My Blog

I think the reason I love classic rock so much is that it is truly universal music.
I’m not kidding. Any bar from the midwest to New York, to Florida if you play Take the Money and Run or even a more recent classic, Paradise City, you will see a sudden shift in energy throughout the bar. You will see maybe three generations of men and women lip sync the same song and relate to it. This incredible happiness of recognition will evolve before your eyes. no joke. Its interesting how I’d rather spend an entire night listening to Bob Segar instead of odd techno dance beats or ever edgy melancholy melodies.

There’s a story in every classic rock song. Mostly how they all “made it out!” I think its a reflection of making it thorough the sixties. The independence era. From the fifites until the seventies a LOT of shit changed. Think about it. I think that’s why the music is so important. At least to my parents. I see how connected they are to it, because of what was happening in their eyes as we drove to the mall when I was growing up, I saw the songs held significance. Now I actually see it too. Watching my mom and dad hum along to Rocket Man, Against the Wind, and Hotel California is an image I will never let leave my brain. They were truly groovin’. I saw it. Because of them, I too can groove.

My mom’s a Dan Fogelburg kind of gal and my dad a Ted Nugent guy. Without a doubt though they agreed on the station, K-SHE 95 classic rock, the mascot “sweet meat” the pig with sunglasses. My particular favorites were when the whole family got in on it and sang along together. I guarantee Tom and I know every word to the same songs. My mom absolutely hates “Takin Care of Business” so we don’t know the ins and outs, but Carla and Jerry definitely agree to love “Cold as Ice” so we know every fucking syllable. (as Dad dee dee dee’s along.) Sweet Home Alabama…forget it, we’re ALL singing!! Loud and kind of in a weird harmony. Family Harmony. It meant something.

Maybe its time to call the folks??

PS if you’ve never listened to “Seven Bridges Road” by the Eagles check it out. It’s my dad’s personal fave.

I will never regret all the fucking shit I’ve done in my life.

Sometimes I say outloud “I can’t, I have to work…” I wait fucking tables. who fucking cares????? I waited on David Scwimmer’s pussy ass last night. I only cared about him tonight because he reminded me of a dear lovely man named Alex Espy.

We danced and sang to Salt n Pepa and the Nasty Niggaz when half of the poplular kids refused to acknowledge me because they didn’t know about me, but they really did, which is what really scared them.

Did you know that one time I had a friend betray me. A best girl friend that I love to this day. She slept with my boyfriend of years. 4 years. She doesn’t know better. Honestly, she has no clue. I still love her stupid ass. You should hear this bitch on the piano. It would blow your mind the natural talent she has.

Paddlers pool was the place to be in 5th grade. It was the only private swim club in Granite City. It was the first year my parents spent the money and let us kids do the “cool thing.” I think my mom felt the pressure of society which is why we were there. It was amazing. My best friend to this day, Kelly Sumpter, was also a member. You’d die if you’d see us 5th graders acting like grownups at the pool. There was a front pool with a shallow and deep end and the “racing pool” which was in the back. Its where all the good swimmers and members of the swim team hung out. A few things…1) I didn’t learn to swim until the summer after my 4th grade year. I was terrified of water and drowning. I still kind of am, and 2) I will never forget hearing the song “waiting for you” by Richard Marx while I was clinging to the side of that racing pool at Paddlers Swim Club.

Corey Kessler. Wow. The hottest 6h grader you would’ve ever seen, was a Paddlers junkie. He always dated the coolest girs, biggest tits, smartest, cutest, most atheletic. I will never forget that as a freshman (him a sophomore) he said I looked like a chicken. I was stunned. A chicken? what does that mean? the neck? I know it couldn’t have been the legs? Oh Corey. The obsession started that summer at paddlers and continued to…this day. Easy. Kelly and I would sign our notes in high school G.B.C.K.-god bless corey kessler. Ridiculous, but true.

I started laying out that year too. I thought If I had a tan, it would make me more appealing. Thats really funny to me now. Eventually learned that Corey was wrong.

That same summer Kelly and I went to Nameoki Cinemas in Granite City and sat behind Corey and his girlfriend Adrienne Yates, who we were later on the pom squad with, and anytime they tried to kiss we pegged popcorn at their faces. They kept turning around, and we kept acting like we didn’t do it.

They broke up later. All I can remember is that he splashed her at the pool and she had tubes in her ears.
Tubes. Oh and I did get a great tan that year. I have a picture of me at Hardees with a costumed California Raisin to prove it. Corey Kessler. That name never fails to bring back vivd memories.

(G)od (B)less (C)orey (K)essler

I used to drive drunk a lot.
Not good.
I know.
I would have constant co-pilots saying, “its fine, I’ll talk you through it.”
This is a running theme in my life.

My life is so full.

Pearl Jam playing in the background on loop.

I’m thinking about this juvienille delinquient kid I dated a little right before I made the huge transition from Holy Family Catholic School to Granite City High School. Luckily I was a good dancer and totally got my dorky self on the prestigious granite city pom pon squad. Because of all of those stupid lovely bitches I had some serioulsy wonderful high school memories. Yes, we were mean climbers who dated football and soccer players, had pool parties at Mandy Schermer’s inground pool and made fun of the burnouts. I bet the burnouts made fun of us too.

Summer of 1992 (whoa I just felt how long ago that was.)
The poms marched with the band for football season, local parades, and band competitions. I always complained but thank god for those moments. We would have to spend 2 weeks before high school started, 6 hours a day, in the hot sun marching with the “FUCKING band dorks.” We would drive around the town on our 15 minute breaks and hour breaks smoking cigarettes with the seniors, getting ice cream, throwing the leftover trash from mcdonalds into the back of this blue el camino always parked at the same spot at Wilson park, and really learn about eachother and try to figure out where we were going to fall in the high school food chain. Cocky freshman bitches who were deep down a little scared. Especially this little one. Some things never change, huh?

Those nights after band camp we would head over to Chris Janek’s house. He had this huge attic room with a little cove in the corner draped by 2 tyedyed sheets affectionately known as “The fuck shop.” No joke. 13 years old. My little baby pussy was so alert and awake to any boy that would give this flat chested outcast girl turned into an overnight popularity sensation by association a feign of interest. Enter Tony Turner. Sophomore. Dad in jail. Lived with his mom. Dated Stacy Stordahl, who he was rumored to have had sex with in eighth fucking grade. Which he did. I was immediately enthralled. My mother was appauled.

He would call my house and we would talk for hours…about what? Not sure. i was probably refreshingly ridiculous and naive. Girls were over staying all night. I pulled out my tampon and threw it at Holly Odom. She about died. I thought it was hilarious….it was. One night at Chris Janek’s tony went into my swimsuit bottoms. I remember like it was yesterday. It was a one piece. I stopped him.

He dated a troubled girl on the pom squad for the remainder of my high school. His best friend had gotten her pregnant in the 8th grade. Abortion. She never wanted to talk about it at the Pom sleepovers. I did.

My best friend to this day who’s been with me since 6th Grade, Kelly Sumpter, called me about 2 weeks ago. She lives in St Louis with her husband and sweet little boy and tells me she ran into a convenience store, started talking to the lady behind the counter. Come to find out she’s from Granite City and her son’s about our age. Come to find out its Tony Turners mom! Kelly ended the voicemail with “Oh and I told Tony Turner’s mom you said hello.”

I’ve never met her.

Hearts and thoughts they fade….fade away.

This past weekend I attended an acting workshop in Chelsea.
I know, you picture a bunch of film hopefuls sitting around a black box theatre weeping through a scene of “Agnes of God.” Methodically digging up personal skeletons of rape, abandonment, and lack of parental love of the past in order to really get in touch with character. Ah, the drama. Let me tell you that it was NOTHING like this. It was actually incredible, but that’s really beside the point. Allow me to introduce you to Danny.

Upon entering the bright acting studio (and I’m nervous mind you, I totally fear the unknown. Do not get this confused with unable to accept the unknown.) it’s painted all white, and is actually covered in windows whose view entails a lovely church, I see something that startles me. In the corner, a tall and lanky slender, older man stands.
In all black and grey
In dress slacks and shoes
In a calf length black leather jacket
Boasting a killer orange self tan.

“Hi I’m Danny, what’s your name?” (shit he’s one of those)
“I’m Tracey” (in an octave higher than my normal spoken tone)
“Do you live here in the city?” (Is this guy my equal in the class or is he an assistant?? I’m confused.)
“yeah, in midtown.” (help)
“Oh I’m from upstate and the city makes me nervous. Good for you, TRACE.” (Its official, I’m done.)

I proceed to hear him chat with everyone in the class as they enter. Its mostly about upstate and how he lives off highway such and such. I don’t know where that is. I can barely distinguish the state of new york on a blank map of the U.S. I jot down in my notebook “OH MY GOD. WHO IS THIS GUY?” I figure I’ve got 2 days with him, so I should sit as far away from his as possible. Done, good job Trace–the high road.

Sande (our instructor whom I adore) starts handing out scenes. Now mind you, I was instructed to bring a Female/Female scene which I did. Legally Blonde. Funny. But before I know it she’s paired everyone and my brain is working overtime and I come to the chilling conclusion….
I’m paired with Dan the Tan Man??? The answer to my jotted down question became “He’s your partner, you bitch.” OH SHIT!!!

It only gets worse, “Go sit with your partners.” I cringe. He motions for me to come over and I (being me) shake my head and say, “why don’t you come over here.” The whole while he’s callling me TRACE. TRACE. Now, I love to be called Trace. By anyone but this guy. As the workshop goes on I supress his retardation of clapping after scenes, telling me good job when I sit down from my monologue help, and telling me he’s sorry when he flubs a line. I pretty much ignore him and answer in one word sentences. ie
“Ok”
“Sure”
“Uh, yeah.”

Then, I start thinking. He’s probably a lonely old man who is still looking for himself at 60. Its probably a huge step for him to come to the city and do something like this. His idiosyncrocies are just a way of dealing with anxiety. In a positive way. Positively annoying. But positively.

I start to smile and reached for a sip of water. As I lowered the bottle from my mouth I notice that something tastes sweet. I’m totally confused. Until I look down and see a mirror replica POLAND SPRINGS bottle to my left right by my bag, the same type I’m holding in my hand right now. It hits me. This is Danny’s water-bottle and the sweet taste has to be DAN THE TAN MANS self tan!!! I tasted the tanning lotion from his fucking lips. I’m gagging. I’m trying to breathe. I put down the infected bottle and grab my own. I swish and swallow. I scrub at my lips.

I started laughing. It was that or vomit and that’s too messy. Jesus, Danny.

I’m not sure where this is going.
When I say that I mean everything.
I thought it was just about the blog but its actually a perfect description of every single thing.

but I’m going to the body exhibit tonight so that’ll probably clear up some shit.

My boogers are really gooey right now.
it smells like boogers on the inside.

I’m thinking of going red.
I’ve been thinking this for at least 10 years.
don’t hold your breath.

am I getting fatter or are my jeans just shrinking?

I have watched 90210 on more than one occasion and actually taken notes. On what?
Here they are…..
–They are people who get paid to make a bad script acceptable to the average pedestrian.
–Not necessarily all bad actors. Go Brandon.
–Donna Martin is on Pain killers!
–But she’s still wearin’ pearls
–Jasper?
–If David Silver plays that synthesizer one more time….
–I’m drawn to all things good/bad
–What happened to Tori’s nose job?
–dont ever let the main HOT GIRL cut her hair (aka Kelly Taylor)
–Thank God I wasn’t a 20 something in beverly hills
–As for lawyers…they set up with yes no q’s and then when the answers turn to maybe..then they’ve
got ya! (what?)
–My whole life I”ve been so busy that I’m really starting to get to know myself. (again..what?)

All from 90210
Its time to get out more.

Sometimes I forget to be thankful.
Its true, we all do.

Last night I got so incredibly fucked up that I woke up totally intoxicated.

I passed out on the couch watching NY1. News, stupid repetitive news that anyone only ever watches for Weather on the 1s.

I woke up to the sweet nothings of my boyfriend asking me, “would you rather swim through an ocean of puke or period blood?” I answered “I’m drunk.”

I went into work this morning in a blizzard of snow where the sidewalks were yet to be shoveled and I talked to more strangers on the street. Everyone was smiling as if to say “we’re in this together.”
We are.

I was supposed to work from 10:30 until 4:30 (more commonly known at ORSO as Long Lunch.) Everyone else is short lunch and have a shot at getting sent home if they’re not needed.
Ron the Angel took my Long Lunch and I in turn took his Short Lunch.
Then the manager let everyone else on Short Lunch go.
Which included me.

Last night I ate BBQ that always makes me feel vomitous at a table full of people that I love and consider my family.

I watched someone bring together 2 totally different generations of midwesterners and let us play on his birthday.

I bowled. I bowled a 77.

I danced around like an asshole and didn’t give 2 shits.

When we were done we all left the port authority bowling alley and headed into the blizzard that had formed around us.
I looked around at all of the drunk and high kids just enjoying the night.
Laughing and struggling.
I looked around.
And I was thankful.

To the Tune of Anything Goes……

In golden age of Rogers and Hammerstein
People could sing and dance I mean
Now God Knows
Anything Goes

The TV stars remained on Channel 3
Donna Reed would never have played Mimi
ln that show
Anything Goes

Even the
chorus kids
are competition twits
American Idol-edge
But the gap they bridge
Mediocre talent you see
to replace the pre-

-vious creator of the ROLE!

Though I may seem a bitter twat
and wish I had what they got
I’m not sorry, yo!
Cause anything goes!!!

Anything
Anything
Anything
ANYTHING GOES

Should I become a songwriter?

Ladies and Gentlemen…I wait tables.

Its not that bad, the money is really good and the people I work with are really really great. Except for One.
One that makes me want to pull out every hair on my head when she speaks, slowly as to escape her stupid fucking stories.
One that I’ve started openly rolling my eyes at when she looks away.
One that works her ass off trying to be employee of the month when we don’t even have that award.
One that interns at a dance studio but DOESNT pursue dance.
One that calls everyone by there first and last name.
One that probably only has work to look forward to.
and the worst….
One that LOVES me and thinks I’m the funniest person ever.

She says things like “Tracey, remember when you almost grabbed James’ penis? I almost peed. Oh thanks, now I’m saying ‘I almost peed’ like you.” But its the voice she uses when she says it, like an hollowed out Talk show host Zombie! She’s so personality-less. I couldn’t tell you one thing about her as a person except that she drives a bitch infucking sane. I want to yell at her. Not hurt her physically, that’s not my style. Just wound her with words. The thing is, she’s the type that will suck it up and still try to be my friend. Ew.

And of course last week she said she used to have a stalker.

The best part of this equation is that I have every shift but one with her. FULL TIME CRAZY. She makes me feel mentrual.

first:

In the nextel commercial where the 2 guys are dancing to “PUSH IT” by Salt-n-Pepa ignore the overacting jackass on the left and watch the motherfucker on the right. I guarantee you will laugh out loud!

Second. I have been going thru a quarter life crisis. SIDE NOTE: I just had to figure out if I spelled that 1. Quarter or 2. Quater…..yes, I have a college education and that fucked me up. Quater? Maybe my phonetics is off. Are off? Oh god I’m trapped.

Oh and there is a part of me that really honestly hates Oprah. Not for laughs or the sake of being different. I mean it. Hate. But I never change the channel. Until I get up the energy.

Its officially time to get out of this funk. (et. all)