Friday Confessional: Gotta Get Down on Friday

Greetings from sunny, temperate Boston on this glorious Friday morning! It's finally starting to feel like Spring and, despite being my least favorite season, even this bad-weather-loving lady is ready for some sunshine and Sam Summers.

Ok, let's cut to the chase. It's Friday. On Fridays, we wear pink confess our deepest, darkest, most embarrassing thoughts, obsessions and musings.

I have never made a secret of my adoration of terrible, horrible, no good, very bad pop music. Is it embarrassing? Sometimes (and by sometimes I more accurately mean never). I am that girl at the bar who interrupts your regular Friday night Pitbull dance party by putting old school *NSync on the jukebox. And you know what? Seven times out of ten, I am not the only one singing my head off, nor am I alone in recreating the choreography of "Everybody (Backstreet's Back)" and "Baby One More Time."

My only fear is that the 21 year old younglings think of these contemporary pop classics as, "vintage party jams," much like my friends and I freaked out every time "Take Me Home Tonight" and other songs of that ilk came blaring through the TKE basement speakers, spurring everyone to break into spontaneous Pat Benetar-inspired windmills and generally creating a ruckus ("Can you describe the ruckus, sir?" ::coughcough:: "Was that the ruckus?" Oh John Hughes, how I miss thee).   

It is with this love in mind that I must make the following confession:

Every Friday, without fail, I listen to Rebecca Black's "Friday" at least twice.

I KNOW.

The vocals are robotic, the tune is annoying and the lyrics are complete rubbish. These are all the exact qualities that draw me to it. Make of that what you will.

When the song first debuted, I initially thought it was meant as clever satire. With the likes of Ke$ha's "Tik Tok" dominating the Top 40, it was a perfectly-crafted mockery of the ridiculousness spewing from our radios, worming its way into our ears and causing us to bungle totally bizarre lyrics such as, "drop my keys, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack," and bringing nonsensical words like, "sizzurp" into the modern-day lexicon. Surely, I mused, no one could have ever penned the words, "tomorrow is Saturday, and Sunday, comes afterwards," without tongue planted firmly in cheek. I'm still not entirely convinced that they didn't.

Yet I love it anyway.

I tried to hate it. I really, really, realllly tried to fight against this ...noise... but I couldn't. It's just so perfectly awful and campy that it appeals to my inner sixth grade nerd who is painstakingly applying eye glitter across her brow bones and parading in front of a mirror while warbling into a hairbrush. Though there is no amount of money in the world that you could pay me to repeat that era of awkwardness, I do occasionally miss those simpler times when my biggest weekend stressor was figuring out which seat I could take on the bus. Now I have to juggle errands, laundry, cleaning and long runs while maintaining a social calendar that involves a decent amount of day-drinking.

Sometimes, being a grown-up is hard work.

I also feel less guilt about this little pleasure because, despite getting off to a bit of a rocky start, Rebecca Black seems to be doing alright for herself in the grand scheme of things. She's appeared on one of those vocal voting shows and has something insane like 50 million views on YouTube. And if nothing else pans out for her, she can rest assured that someday down the line, there is a high likelihood that people will have figured out that it's way more annoying to Friday-Roll their unsuspecting friends than to surreptitiously lead them to that other classic earworm.

[Source: UrbanDictionary.com]

And so, I shall continue my little Friday tradition of gifting my coworkers and Andrew the masterpiece that is "Friday," while reminding them that it could be way worse. Harlem Shake, anyone? 

PS- You're welcome.

PPS- Happy Easter to those celebrating this weekend, and Happy Passover to my Jewish friends!

A Quick Musical Survey

A few weeks ago, Caitlin over and Done and Done did a link-up with 10 Questions that were based on your musical tastes. I, of course, filled out the questions and then promptly forgot to turn it in to a post. Since I am currently busy ripping my hair out over a deadline, I thought I'd  post the answers anyway for your reading pleasure.

1. Do you listen to the radio in your car?  If so, what type of station do you like?
Absolutely. My pre-sets are: Kiss 108 (though I routinely want to bitchslap Matty in the Morning, so it's off-limits until noon), Jamn 94.5 (Ramiro has a really hot voice), 98.5 The Sports Hub (Toucher and Rich on SWOOOOOOLE!), Country 102.5 (NH hick, remember?), Magic 106.7 (It's like a box of chocolates, seriously) and Oldies 103.3 (which is, sadly, edging ever-closer to being renamed, "Music of My Youth".)

2. What is the best concert you have ever attended?
I've been to a LOT of concerts, and I think my fave is a tie between Justin Timberlake with Timbaland and P!nk (swoon), Brad Paisley (dude. can. SHRED on that guitar) and Elton John/Billy Joel at Gillette Stadium (LEGENDARY!).

3. What is the most embarrassing concert you have ever attended?
I think that would have to be another toss up... 3 Below/No Authority and LFO are both up there. I'm also embarrassed to admit that I've seen Dave Matthews 4 (or 5?) times, because it's such a high school/college cliche that I grew out of as soon as I turned 21.

4. If you could have the singing voice of anyone in the world, who would it be?
Josh Turner. I kid; I kid. Carrie Underwood, hands down. Young Mariah Carey would be a close second, though girlfriend can STILL rock it, as evidenced by last year's Christmas Special.

5. You’re auditioning for American Idol.  What song do you sing?
"Somethin' to Talk About" by Bonnie Raitt OR "Maybe This Time" from Cabaret, although I would obviously NEVER attempt to either get on AI or take on Liza if I did. I can't even imagine the hate mail that would induce. I'd have to get a killer security system.

6. If your previous weekend had its own soundtrack, what would be a few of the songs?
Hahahaha this past weekend was a bit on the ridiculous side... "Out Last Night" by Kenny Chesney, "Alcohol" by Brad Paisley, "We Are the Champions" by Queen and possibly "Happy Birthday," even though it was no one's birthday.

7. Most annoying television show theme song ever:
If the theme to "Elmo's World" doesn't make you want to kick daisies, and you are over the age of 3, I don't think I want to be your friend, as you are of questionable moral judgment and annoyance level. 

8. Are you and your significant other music-compatible?
Yes, in the fact that we both have very eclectic tastes in music. He, however, has a fondness for rock (is AC/DC, etc. considered rock?) that I do not share, and he in turn tolerates my ability to sing every lyric to every boy band song ever produced.

9. A song that brings me back to middle school:
Pshhh -- I went to junior high, not middle school, and "Country Grammar" by Nelly and, of course, "Truly, Madly, Deeply" by Savage Garden. 

10. A song that brings me back to high school:
Anything by Matchbox 20 or Dave Matthews Band.

11. A guilty pleasure song (or three):
"Baby" by The Biebs is my Power Song on my long runs. I wish I were lying.
"I'm Too Sexy" -- the Chipmunk Dance Remix.
"Crazy Bitch" by Buck Cherry isn't really a guilty pleasure, but it doesn't really match up with what most people have come to expect of my musical tastes!

Bonus: Andrew's are "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" by Britney Spears, "Beautiful Disaster" by Kelly Clarkson, and his #1 favorite song of all time is "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey, which he will jam out to if you put it on in July.

Pick a question (or two!) and answer it in the comments! 

Also, now that Katie has finished reading it, I'm hoping to get my review of The Hunger Games trilogy up at some point this week. :)

Friday Confessional: I Go Back to Spring Cocktail

This morning, as I surveyed my desk and muttered under my breath about how I really can't handle the little house imps that must come in here and mess up my stuff at night, my eyes lit upon a forgotten relic of the past: a cd book.

If you're old enough to remember when Zack Morris coined the phrase, "tv time-out", you know what I'm talking about: the soft-covered Case Logic case, usually black, which, when unzipped, reveals a treasure trove of 80-minute windows into the Millenial's teenaged soul.

Yes, that would be Bewitched and DMB. No shame in my game.

My coworkers have been disturbingly not disturbed as they wander in here to find me, head bent over a manuscript with pink pen in hand, lip syncing and chair dancing to such classics as India.Ari's "Not Your Average Girl" and Missy Elliot's "Get Ur Freak On". My reaction has typically been just to look up mid-lip-synced-lyric ("That'cho chiiiiiiick?"), find out what they want as quickly as possible and then send them on their way.

I'm just now getting to the cds with no labels, so I'll be sure to take note of what songs are on them so that I can report back in a later post. In the meantime, one cd that WAS labeled was my Kappa Delta Bids Day Mix compilation from the semester I joined my sorority, which includes the following sweet jams:

1. The Cheers Theme
2. Baby One More Time
3. Baby Got Back
4. I Wanna Be a Supermodel
5. In the Club
6. Stacey's Mom
7. Like a Virgin
8. Barbie Girl
9. Sugar, Sugar
10. Give A Little Bit
11. Breakaway
12. That's What Friends Are For
13. To Make You Feel My Love
14. The Rose

Obviously, this cd brought back a ton of memories, particularly of my pledge period. My pledge class was sort of unique, in that the semester I went through recruitment ("rush" in Sweet Valley-speak), my sorority was almost at total -- which is a PC way of saying that they were so popular that they only had room to take a few new members. Total is like a salary cap on a sports team's budget; Greek Life comes up with a finite number of girls allowed in each sorority, so that the houses are all on even footing and have a fair shot at attracting new members.

As it happened, I completely ignored the advice they give you at Recruitment Orientation and went into the entire process knowing exactly which house I wanted to join (note to any collegiate readers out there: do as I say, not as I do. I later became a Rho Psi who wasn't allowed to walk out the front door non-biased recruitment group leader and really, it's best to keep an open mind when going through the first round of house tours). I also knew they only had five slots, and that as a second semester sophomore, it was kind of do-or-die as far as my Greek life aspirations went. Thankfully, after two weeks of meticulously planned outfits, heat-styled hair and incessant self-promotion, I received my coveted white rose along with an embossed green and white bid card. I was in!

How they let me in with that hair is another question....YIKES!

Because my pledge class was so small, we were nicknamed the "Fab Five" by our VP of New Member Ed ("Pledgemaster" via Animal House). Over our six week pledge period of fun group activities and social events, we went from being five virtual strangers to pretty good friends. This bonding experience culminated, of course, in our pledge retreat, during which we were charged with writing a "Pledge Song" to be performed at the Spring Cocktail. On our Bids Day (a big party they throw for you after you get your bid), all the older classes had performed their songs, many of which were featured on today's mix cd -- Stacey's Mom (aptly retitled, "KD Girls have got it goin' on...."), Like a Virgin ("Like a KD... pledged for the very first time!") and Barbie Girl ("I'm a KD girl, in a KD world...).

With creativity like that, we obviously had a lot to live up to.

Riffing on our rep as the "Fab 5", we initially wrote an EPICALLY horrible version of the Jackson 5's "ABC" -- we knew it was terrible, but we wanted to get down to the business of watching "My Best Friend's Wedding," so we said the heck with it and performed it at breakfast the next morning anyway. The look on the ten sisters' faces when we did the "big reveal" at the end of our retreat was priceless. Horror mixed with revulsion mixed with "omg wtf did we do?!" is a pretty accurate description.

Because we're mean, the five of us decided to let the girls who had been present at the retreat continue to think that we were super proud of our song and couldn't wait to perform it at cocktail. Looking from the inside out, I can only imagine what they told the rest of the house when we got back to school -- probably that they had made the worst mistake in KD history and the entire sisterhood was doomed. Meanwhile, we met a few times in the dorms and completely re-wrote the entire thing, from scratch.

And so, it was to everyone's great surprise and delight that, mid-way through our inaugural Spring Fling cocktail, my four newly-initiated sisters and I clutched our microphones, giggled incessantly,  hit the lights, cued the dj, and busted out THIS sweet jam:

"If you wanna be a KD

You gotta start as a pledge

Wear that pin forever

The fun it never ends!

If you wanna be a KD

Your time you'll have to give

Meetings go forever but that's the way it is."

Glammed up and ready for my debut

Obviously, the highlight was the finale, which included us screaming, "CHEER IT OUT LOUD, WE'RE KAPPA DELTA PROUD" as we jumped up and down like chihuahuas on speed, high-fiving each other and hyping the crowd.

Obviously, we were a huge hit. Because if you know any sorority girls? You know one thing.

They LOVE to cheer.

Have a good weekend, everyone! And a special shout out to my East Coasters -- stay safe!

Back Here Baby... and Other Monday Musings

Today has been one of those weird days -- I have a ton of busy work to do at the office, so I'm jamming out to bad pop music while doing some routine maintenance stuff and crossing tasks off of my To-Do List. This, of course, gives me plenty of time to think about all kinds of random stuff,  along with a bunch of random post topics for later dates. In the meantime, though, I thought I would give some insight into my thought process on a random Monday morning:  

• I found an entire CD case full of old but good discs from my youth. You're welcome for the BBMak serenade today, coworkers. You're welcome.  (This also bodes well for future I Go Back posts.)

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• When I come up with a good post idea, I always hit "New Post" and then write a few words that are supposed to remind me of whatever it is I wanted to talk about and then hit save. Now, my Blogger Dashboard looks like a veritable graveyard of 3-word drafts, and I have no idea what half of them mean. "Dog porch scrunchie," anyone?  

• I'm allergic to the soap that we use in the bathroom at work, so I always have a little bottle of Purell in my pocket. I'm paranoid that if people don't hear the water running, they will assume that I didn't wash my hands, so I always run it for a few seconds anyway. And then I feel bad for wasting water. 

• I might have agreed to watch my coworker's two spawn last week simply to gain access to Versus so that I could watch Game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals. I know I have plenty of Canadian readers, so please forgive me when I say, tongue-in-cheek, "Nothing says 'Canucks' like a screaming crybaby!'" (I kid. Or do I?) Anyway, this has been a flippin' AWESOME series so far, so allow me to say how pumped I am for tonight's Game 6!

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• If the past tense of "rewind" is "rewound," why isn't the past tense of "remind" "remound?"

• Until you're back heeeere, baybayyyy..... miss you, want you, neeeeed you so.....

• Andrew and I went to his friends' apartment over the weekend to hang out and grill. Can we just discuss how DISGUSTING men can be?! Seriously, these guys are 24 and I legitimately thought I accidentally Back-to-the-Futured myself to Sigma Beta, circa 2005. The nudie mags on the bathroom floor notwithstanding, I kid you not -- THE TOILET SEAT WASN'T EVEN ATTACHED TO THE TOILET. WTF, GENTLEMEN?!

• Why, oh why oh why oh why oh why, am I seeing more and more bloggers using "suppose" when they should be using "supposed"? You are not "suppose to" do something. You are "supposED to" do it.  The same applies to "use"... as in, "I USED to do xyz," not "I use to." WTF?! And that concludes today's Daily Oral Language (did anyone else have to do that in elementary school? Basically decline a sentence?).

• I'm not in love, no not at all. What makes you think you've made me fall. I slip but no, I'm not in loooooveeee....

• When it comes to clothing, I'm usually a light blue/bright pink/coral girl in the summer and leave my jewel tones for the colder months... but this year, I have developed a totally random affinity for royal purple. So far, I've obtained two shirts, a dress and a pair of super adorable flip flops in it, and had to stop myself from buying another shirt over the weekend. 

I'm actually wearing this shirt today!

• Why can't I even remember the basics of geometry while studying for the GRE, but have absolutely NO PROBLEM belting out every single lyric to every single boy band song released in the mid-late 90s?

• Hearkening back to my calorie-counting days, I know that lemon squeezed into water is supposed to have diuretic properties. Does that count for limes, too? Just curious because I have a tendency to add a lime garnish to my soda-and-vodka-cranberry juice mocktails.

• Ooooo... surprise cds with no labels. This could get interesting.... 

Obviously, this could go on for hours (and it will. In my head. Trust me). So, allow me to leave you with a few questions of your own to ponder:

• What are your favorite colors to wear in the summer? Do you stick with cool popsicle colors, go all Uncle Sam in patriotic wear, or buck the trends with deep, rich hues?
• What's the most embarrassing/awesome cd or album in your collection? I wish I could say that mine resides in this CD case, but we all know that's a lie.... I still have yet to find the case housing my "Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Dance Remixes" (you haven't lived until you've blasted, "I'm Too Sexy" all Alvin-fied down the highway at 11:30pm. Trust me).  

[Source]

Ciao, Bellas! 

Friday Confessional: I Go Back to Being F**ing Perfect

Wow, it's been awhile since my last "I Go Back..." post. I originally started writing this as a memory-related post, but as I wrote, it took on a tone of a Friday Confessional, so I decided that this week, I would change the format up a little bit and combine the two.

So, this week, I do hereby solemly confess:

If I'm being 100% honest, the reason there haven't been any "I Go Back" posts lately is because I've been way too guarded lately to let anything -- even music -- really get to me, because I was afraid that if it did, I would simply fall apart.

That simple.

Fall.

Apart.

Shattered, like the wine glasses that inevitably slip from my fingers as I wash dishes.

And then, I was driving home from dropping Andrew off at work about a week or two ago (we're a one-car family at the moment... they don't tell you this, but it ain't easy bein' green!). I don't even know what I was thinking about. Maybe I was worried about the rain clouds glowering at me as I crested each hill of Rt. 9, thinking about how amazing it must feel to have a similar view at the halfway point of the Boston Marathon, and how I've really been slacking on my running lately.

Perhaps I was going over my ever-growing "Weekend To-Do Wish List", thinking that there was no way I would ever accomplish everything I wanted to get done, and beating myself up for wanting to get home, do Ripped in 30, go for a run, shower, get dressed, run to Target, get my nails done, take a GRE practice test, make a nice, healthy lunch, read some of my book, clean the bathroom and finally tackle the (I can't believe I'm about to type this, because it's seriously f--ing disgusting) two months' worth of laundry that is currently hiding in my walk-in closet.

All before 7pm.

It might have been the feeling of time slipping away, as I creep closer to 30 and now knowing what I want to do, both professionally and on the side, but not yet finding the motivation to actually go out there and do it.  That feeling of treading water, of not being present or in control of my career, my weight, my relationships, my family, my life.

I suppose I could have been agonizing over the impending reunion with my own mother, with whom I haven't had the best relationship this past decade, and who I've actually only seen 4 (yes, 4) times in the past 7 years, for a maximum of 4 days at a time each visit.

Maybe it was all of it.

Maybe it was none of it.

Who knows.

I sure as hell don't.

All I know is that as I hit the Shaw's on Rt. 9 in Brookline, P!nk's "F--ing Perfect" came on the radio and I found myself in a super market parking lot, sobbing in the manner that gives you a tension headache and basset-hound eyes for days afterward. You know what I'm talking about.

The ugly cry.

And what was worse, I just. couldn't. stop.

In high school, my friend TBB#1 and I used to drive around in her car (was it a Subaru? God, I'm old), code-naming crushes, devouring pints of Ben&Jerry's with wooden, tongue depressor-style sticks and washing them down with Snapple, and belting our lungs out to P!nk. No, it wasn't cool, even back then.

But, much like Matchbox 20, I connected with the lyrics of her songs in a way that made them applicable to my life. They spoke to me and said, "it's ok that your family is nuts". "It's ok that you aren't willing to give it up for free just to get a boyfriend." "It's totally ok that you have no idea who you are yet, and that you're scared that you might be someone different than you think you are."

That sentence makes no sense, I know.

But neither does life, really.

It's 10 years later, and I'm still scared of being someone different than I think I am, especially since every time I start to think I might have figured it out, I go and change on myself. It's like Jekyll and Hyde; I'm Caitie and Caitlin. But even Hyde had some value, because without his darkness, we never would have come to know Jekyll's light. Without the deep, questioning voice of Caitlin, I wouldn't appreciate the lilting laughter of Caitie half as much. They're I'm the same, but different. Two sides of the same coin, both equally valuable in worth. 

And I find myself asking, "Is this normal, or is this schizophrenia?" Because, you know, WebMD is the best thing ever invented for over-thinking hypochondriacs.

As I wrestled with... well, with whatever "it" was -- that phantom ache in my heart that would start to bubble up, only to have me shove it as far back as I possibly could -- there was something in these words:

You're so mean when you talk about yourself; you were wrong.

Change the voices in your head; make them like you instead.

So complicated, look happy, you'll make it

Filled with so much hatred, such a tired game.

It's enough; I've done all I can think of,

Chased down all my demons, I've seen you do the same

that didn't just break the dam -- they released the entire f--ing ocean of emotion.

Over the past few years of my life, I've been creeping, ever-so-slowly, towards self-acceptance, but it's never as easy as they make it sound in chick lit novels or in the 90-minutes of a RomCom. There are too many facets of any single person to be everything, to everyone, or even to themselves. But I'm trying. And I think from now on, there will be a note stuck on my bathroom mirror that simply states the following:

"You're F--ing Perfect to Me"

So thanks, P!nk, for not only getting me through high school, but for reminding me that I don't have to know exactly who I am yet. More importantly, thank you for writing songs that manage to speak to me, saying the exact right thing at the exact right time. That's pretty f--in' perfect if you ask me.

Plus, those Boston stereotypes aren't entirely made up --- I try not to curse a lot on the blog, but IRL I swear like a sailor and truly love me a well-placed F-bomb! Also, you know I slightly teared up when Kirstie came out with it queued up on the finale of DWTS. I couldn't help it!

Time to Face the Music

Thanks, ladies, for letting me know that I am not alone in both being intrigued and slightly repulsed with my recent case of The Twitter. All I know is that I'm still there, my cell phone battery is rapidly depleting, and I felt slightly dirty and mildly ashamed as I tucked myself in to bed last night.

But I digress. For today, my friends, it is time to face the music with respect to my totally bizarre iTunes library.

Obviously, I think music is important and plays a bigger role in our lives than we sometimes give it credit for; I have an entire section of this blog dedicated to those songs that evoke strong emotions/identifications for me, for crying out loud!

To me, music is like scent -- a certain song or genre can transport me from wherever I am, whatever I am doing, and put me into a completely different scenario. A few well-placed notes, and suddenly I'm 16 again and watching, horrified, as my very own Regina George goes in for the kill, right in front of my face. A bass hums, and I'm 13, left aching for the day that I'll finally be one of the Chosen Ones, those girls to whom boys flock like Canada geese on the Common. Or, on spring days when the sun is shining through the window just right, and the hint of summer is caught in the air, a few loud guitar riffs and I'm happy, figuring out who I really am, and who I am going to be.

I'll never be that girl who quietly takes a photo, that's for damn sure.

Earlier today, Melissa over at MelissaNibbles posted her latest playlist for her workouts. One of the things that I noticed, and loved so much about it, was how totally and utterly random it seemed to me -- but that it's totally what floats her boat at the moment. I have a pretty varied taste in music, so I think that playlists are a HUGE advantage when it comes to, well, anything. I have workout playlists, running playlists, house cleaning playlists, solely Britney playlists, holiday playlists, Disney playlists, driving playlists... and it goes onnn and onnn and onnnn (Yes, there's some Queen in there, too). I have a playlist for everything, it seems -- which is what got me thinking about something I haven't done in awhile: random iPod shuffle on All Music.

So, I took my iPod and, without filtering anything, set it to "Songs" and then wrote down the first 20 songs (out of 1333) that came on. I found it amusing, so thought I'd share [Edit: I should note that I SHUFFLED them first; apparently SOMEONE, (and we shan't name names, Andrew), is feeling picky today and missed the implication of shuffle above]:

"Scar Tissue" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers
"My New Philosophy" from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown!
"Break Stuff" by Limp Bizkit
"From a Distance" by Bette Midler
"Winter" from Vivaldi's Four Seasons
"Don't Be Stupid" by Shania Twain
"Hey Ya" by Outkast
"Thank God I'm a Country Boy" by John Denver
"I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues" by Elton John
"Satellite" by Dave Matthews Band
"There You Go" by Pink
"5gether" by 2ge+her
"Beat It" by MJ
"Stand by Me" by Marvin Gaye
"Girl on TV" by LFO
"Like a Virgin" by Madonna
"Magic Stick" by 50Cent
"Just the Two of Us" by Will Smith
"I Do Not Hook Up" by Kelly Clarkson
"Over and Over Again" by Nelly

I know, I know. I'm amazed that not a single Britney, Backstreet Boy, Destiny's Child, Matchbox 20, Kenny Chesney or Justin Timberlake song made it in there, too.

But I want extra credit for the 2Gether track... don't pretend you're not jealous.

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And now I must go point at people at the gym and awkwardly cross my arms in a plus sign, pretending that I'm the lost 5th member of 5gether (since poor QT died. Sad face.). Because what is Zumba for, really, if we're not going to embrace our inner pop star?!

Truly, Madly, Deeply Dooo

Have you ever gone YEARS without hearing a song, only to have it pop up out of nowhere one day and then proceed to follow you around, its little earworm hooks creeping and crawling into you brain and bringing up all kinds of long-forgotten associations?

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Savage Garden's Truly, Madly, Deeply. It's stalking me.

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Remember when, sometime around the time that scrunchies were on their way out, this song seemed like the absolute most romantic thing you had ever heard? I mean, come on -- "I want to stand with you on a mountain. I want to bathe with you in the sea?" That is poetic, lyrical GENIUS, people! Elton John himself couldn't write that shiz. I will forever associate it's bass-y, lilting chorus with wide-leg jeans, passing notes in the hallways and dancing awkwardly with the kid from the next homeroom over, at 3 in the afternoon, on a dirty gymnasium floor.

And my friend Sara's Bat Mitzvah, at which I realized that I was not living in a John Hughes movie and, if I were, I would be less like Molly Ringwald and more like Ally Sheedy.

First of all, I was kind of an awkward middle schooler. One day, if you're lucky, I will post my 7th grade photo. Though I have destroyed all copies of it, my best friends are bound to have one, as my yearbook that year was filled with comments about how they would save it until I became famous and then leak it to the National Enquirer. And yes, it IS that bad... Four words: Velour. Scrunchie. Side Pony. My mother also forced me to wear skinny ankle jeans which, though tres cool now, were about as hip as garbage at the time, prompting the secret object of my affection to ask me one day in math class why I "wore such ridiculous pants." Good question, D, good question.

Despite my closet full of wardrobe malfunctions, I wasn't particularly popular or unpopular; I kind of like to think I ran in the middle of the clique pack. I had a solid group of friends, and we paraded around the hallways like we owned them, arms linked in a miniature display of solidarity with our other socially-stunted brethren. So, when my friend Sara invited me to her Bat Mitzvah, I was super pumped and assumed everyone else in my little group would be in attendance, too. Um, no.

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Now, being raised Catholic, I had no idea what to expect. My understanding of Jewish tradition extended to my Uncle wearing that funny hat during his wedding, the lesson on the Maccabees that my 5th grade teacher gave during the obligatory "Multi-Cultural Holiday Celebration" phase and the fact that while my friend Nicole got 8 crazy nights of Tiffanys, I got three hours of Church and a second-hand bicycle. So, I wasn't prepared for the fact that no, my entire social circle wasn't invited. Or that, in absence of said friends, it was not polite to invite along my best friend and assume that there would be a pot luck buffet like my family had at our First Communions. I was 13, for heaven's sake; how was I supposed to know the magnitude of the cost of a single un-RSVP'ed plated dinner?! So, as I entered the Temple in my black velour Liz Claiborne dress (apparently, velour is the new black. Or was, back when the Fresh Prince ruled the fashion scene), Things Remembered jewelry box engraved with "Mazel Tov!" and gate crasher best friend in tow, you can imagine what I was thinking as I saw all of the girls up front in their pastel semi-formal dresses, giggling at one another and making intricate hand gestures to the boys they knew from Hebrew School on the other side of the room, the basket of yarmulkes for the men and Sara, looking like a movie star sitting solemnly with her parents.

Oh. Shit.

The ceremony itself was very interesting. I love learning about other cultures and religions (and have the $180 text book to prove it), so I thought it was so cool to discover that they do their readings backwards. And that Sarah could speak another language. And that after all the traditional, ceremonial stuff was over, we got to go to a bitchin' party complete with glow-in-the-dark masks, a dance troupe and more shiny beads than Mardi Gras. Sure, I didn't know anyone except for a small handful of school chums and my gate crasher best friend, but that didn't stop me from tearin' up the dance floor during the Hava Nagila or taking second place in the "Chubby Bunny" contest.

And then, with a single resonating beat of bass, Savage Garden and their ode to everlasting teen angst ruined my night.

Normally, I had a group of guy friends who would have asked me to dance -- whether out of true desure or the fact that they couldn't find anyone else who would tolerate their clumsy big feet, I'll never know -- but this was uncharted territory. I didn't know ANY of these guys, save for the very few I knew from school. Most of these guys went to the junior high across the river, and they had no interest in doing the hands-on-shoulders sidestep with someone they'd never met.

So, while literally every other girl there was out on the dance floor, swaying in sync with the magical tempo of T,M,D and imagining the arms of whichever hunk they were dancing to helping to bathe them in the sea (which, by the way, I always pictured as more of a waterfall), I sat at my table, staring wistfully and waiting for the picture-perfect Andrew McCarthy or, at the very least, Jon Cryer lookalike, to come sweep me from my solitude and twirl me around the dance floor, declaring his undying love for me and that we would, of course, be together forever.

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My Pretty in Pink moment never happened, but a hot guy from the other school DID trip over his own two feet and spill the red punch that smelled vaguely of vodka all over my precious velour ensemble. And that is why I will forever wrinkle my nose and try not to let the chubby, forlorn teenager inside of me tear up whenever I hear Truly, Madly, Deeply in an elevator or blaring softly from the soda cart downstairs.

Damn you, Savage Garden, for building me up and then tearing me down. Millions of little girls had their hopes and dreams of romance dashed because of the high bar that you set. For the briefest of moments, we believed that perhaps we were the Chosen Ones, and that one day, a dreamy Australian man with spiky hair and highlights would find us and sweep us off to our destinies.


And then Titanic came along, and Leo and Kate and Celine made us forget allll about those crazy Aussies.

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Swoon.