loralees-freshed-over-noodles

So. Band Leader and I had a few good converstions and we worked everything out. We covered a lot of ground. I understood some major things that I didn't before. He understood some things that he didn't before. We're straight on everything. I will be back out at the country club starting on Saturday. Whew!

Ten years ago today, I was about 5 hours and 10 minutes away from my water breaking. I was about 8 hours and 10 minutes from meeting the person that would change my life. Ten years ago today I was about to learn the meaning of true love. Oh sure. I always knew I had the capacity to love with all of my heart BUT the minute that he arrived I finally GOT IT! He has made me a better person. Ten years ago today I gave birth to a beautiful, energetic, smart, fun, funny, terrific, charming, thoughtful and loving baby boy. Happy birthday, my beautiful small child. God blessed me the day that you were born and I thank Him every night for the gift of you. May God bless you with a lifetime full of happy birthday celebrations. I hope that your tenth birthday is lovely and special just like you.

And I hope that you don't beat me and Dad at miniature golf today.

I love you,
Mama

Well....what are you doing here? You must get over to Loralee Choate"s blog:

http://www.loraleeslooneytunes.blogspot.com/

We finally have our duet posted and ready for you to hear.

Long story short: Last June I was googling my own name at two in the morning. Yeah. Sad but true. But had I not been up late googling I would have never found the lovely Loralee's Looney Tunes. I popped over there only to find the blog of this incredibly beautiful, accessable, honest, sexy, funny-as-hell woman from Utah. Not only that but she was a Loralee C. . . . that sings! We started e-mailing each other and then talking on the phone. Before you know it . . . Bam! We're friends. We really click! About six months ago we get this idea of singing a duet together. There was a bit of a hurdle though as Ms. Choate is classically trained and I'm a rock singer. We both decided that since we love the song "For Good," from the Broadway musical "Wicked," that we should sing that. We were both willing to "color outside of the lines" a little. You know, explore unfamiliar territory. I asked small child's dad if he would record it for us. Before you know it, he's handed over these AMAZING music tracks. I then recorded my vocal here in California. Then it was Fed Ex-ed to Utah for LL to do her vocal and then sent back to California. Finally, small child's Dad, Naren, mixed and mastered it. (He recorded all of the instruments, engineered, mixed and mastered it. He is so freaking talented.) The final result is beautiful. LL and I pulled it off. We sound fabulous alone and fabulous together. It was a true work of love and I can't wait to do the next song with her. I hope you enjoy hearing it as much as we enjoyed putting it all together for you.

Well, what are you waiting for? Get on over there and check it out!

My good friend Barry . . . yes . . . over there to the left . . . you see him?? . . . He's the "mighty good songwriter" link over there. Anyway, my good friend Barry has this quote on his Myspace music page. I LOVE this quote. It puts everything into perspective:

"Here is a test to see if your mission in life is complete: If you're alive, it isn't."
(Richard Bach, "Illusions")

Thanks for sharing this with us, Barry. I have played this in my head many times this week. Not only are you an amazing person, insightful songwriter AND you have your own video now (That's right. He has his own video. His song is in a movie and they made a video. If you want to see it you can go to his current blog post and click on the link.) BUT you're pretty damn wise.

Small child's dad spent the day in ER. He gets headaches all the time. Today was the third day of a headache that just would not go away. So the doctors did an MRI on him and saw something. Scary. They then did a CT scan. Small child's dad had to wait for hours for the results. They were looking for tumors or an anuerysm. Well. Turns out he's just fine. Thank heavens. I asked him what they saw originally, to get them to do the CT scan, and he told me that he has a "stressed" artery (can't remember the medical terminology) and that whenever the doctors see that they do a scan. The stressed artery is nothing to worry about. Diagnosis: Migranes. They gave him a perscription. He should be okay by tomorrow.

I feel bad though because he asked me why I didn't hug him when he got home. I'm not a very touchy, feely or affectionate person. He is. I will, however, buy your groceries, pick up your medicines, run your errands, buy you dinner, buy you your favorite chocolate, buy a knick knack that I think you'd like . . . you get the gist. That's my way of showing that I care, but I guess I come off as sort of cold and clinical sometimes. It's weird cause my personality is SO the opposite. I'm approachable, accessable and easy to talk to. I just don't do the touchy-feely thing very well. Even my own Mom says I'm not a very affectionate person. See? My own mom knows. I do snuggle, kiss and hug small child but I guess that's about it. Anyway, I feel like I suck right now because my very best friend needed a hug and I didn't give it to him when he needed it. Sigh. I really suck.

Band leader called me. He said that he felt we weren't on the same page about everything.
He said that he still wants me to sing out at the club but we have some things to think about and some changes must be made. We are both going to "ruminate" on it and talk next week. I'm not sure about it all. Lots to ponder . . .

Eighteen years ago I stepped out onto my porch. There to greet me was this lovely, fluffy, little, black, long-haired feline with a white stripe running right down the center of her nose. "You look like a skunk," I said to her. That day was the start of a wonderful friendship with my new cat Skunky.

When I met her I already had my buddies Stikes, Sharky, Murphy, Binkerbean, and Crisco. Shortly after Skunky joined the crew Binkerbean succumbed to Feline FIV. We then added Batly and Kitten to the mix. Yes. There were seven of these fluffly, little, whisker-laden creatures. Throughout the years I have said tearful and heart felt goodbyes to Stikes, Sharky, Murphy, Crisco, Kitten and Batly. But joining the crew, throughout the years, have been Winky, Businessman, Eena and Meatloaf. I know, I know. It's not apparent my sheer love of the feline beast, huh? Actually, I just love animals, but I've just sort of been adopted by cats as time has passed. Or you can just call me what my vet calls me . . . "a softie." (He always tells me that in his next life he wants to come back as one of my cats. That's a huge compliment from a veterinarian, huh?)

Last year I had to say good bye to Eena. My big, fluffy, mild-mannered, long-haired, orange tabby cat. You would think that because I've been through the whole process of taking each and every one of them to the vet, petting them tearfully as they get the injection, scratching behind their little ears while telling them, "I love you. You've been a good friend and companion. I'll miss you. Good bye, my dear, sweet little friend," that I would have developed some sort of thick skin, wouldn't you? But. No. I. Have. Not.

Every single one of them has touched my heart in a unique way. I've loved every single one of them and it's hard every damned time. Today was not easy. Today I had to say good bye to my dear, fluffy, old, little Skunky girl and I sobbed and have been sobbing like the biggest baby ever known to creation. She was feisty, adorable, affectionate. She was a talker and she loved to swat at the other cats when they got in her way. If you were petting her and you took your hand away she would reach out with her paw to grab your hand as if to say, "Hey. You're not done with this petting thing." She was a character and a half. We had some really tough times, like when she got so sick that I had to tube feed her for a month, but mostly we just had sweet, wonderful, snuggly times.

I feel blessed and honored that eighteen years ago she chose to adopt me. It's been a pleasure to live in her home. It's filled my heart to help her in tough times and to laugh at her crazy little kitty cat antics. She made my journey here on Earth a more enjoyable one. I'm going to miss my little Skunky girl.

I have this regular gig that I do about 8 times a month. We've had the past two months "off" while they refurbish the place. No compensation. No nothing. Just, "Oh sorry. You won't have any work for two months." Okay.

Before we got this delightful news, a couple of the musician's there had been asking the band leader, for at least a couple of years now, to see if he could get us a raise. This is a prestigous Napa Valley Country Club, mind you, owned by a huge corporation that makes millions and millions of dollars. I've been there for ten years and have made the exact same money. No. No raise. Okay.

So on New Year's Eve weekend the bass player and myself devised this wonderful plan. Lets put out a tip jar and have some little fliers on the table promoting our tip jar. It couldn't hurt. You know. Drum up a little extra income for the broke musician folk. Well. I guess the "shit hit the fan" . . . so to speak.

I have been there for ten years, have covered the band leader's ass when he "forgot" to book a singer several times. I've shown up, for the most part, on time. I have a large group of regular customers who will actually leave the club if I am not singing. People come out to see me sing. They buy drinks. They bring their friends. I've been loyal and I've done a good job. In return, the band leader gives me whatever gigs I want. It's been an okay deal. And the bass player has done everything but walk on water to help out, he's good and he's such a pro. The band leader shows up about ten times a year and runs his little power trip on everyone and presumes to think that he's running the show while all the while we the band are running the show. Okay?

Today I was told by the band leader that he just couldn't continue his same working relationship with me. I asked him point blank, "Are you firing me?" He said, "I just can't continue having the same agreement with you that we've had in the past." So I said, "So basically you're firing me then." He then proceeded to tell me that, in all his twenty years of being the band's contractor, this was assuredly the WORST thing that has happened to him because we supposedly almost lost him his contract at the country club. Excuse me? Having someone put out a tip jar and fliers and debate it with you is the WORST thing that's happened? In twenty years? Your entire contractual life?

Worse than say, when that other singer took advantage of you on New Year's Eve that one year? You know, when you booked him a room and he emptied out the courtesy bar and ran up an exhorbitant tab that you had to pay out of your pocket? Or the same singer who would show up an hour and a half late for your gigs? You still hire him all the time. Or is it worse then the time that you, oh fearless band leader, got drunk and left the stage, while the band was still playing, to go and sleep it off in your car? I see you still coming to gigs.

And because what I did is SO awful it merits you taking a single mothers supplemental income away from her? You couldn't have just "warned" me? Or explained the country club "protocol?" You couldn't factor in that I've been nothing but professional for ten years? Does loyalty to your bandmates factor in anywhere? Well. Obviously not. The bass player and I are now both offically unvited to play any music out there. WTF? He did assure me, as we were wrapping up our phone conversation, that we were parting as friends. Oh yeah. Sure. The BEST.

We don't usually do Valentines around these parts. We just don't.
But today small child's dad and small child came to my door holding a BIG bouquet of flowers each. Small child also had a box of oatmeal raisin cookies for me. It was such a surprise and such a wonderful treat. I gave them both a big hug and kiss and said, "Thank you," about a hundred times. Small child's dad then said, "You don't need to thank us. We just wanted you to feel loved." Happy valentine's day everybody.

Don't you love that feeling of accomplishment when you've sifted and sorted and organized all of your receipts?? You've itemized and you've tabulated and you've tallied and you've totalled and you've printed up your work sheet?? And you've gotten it all finished waaaaay earlier than last year! Don't you love heaving that sigh of relief after you've turned it all in to your tax guy last week and he in turn finishes your taxes ASAP and gives you the great news that you are due some money from the 'ol IRS? What a great feeling!

THEN . . . don't you love getting home today, checking the mail box and finding the 1099 from the loser (who was an asshole to work for in the first place) who didn't get it out on time to you? So then you have to call your tax guy and see what he can do about it, hoping that he hasn't e-filed you yet? And now you're hoping that it doesn't effect your return too much because you're really, really broke and you could use the refund? Don't you love that? I mean, really don't you? Sigh!

Well, it seems my good pal over at Non Compos has tagged me. What comes around goes around, I guess. I'm supposed to tell you "five things that you don't know about me" so here goes:

1.) I cried when I did the early pregnancy test (when I was pregnant with small child.) I cried because I was scared. I cried because he was not part of my future plans. I cried because I was shocked. I called my mom and I cried some more.

2.) Being small child's mother is, single handedly, hands down, 100% the MOST rewarding and fulfilling experience of my lifetime. I'm a better person because I'm his mother and I'm a better person because of who he is. (If I'd have known this, when I took the early pregnancy test those many years ago, my tears would have been tears of joy and delight.)

3.) I have been told that I should be a stand up comedian by many, many people.

4.) I thought, when I was twelve years old and then again at nineteen, that when I died I was going to hell. Seriously.
I was convinced that I was a "bad" person and that I was going to hell. I used to believe in "the big man in the sky" concept of God. However, after having held my newborn innocent child and having seen my father take his last precious breath I can tell you assuredly that there is no hell. Fundamental religion was created to control people, to rule them. It was created to make sweet, innocent, twelve year old girls think that there is no hope and that they're going to hell. I firmly believe this. You can pray for my soul if you want to.

5.) I NEVER use the word hate. I don't. I think it's a nasty, horrible word BUT, I hate the man that's running this country. I hate Bush. Yep. HATE him. I'm not proud of it but I do. I hate him.

Well. There you are. I now tag anybody else that would like to tell us five things about themselves.......

Okay, I'll admit that I'm having a harder time getting into the swing of things at school this semester. I suppose some of the novelty of being a new student has worn off. Oh, don't get me wrong, I am still thrilled to be there and I do love the adundance of new information that I am receiving daily. All of the teachers I have had and currently do have are wonderful, dynamic, approachable, informative individuals. I've been fairly good about keeping up with my reading (until Mister Flu Bug paid me a visit and now I'm a chapter behind in each class, but no worries I can take care of that) and I've completed my assignments by their due dates. The thing that has me a bit worried this semester is that there is less essay/paper writing, more essays on the exams and less multiple choice.

I have found, in my whole one semester of college experience, that I fare better when I have to write a long paper or two and take a mulitiple choice exam. I have the memory of a turnip. No. Even a turnip has a better memory than me. I have no memory: "Car keys? Don't know. Glasses? I thought I just had them. Ma'am, is this your wallet? Oh, yes, yes, it is."

Okay. So I figure that I'm just going to have to really, really, really, REALLY, just freaking try to study and memorize as much as I can come exam time. I can handle this. No. Really, I can.
So I can't find the pen that I was just holding ten minutes ago. Big deal. I most certainly can make myself memorize important key words and points from my lecture notes and from my text. I mean, I was an actress when I went to college 23 years ago. Hell. I memorized whole scripts, blocking, entrances, exits, monologues, songs, cues. Okay. I CAN do this. I mean how hard can it be?

Then. BAM! I'm once again looking through my Poli Sci syllabus and notes. Yeah. "Midterm Identification Items." Uh-huh. You will need to know 7 of these terms for the Midterm. Okay.
Let's see, as I recall there were 26 terms to memorize. (i.e. Bill of Rights, Electoral College, etc.)
Sure. No problem. Even though Political Science just happens to be one of my more difficult subjects, I think that I can handle this. On the midterm we can't just use the glossary defintion, we must define the concept . . . for example:

"The elastic clause (sometimes called the necessary and proper clause) is found in Article 1, Section 8 of the U.S. Constitution. It makes it possible for Congress to enact all "necessary and proper" laws to carry out its responsibilities. Chief Justice Marshall in McCulloch v. Maryland 1819, gave this clause broad effect when he allowed Congress to establish a national bank. This clause laid the foundation for the broad expansion of federal powers and is in conflict with the 10th Amendment that reserves power to the states."

Ahem. Wiping my brow. (Now, I know that a lot of you folks out there are history buffs and you're saying, "Get over it, Loralee. You should know this stuff.") OF COURSE, I should know it, but dammit it's scary and it's terrifying and it's hard. I take to it like a fish out of water, like AC to DC, like Axl Rose to Tommy Hilfiger but I'll be okay. There's only 26 of them and I'm sure that . . . . wait . . . . oh no . . . . for the love of God . . . . I just turned the paper over. There are SEVENTY of them. Yes. Seventy. And I will need to know SEVEN for the midterm. S-E-V-E-N-T-Y! Seventy terms to define, not glossary defintions, oh no, that would be too easy on a poor, turnip brain like me. No. We have to EXPLAIN. And we have to be prepared to explain seventy of them, but we will only be tested on seven.

Well. I suppose once I've gotten them all committed to memory I could pontentially be the life of every party. I suppose I'll always have something to talk about, "Hey, how about that New Deal?" "You know, I have some things to say about that Commerce clause." "Those damned embedded reporters." "And what are your thoughts on isolationism?" "Damned conservatives."
"Oh please, Keynesian economics is so passe'."

Well, I'd better start cracking the books. I'll be okay. I know I will. Just have to do a lot of studying. Now, where did I put my book? Has anyone seen my glasses?

Yes. That was my tempature all week end long. My fever finally broke last night. I haven't eaten in two days (which could really be a good thing) and I didn't go to school today. It takes a lot for me not to go to school. I don't know what in the hell I caught but my advice to all of you is this: DON'T CATCH IT! I'm going to try and resume my normal, every day activities tomorrow. Wish me luck.