The body breaks and the body is fine; I'm open to yours and I'm open to mine
Three weeks ago I played this Velvet Underground cover show with a group of young men. It was fun to play the space organ and accordion. It was fun to sing like Neko. It was fun to play the dusty old organ in a living room full of said young men playing acoustic guitars, while a talking parrot bobbed his head and sang along. That parrot freaks the Hell out of me. I just don't know how he makes 'B' sounds with no lips. And he bites. And he was singing a melodic line disturbingly similar to ours.
I felt like an old woman- a Mom, if you will.
Last week I was hanging out with a group of older men. We went out for dinner and I sat at a table full of 28-35 year old men and at some point I suddenly remembered that I was a 24 year old woman and perhaps my presence was unusual.
I felt manish and small.
My days are spent with married women and sometimes my evenings are as well. I don't have children. I find myself on a stage full of people playing an instrument I don't normally play and all these groups are watching and the other musicians back off suddenly in anticipation of my epic space organ solo and I just want to cover my face with a heavy blanket. One which might have invisibility capabilities. This might be a crisis of identity.
So I contact my ladies. MY ladies. The ones that will come over the the mansion where I have been house sitting for a month and fart in the hot tub to make bubbles. The ones that will make gourmet pizza from scratch. The ones that make hilarious jokes like only the Jewiest. The ones who weld huge pieces of metal for Vancouver artists, drum and build things out of leather. And finally, the ones who repeatedly disobey the law and talk incessantly about their 'vags'.
now I have to hop on a bus to go hang out with a bunch of people I don't have anything in common with. But I won't meet any nice men sitting in the hot tub with farting ladies, so I'd better go. I'm getting ready to wed, you know.
I felt like an old woman- a Mom, if you will.
Last week I was hanging out with a group of older men. We went out for dinner and I sat at a table full of 28-35 year old men and at some point I suddenly remembered that I was a 24 year old woman and perhaps my presence was unusual.
I felt manish and small.
My days are spent with married women and sometimes my evenings are as well. I don't have children. I find myself on a stage full of people playing an instrument I don't normally play and all these groups are watching and the other musicians back off suddenly in anticipation of my epic space organ solo and I just want to cover my face with a heavy blanket. One which might have invisibility capabilities. This might be a crisis of identity.
So I contact my ladies. MY ladies. The ones that will come over the the mansion where I have been house sitting for a month and fart in the hot tub to make bubbles. The ones that will make gourmet pizza from scratch. The ones that make hilarious jokes like only the Jewiest. The ones who weld huge pieces of metal for Vancouver artists, drum and build things out of leather. And finally, the ones who repeatedly disobey the law and talk incessantly about their 'vags'.
now I have to hop on a bus to go hang out with a bunch of people I don't have anything in common with. But I won't meet any nice men sitting in the hot tub with farting ladies, so I'd better go. I'm getting ready to wed, you know.