There's a reason people giggle when they find out someone likes '80s pop.

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a singer-slash-entertainer.  So badly. You have no idea.

I was a talented overweight teenager little girl, with serious mic skills. 

I perfected the hair swish, even when my hair barely grazed my shoulder.  The extended-hand walkby, during which I walked by at top speed in imaginary punk heels, non-mic hand out far enough that crazed fans could get the merest of touches, but not grope. 

My mom bought me a keyboard that I'd bang on everyday, the synthesized beats blasting at full volume (Bassa Nova, ooh baby).  My dad, a guitar player in a past life (and HOH as a result of his rockin' days), bought me my own ax, which, I found out years later from a family friend, -- who was way too overfond of the truth -- was never in tune. 

At one point I had a band with a friend (who was slightly more in-tune, but not by much.  I only say this because she uses smaller hearing aid batteries than me, and therefore was slightly more qualified to sing lead) called California Girls, and we taped our first single, also called "California Girls," which was four minutes of us yelling while banging on my instruments: "Yeah, yeah, yeah, California Girls, Yeah yeah yeah, California Girls!" 

How did an agent NOT pass by my basement window and snap us up right away?  The unfairness astonishes me.  Hey world, your loss.  Especially you, California.

I'd practice my autograph with a flourish, and agonize over whether the A in my name should be spiky or loopy.  Which was cooler?  Oh, decisions, decisions.

I spent days imagining and directing music videos in which I courted Jonathan Brandis with a mere bat of the lashes and an octave-exploding, heartfelt "I need you now and tonight, and I need you now more than ever, and if you'll only hold me tight, we'll be holding on forever."  And then he would fall victim to the awesome power of my teased-hair awesomeness.  Because, seriously, I was.  Awesome.

One day in the early nineties, a friend of mine and I looked up "music manager" or something in the yellow pages and called somebody on the relay and said, "We want to be famous singers.  Can you get us started?"

He laughed.  Bastid.  And then we went back to rehearsal.  Anyway. 

But the depths of my obsession couldn't truly be grasped until you saw my notebooks.  I had folders and binders napkins full of lyrics.  I've lost them all, somewhere in the years of "I'm too old for this now," but many are still etched in my memory by the sheer pleasure of writing them.

And this was proof I was destined for greatness.  Because when the famous people of the day were getting rich off lame lyrics like "Look into his eyes, oh oh oh, he's been telling ya lies" or "if you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends, make it last forever, friendship never ends," I was writing some grammy-worthy gems.

I keed you not.  Observe the powerful range I had... from funky rockin' out:

Magenta condoms hangin' from the rearview mirror,
He passes me by, ever laughing,
I can tell by the way he's dancing,
He's tuned into the same radio station

So on down the white line we go,
Hanging on to the wheel,
He ain't my friend, ain't my family, ain't my lover
Just the only guy I know who's downright real

to the totally emo (Pete Wentz would be proud):

I am never free, I am never free
Let go of the tangles in the fishline,
I am never free, ohh, ohh, ohhh

*cue whirly video effect, maudlin closeup of my sad face*

Take care, I'll be fine
Leave the alabaster baubles bursting pocket seams
The festering sore of running dreams
I am never free, I am never free

OH, and let's not forget the twangy mid-tempo lament, complete with tight-ass jeans and lowcut bustier, destined for country radio stardom:

It was never a forever situation
When you took my heart and fanned the flames
How was I to know you weren't burning the same?

It was never a forever situation
We flew high in the sky but we had to land some time
Since you'd decided your heart would never be mine

It was never a forever situation
Never a permanent location,
Never a binding obligation,
It was never a forever situation

Sigh.  The memories. I wrote that last one a couple weeks before a boyfriend dumped me.  I've always known I was psychic.  Ahem.

Music theory be damned.  Who cares about key switches when you've got amazing words like these, right?  The rest is just some twanging and beating on drums, right?  RIGHT?!

Dood, I was rockin' it.  And best of all, I was having fun doing it. 

These days I've been introduced to something called reality -- Thanks, MOM -- and so I've accepted that the closest I'll ever come to releasing my own QueenAlpoalicious album is to leave CK for some rich exec over at Jive.  'Cause apparently, deaf people don't sing.  Especially ME. 

Oh.  Okay then.  Kill me now, 'cause I've lost my destiny.

But I still write these cheesy songs in my head, especially when I'm blocked.  'Cause writing these things is still FUN.  It's a secret pleasure, almost like masturbation.  No, scratch that.  BETTER than masturbation.  Lasts longer, and the buildup comes AFTER you've done all the work, because a good music video starring me lasts a week.

And when I go through months, like this last one, in which I either have all my writing time monopolized by family (screw you, little girl), or I just can't figure out how to get that chapter to breathe life, there's nothing like the ego-boost and creative play of some cheesy song-lyric writing to remind me why I do this in the first place.

Coming soon to a shower near you: QueenAlpo: The Musical.

(Starring me and Zac Efron.  Ahem.  I just have to call his agent and get it hammered out in writing.  Yeah.)

Comments

[sazzy]

Those song lyrics aren't cheesy - they're cool! hehe :)

[Cario Cgl]

You could always be a song writer instead!

[Hilary]

I put some of your stuff in word processor files.... don't know if I still have the files, but I'll look for them later and shoot them over to you... my favorite was "Revolution." :)