babies seemed promising. She was optimistic that when the time came, everything should be good to go…uh, until she discovered something foreign in there, which resulted in many (very long, and very scary) tests, and then, unfortunately, a visit to a specialist.

Continue reading

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