It is What it Is

Don't Get Lost In The Music

In my opinion, most every major (and non-major) musical artist has written at least one song that only has one purpose -- talking someone into a one night stand.

(If you think about it, just the act of writing the song shows far more effort than your standard Jaeger bomb and "It's all really about living for the moment" line, so at least it's a step far above the person in the bar hoping they find someone before last call. Still sketchy though? Yes. Supportive of my sister's theory that most people learn to play the guitar to attract the opposite sex? Also yes. However, I'm not sure there's a ton we do as humans that isn't meant to attract the opposite sex. Moving on ...)

Let's look at the evidence:

Elvis Presley: "It's Now or Never"

Bob Seger: "We've Got Tonight" ("Who needs tomorrow?")

Karaoke And WASPs

Being tone deaf and all, karaoke has always been a challenge. With no musical ability whatsoever, you're pretty much left with three options:

1. Make sure your song is a group song that involves lots of other girls so you're never close to the microphone. Of course, this comes with the obvious side effect that you are part of a large obnoxious group of girls on stage most likely singing "Love Shack" or "I Will Survive," and your dignity is lost somewhere amongst the red headed slut shots you've been taking all evening.*

2. Only sing once everyone else in the bar is too drunk to realize how bad you really are. If you're me, there's always one table left that cannot -- either due to court mandates or liver problems -- reach this level of inebriation.*

3. Learn a song that involves more speaking than singing.

I once saw a girl perform Eminem's "Lose Yourself" and bring the house down. Admittedly, said house was a smoky bar between a Days Inn and a Waffle House, but I still count it as an accomplishment.

Two Dreams And My Top 10 Break-Up Songs

In my 32 years of television and movie viewing/life, I have come to want two things:

1. A montage set to music: Me falling in love, me moving up the career ladder, me getting a makeover. Any scenario would work really so long as my montage included me throwing papers into the air, twirling in an evening gown and smiling meaningfully at a member of the opposite sex.
2. A soundtrack. 

Neither of these wishes are real possibilities, what with me being a person leading a life and not the star of a movie, but it does seem that I have unwittingly given all of my break-ups soundtracks.

What's On My iPod And Questionable Fashion Choices

To say that I like the musical Les Miserables would be kind of like saying I own a few pairs of Spanx and drink the occasional glass of red wine. In other words – it would be a gross, gross understatement

I saw Les Miserables twice as a kid – once in Birmingham and once at the Fox in Atlanta. My mother listened to the soundtrack non-stop for about four years. (Yes, I am often prone to exaggeration. When I talk about my mother’s listening habits, it is not one of those times.)

I can’t even tell you how often I wore the classic gray t-shirt with the Les Mis orphan on it.

(I also had a Cats shirt that I liked to wear with white Bermuda shorts, but it was old news the moment my Les Mis tee came on the scene.)

I liked to perform most of the score of Les Miserables for my nanny – my favorites being "On My Own" and "A Little Drop Of Rain." Dream role? Clearly Eponine.  Oddly enough, my nanny often encouraged me to sing from the porch while she watched her TV shows inside.

“I can still hear you,” she would call from the sofa, even though I often had to remind her when to clap at the end of my numbers.

My Top 5 Road Trip Play List

Being tone deaf and a huge nerd, my iPod is an embarrassment or riches – if you really love show tunes, Shakira and soulful girl ballads about break-ups. (When I was going through some old CDs from the mid-90s, a friend commented, “I didn’t realize you were a lesbian in high school.”) I have been making mixes titled “Mellow Music” since I was about 14 ... [Read more]

I'm Going to Learn How to Fly

I get a lot of questions about my middle name.

“What was that you said?”

“Fain.”

“Fain?”

“Yes, it’s just like ‘rain’ but with an ‘f’ instead of an ‘r.’”

“Fain? F-A-I-N. Really?”

“Yep, Fain.”

“That’s interesting. [Beat.] What’s a Fain?”

When I’m not in a hurry, I explain that it’s a family name. When I am rather rushed, I hope the topic will pass and we can move on to the last four digits of my social security number or my city of birth because this conversation usually occurs when I’m trying to talk to someone about my gas bill or credit card statement, and it hardly seems like the time to discuss my family heritage and naming traditions.

Four Camp Memories* and a Wedding

There are plenty of places I've been that I thought I would never see again. Camp McDowell in Navou, Alabama was definitely one of them. Despite the fact that Camp McDowell is the Episcopal camp in Alabama, and I am, in fact, an Episcopalian from Alabama, one week back in the summer of 1993 was more than enough for me.

There are only three things that I can remember about that week (and the name of my pictured cabin counselor is not one of them, Dawn?):

1. A boy with a mullet had a crush on my friend Leah. He came over to me at the swimming pool one day and asked me if she liked him back. I had to turn him down for her. The next day, we saw the same mullet-ed boy making out with another girl in the pool. It wasn't so much the betrayal that shocked me as much as the seeming lack of hygiene and supervision. All I can remember thinking is, "All of these people in one body of water, and now those two are tonguing each other in the middle of it. This can't be sanitary," plus, "Why doesn't the lifeguard care?"

Single, Alone and Crying in Banana Joe's

I've spent my fair share of Valentine's Days single. (Most of them for that matter.) Usually, I would watch bad movies (my college roommates laughed when I came home with my own copy of Love Stinks, starring the forever-squinty French Stewart, but I also caught each and every one of them watching it before the semester was through), talk about how much men sucked and I loved being single, drink copious amounts of wine with my girlfriends, go out dancing and come back home for a good cry about whether or not I was doomed to be alone and where all the good ones were hiding.

As sad as you think that might sound (this routine probably encompassed far more nights out than just Valentine's Day in my early 20's), no "I'm single pity party" compares to 2004.

The Week of Love

In honor of the time of year, I thought I'd share some Valentine's Day-related stories this week. However, as with all incidents filtered through me, there will be some caveats.

For the coupled up amongst you, I wouldn't expect too much insight into the world of over-the-top romance. I cringe during proposals on The Today Show or Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve because those moments seems private to me. And the idea of people watching and judging what should be an intimate moment? No, thank you. I don't want to attend your annual physical exam either. I like my sappy moments fictional and created by one Nicholas Sparks. Plus, these days, there's not much I appreciate more than finding out that the dirty dishes have already been put away or that the trip to the recycling center has already been accomplished.

As for the singles, please rest assured I have some tales that will make you only too happy to spend February 14 alone or celebrating with friends or candy, whichever floats your boat.  

To go in what I consider to be reverse order, I thought I'd start with the story of my best Valentine's Day. (Best V-Day before the Significant Other showed up, of course. If confused, please reference previous paragraph about some privacy and intimate moments.)

Happy Early Halloween!

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