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Lyrical Interpretations and Junk

Some musicians just have it, you know. That spark that let’s them enter a part of our brains in which they can do no wrong. It doesn’t happen often, but when it happens to me it is sort of otherworldly. The rhythm of the songs don’t get old, even the most asinine lyrics make sense, and I begin to think every album was written specifically for me.

For example, I give you Alanis Morissette. First of all, her name is fucking Alanis. That is the kind of name that makes the Sarahs, Lindseys, and Beccas  of the world feel like lemmings. Then there is her voice. Hurry, think of someone else who sounds like her (okay, besides that Meridith Brooks girl). You can’t.

alanis morissette meme

Keanu, you think of everything.

So you get it, I like Alanis.

I like her regardless of her blatant misuse of the word ironic. I like her regardless off the fact that she either has something very secret and important in one of her pockets at all times, or she’s trying to be discrete about getting off in public. I even like her regardless of the fact that she sings about cross-eyed bears. Those are  the lyrics, right? Right?!

That being said, this post isn’t actually about Alanis but rather inspired by her. It may sound jabby but remember, I already said that I liked her, so it is okay.

You all know her little song about “irony” (also known as things that are unfortunate). With all due respect, I can think of a few things that are worse than a free ride when you’ve already paid. If the ride is free you probably don’t want it anyway. Bam!

Here are five things worse than the original “Ironic” lyrics, because I am clever like that:

1. Ten thousand knives when all you need is a spoon. Think about it. It is way more painful to eat soup with a knife than to cut your PB&J with a spoon.

2. Your wedding day… in general. Zing!

3. A traffic jam when you’re already late to your last-chance court date. You’re going to jail, and it looks like someone else is going to have their hand in your pocket. No, probably just completely in your pants without your discretion.

4. Just a “no smoking” sign.  Obviously I haven’t quit yet.

5. Meeting the man of my dreams and then meeting all five  of his wives.  Say what you want, I just wasn’t brought up that way.

BONUS VLOG: About junk. The kind in your drawers. Not drawers as in underwear. Pervert.

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Why Business? (Bonus Vlog Inside)

A few ideas in question form were provided to me in the comments of last Friday’s post in attempt to give me blog fuel. A few of them got my engine revving.

Aneroidocean asked a particularly meaty question: Why did you decide to be a business student? What’s your ultimate goal? If you want to go normal “career” type thing and not start your own business eventually tell us that. If the career type job is just in order to get your loans paid off and then start your own business, tell us about that.

Well, I decided to enter the world of exciting business in mid 2007. I took the leap from Performing Arts to Marketing. I basically played pin the tail on the major. The only hole I had in my blindfold was the knowledge that my father had a business degree, and he seemed to have done just swell in his life.

Throughout college, I always had an idea fermenting in the back of my mind about opening my own business. As a teenager, and up until the day I quit dancing, I was sure and determined that I was going to open my own dance studio to teach, choreograph, and mold young dancers. I also wanted a big space in which to do cartwheels, but that’s beside the point. And cartwheels are gymnastics anyway, not dance. So, with my supreme logic, I concluded that I could converge the two schools of thought (performing arts and business) to open that studio.

Then reality decided to tap me on the left shoulder while standing on my right side so I wouldn’t see where it was coming from.

I went through the motions and graduated. I gave up on dance, because there wasn’t time for it all. I became complacent. My aspirations for opening my own studio had turned into aspirations for an easy job with sufficient pay. I somehow became content with the idea of being a suit. Or should I say a woman’s pantsuit. I also imagined I would find ample use for one of these in the near future (thanks for the idea Rich):

boob apron

Now you can buy TWO items instead of just buying a higher cut shirt in the first place!

So there I was, all ready to do the normal job thing. I applied for Marketing jobs here and there and nothing was snagging. So, I went with the first job that gave me an interview even though it had nothing to do with Marketing. It didn’t matter. Firstly, I was still experiencing the no-more-school-for-me-ever-in-life-yay euphoria. Secondly, like I said, the vision of my own business let alone a dance studio was long gone from my head. Give me some pencil skirts and some data entry, and I was all good.

Until I wasn’t. Somewhere after that, I snapped out of it and into a drastically different mindset. I want to see my own ideas brought to fruition. I want to build something that is all mine. Sort of like this blog, but on a much bigger scale. Feel me?

So, to fully answer the latter part of Aneroidocean’s question, yes, I do hope to eventually have my own business. It may not be filled with ballet bars and stage moms, but it will be something of pride. Luckily for me, my college was paid for via scholarships and TOPS, so I don’t have to lug around the weight of student loan debt. I have nothing stopping me from choosing exactly what I want to do, and I am no longer scared of the waters. I’m next in line for the diver’s block.

Investors interested in funding my success can send money to 555 Thisisnotascam Ln. NY, NY 55555.

And now… a V-V-V-VLOG. Maddie Cochere asked what I keep in my closet last week. Let’s just say I found a few interesting things.

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A Girl and Her Rapper

In yesterday’s post, I revealed a secret about my disdain for sharing my music preferences with other drivers on the road, specifically at red lights. In the comments, there were a few others who expressed secrets involving music. Jillian was educating people at the same red lights, Amber was performing accidental serenades, and TBM revealed his faux music career. Sam also sings T-swift better than me, but that’s okay because much more people show interest in hearing me spit some Eminem.

Me and Slim go way back.

ginger kids love eminem

If I was a boy. Or a real ginger.

I vividly remember the period in my life when I was first introduced to the exquisitely crude lyrics of one of my favorite rappers. I can still smell my old 5th grade classroom and hear the sounds of me cracking pencils out of frustration over those logic puzzles. Isabella, Amy, Tony, and Michael can figure out their own damn class schedules or which gifts they gave to whom for Valentine’s Day. Shit.  But this isn’t about them. This is about my favorite rapper, Mr. Marshall Mathers himself. You will be okay with this once you understand our history.

When Eminem came out with My Name Is, I remember being scared and delighted all at the same time. Scared, because I knew if I got caught singing the lyrics, “I don’t give a fuck, god sent me to piss the world off” at the impressionable age of ten, I would surely be put in jail and condemned to hell. My delight came from Eminem being my first true taste of secret rebellion. It was a simple infatuation that I couldn’t fully understand. It wouldn’t be long, however, before I was able to start understanding and appreciating the verses I was performing for the hair ribbons and stuffed animals in my closet. Read the rest of this entry

10 Personal Post Secrets Revealed

I am borrowing an idea today. You may be familiar with the concept behind Post Secret. I discovered this trend via theBerry, and I can’t seem to get enough of the compilation post of anonymous secrets they publish on Fridays. I’ve been thinking of my own secret behaviors, and since I am being fearless these days, I will spill a few here today. But don’t go telling everyone on the internet or anything. I trust you.

post secret

And being me.

1. I listen to the music in my car at sound volumes reminiscent of the decibels that melted George McFly’s mind. When I pull up to a red light, any red light, I immediately turn it down to a respectable level. I wouldn’t want strangers I will never see again judging my taste in music. I also don’t want children to hear me spitting Eminem like a champ.

2. When I catch an auto corrected text message that turns out to be LOL material, I will send it anyway. Then I send a corrected text after. I feel obligated to do this but also oh so guilty.

3. Sometimes, I forget to stretch before I work out. This one absolutely can not leave this blog. It is too intimate, but it does feel nice to finally get it off of my chest.

4. I once stole a single Lemon Head candy from the grocery store. I’ve been on the run ever since.

5. When I clip Jack’s claws, I pretend I am doing a dire medical procedure. In that moment, I am Chief of Surgery. Sometimes I even put on scrubs.

doctor mask

Yes, it is on upside down. I call it the Becca Method.

6. My real name is not actually Becca. It’s Rebecca.

Should I stop this before I reach a point of no return?

7. My hair color is a lie. There, have we said it enough? Is everyone aware? Good. We wont bring it up again.

8. I try to kill bugs with hairspray. While pretending I am a giant.

9. My pillows on my bed are human. I cuddle with them. Sometimes, I even cuddle with two of them at the same time. The shame is unbearable.

10. My secrets are ridiculous, which really is no secret at all.

I feel naked now. So do me a solid by getting naked with me. Tell me, what is your post secret?

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Just Go Ahead Now

Chris Barron

Since I have been boasting about Pandora lately, I’ll share with you some of my favorite stations.

1. Jack Johnson radio- The only station chill enough to listen to when you have to get up early. It’s effective at preventing morning rage. Also, I like to imagine this while I drag ass get dressed (dinky video is dinky).

2. Spin Doctors radio- Because I hope to hear Two Princes over and over and over and pretend an attractive male is singing it to me. Preferably he is wearing either lumberjack stuff or anything in this post. Copious amounts of facial hair is also a requirement (Chris Barron knows what’s up). I then get to swoon for approximately four minutes and twenty seconds. Everyone should swoon. Read the rest of this entry

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