Final Ten Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit: W-Y (There is no "Z.")

My goal tonight is to get the rest of these songs done so I can start writing about something else again. It's been a strange experience, spending all this time on songs I don't even like, but also kind of cathartic. I think when a relationship goes wrong we all suffer a sort of flux for awhile wherein we're trying to figure out where things went wrong and what we could have done differently. In fact, I'm starting to feel that way about this series of blogs but, if nothing else, listening to these songs has made me feel better on one score: At least I never took my grief and made horrible music to torment the ears of others with -- I've gone and made it into terrible writing instead.

1.) What Could Have Been Love, by Arrowsmith. I don't literally cry when I hear it, but "now that I'm alone all I have is emptiness that comes from being free" is downright depressing. If that's the intent, then this song is right on the mark.



2.) Mary Chapin Carpenter came out under the label of country music, but over the years her singing has taken on such political overtones that to me she's more like the folk singers of old. Whatever she is, she's really good at depressing me as well ~ What to Keep and What to Throw Away:



3.) This next song I find kind of comical. It's VERY Country, I've never heard of Loudon Wainwright III or this song Whatever Happened to Us, and don't know what "Argosy" is, yet I'm intrigued by the phrase "my proverbial heart." There's a deep thinker buried somewhere inside this simplistic song, and it's just enough to make you vomit.

4.) Who's Going to Ride Your Wild Horses? ~U2 Am I going to vomit or am I going to cry? I always liked U2, so I don't dislike the song, but it kind of sounds like many of their other songs, and I don't think I ever really listened to the lyrics very closely before. This lady who leaves the man in the song sounds like trouble, all right. He's most likely better off without her.

5.) From 1972, Woman's Gotta Have It, by Bobby Womack, is written as a little word of advice from a man who "had a love and lost her." It's pretty awful, but this previous line in quotes does qualify the song for our list.

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6.) Everclear's Wonderful reminds me more of Contemporary Christian pop music more so than alternative rock -- and I do mean contempt. Then again, it's pretty good music for fourteen-year-olds, and there sure are a lot of those coming out of broken homes. Poor kids. For them life may never seem quite right again. So much depends on how maturely their parents handle it. Just makes me want to vomit.
I did see a therapist once after my divorce who was adamantly against this Divorced Parent Bashing that goes on -- The way people sling around remarks about "broken homes" and how screwed up the kids are going to be, etc. She'd done some research and found that, statistically, children of divorce are not only just as well-balanced as many kids with married parents: They even do better in some ways, such as in being adaptable and seeing things from more than one point of view. So maybe I think this song is pretty bad, but rest assured if you also are a single parent, I have nothing at all against you. Just try to be honest and keep the lines of communication open with those kids.



7.) Along those lines, here's a song that really bothered me one evening on the oldies station when I was driving home alone after dropping my kids off at their dad's house: Cher, singing what Sonny Bono wrote, You Better Sit Down Kids. It's obviously told from the man's point of view, and yet I guess Sonny was no way going to pull that song off and actually sell it to anyone. I mean, Sonny Bono was already a terrible singer. If you add divorce to that it's downright depressing, so here's his ex-wife...



8.) This next song I hate more than all of the songs in this entire blog series, all together. My mom always sang along to it when it came on the radio, even (or especially) when she was still married to dad. Now that I've been married and divorced myself, this is just too much for me to take.



9.) Now in contrast to Barbara Streisand and Neil Diamond's insipid song, we've got Velvet Revolver's repulsive song, You Got No Right. Something about the way the music drags along and the singer sounds as if he's forcing his words through some kind of thick fog, really makes me nauseous. Enjoy!



10.) Oh, Dixie Chicks, why did you have to write this song and torment ex-wives everywhere? I'll bet women listening to the country music station everywhere cry their eyes out when this song comes on. I can't actually relate from a personal point of view because my ex to date hasn't remarried, and I highly doubt I'm going to give a care if he does. That ship sailed so long ago I think you could call it The Titanic. "He's two and she's four" made even me tear up a little bit, though. Poor babies. By the way, the song is called You Were Mine...



There you have it, folks.
I hope you're as relieved as I am to have made it through this blog series.
Next time I write, it's going to be a one-time entry on Divorce/Break-Up Songs that I love to sing to, so expect to feel empowered, inspired, and ready to sing along.

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Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 20 out of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "T."

You know, because it's so much fun!

For today's terrible song review, I turn now to the songs that make your heart ache -- possibly from anxiety -- starting with the letter "T."

My illustration here is something I found while looking for funny images referring to Online Dating, an all new (and more efficient) way to get rejected. And, speaking of rejection, the first song on my list is the classic Take a Letter to Maria...

1.) Now, this song is so bad that it's just plain funny. And kind of catchy... and I like the twist on the old "Getting a divorce because my husband cheated on me with his secretary" because, in this instance, the wife cheats on the man, driving him to cheat with his secretary... Stupid song.



2.) REO Speedwagon never ceases to amuse me. Although I often think all their songs sound alike, every time I run across one while seeking out bad break-up songs, I come across a song I apparently know all the words to... damn radio...



3.) Tell Me Why, by none other than The Beatles. I love them, so I love their songs indiscriminately, but I gather that a lot more people than I ever would have imagined absolutely hate all their early stuff, and a lot of their later stuff, too. Huh. Although I can't wrap my head around this fact, I am big enough to admit that this song isn't their best, and certainly their lyrics improved once they left the shadows of A Hard Day's Night... but it sure is catchy when in the throes of rejection.



4.) The Suffering, by Fishbone is admittedly one of their "nicer" songs (as opposed to Lyin' Ass Bitch), but I still don't quite understand why anyone would want to listen to it. I suppose it could be like the old "Sad Songs Say So Much" deal, but I personally prefer good sad songs if I'm going to mope over a broken relationship.



5.) I love ABBA because they are such an easy target when discussing bad break-up songs. The Winner Takes It All is at the very least not a completely mindless, happy-sounding song. And, being a bitter old divorced woman, this song is even somewhat relatable.



6.) I think probably the Pistol Annies' Trading One Heartbreak for Another is one of the most depressing songs I've ever subjected myself to. The music is uninspired, ponderous and repetitive, the singing nothing especially good, and the lyrics just deaden my divorced mother soul. Probably the worst thing about it is that there's this basic truth behind it: That getting divorced to someone you've had children with opens up a kind of wound that doesn't heal. No longer do I have to live with my ex-husband, but my children do. And I've always found it ironic that we divorce somebody because the two of us can't get along or communicate at all anymore, but, because we have children together, we are forced to continue to attempt to do so for a maximum of eighteen years of our lives. Frankly, by the time my children are both grown, my eldest will be the same age I was when I married his father, and I find that very depressing. Like any mother, I carry around that guilt and hope my children don't repeat our mistakes. This song makes me cry because it's terrible, but also because it's true.



Out of thirteen (lucky thirteen) songs that I listened to for tonight's blog entry, only these six made the cut for actually being about divorce or breakup, and all the rest were either ambiguous -- or downright chipper. This is not supposed to be fun, people! If you want to listen to the positive, empowering divorce songs, then you've got to hang in there for six more letters of the alphabet before I start those rolling. You may want to post some requests toward that aim. I have a few personal favorites, but I'm sure there must be more.

On the bright side, though, is the fact that I couldn't locate even one break-up or divorce song that begins with the letter "U," so really all you've got left to tolerate are five letters, none of which I will torture you with this evening. I've got some drawings to work on. Have a nice night!

Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 18&19 out of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "R" and "S."

Am I a card-carrying member, or is he?
The world may never know.
Tonight once again we explore the world of singing through your pain, envy and fury in relation to divorce or breaking up with someone.

I think it may just happen to be a healthy thing that I can write on this topic these days. As they say, when you can find it in you to make a joke out of something, you've beaten it.
It's been six years since my own divorce -- maybe seven -- and the marriage was over well before that. I've never missed being married, but I do miss my kids when they're away. That will never change.
Please be forewarned that the following videos might make you vomit.
Or cry.

1.) I couldn't find any songs that began with an "R," but a dear friend of mine suggested Return to Sender. I'll assume you know who sang it, and note that this must've been a very racy movie, considering they did not film him only from the waist up!



2.) Not to be outdone, I do have a few songs that start with the letter "S" for you to consider. The first band has been referred to as "one of America's most beloved (and sometimes hated) commercial rock bands." I know them best for Wheel in the Sky, Don't Stop Believing, and Anyway You Want It, but for our purposes tonight we have Separate Ways, by none other than Journey. (And, yes, it does make me want to vomit. Not one of their better songs.)



3.) Starting Over Again, by Dolly Parton. Now there's a contrast to Journey for you. Honestly, it makes me think of my own parents. Bad song. Vomit.



4.) Sunny Sweeney, why do you hate my ears so much? Don't you have anything else to sing about?! Staying's Worse Than Leaving reminds me of when I packed up myself and my children and left my ex-husband. Some people judged me and put their two-cent's worth in, but they didn't know the whole story, and in my defense I have to point out that there's a huge difference between liking a guy in general and having to live with him. If only I'd known I could have made an entire career by singing badly about it, my life would have turned out very differently. Vomit, in case you couldn't guess.



5.) Swallow My Pride, by Billy Bragg. I REALLY hate this guy's singing style. This has been a rough night for me. I think I've completely run out of bile.



Five songs. That's all I can stand for tonight, especially since the last three were all country music. This is one of those nights when I'm wondering why I subject myself to so much torment listing and listening to such terrible songs, especially when I consider how there's at least ten songs I can list off the top of my head that begin with "T" that I have to gather up for next time.
In the meantime, take care of yourself and try not to dwell on your own card-carrying member of The League of Evil Exes. Goodnight.

Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 15 -19 out of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letters "N - Q."

I've been busy the past couple of weeks doing important things like, you know, living my life and all that, but I want you to know that I have not forgotten you. I'm sure you've been losing sleep nights wondering if I'll ever get to songs starting with the letter "Z," right? It so happens that I, too, have been anxious in this regard. I can't help but look forward to what on earth I may find when I google Divorce/Break-Up songs that begin with the letter "Z." But right now we're a little over halfway through the alphabet, so we'd best buckle down and get to work.


1.) Today's first Break-Up Song is by The Black Keys. Although Next Girl isn't a particularly good song, this group has always surprised me with their style and overall presentation. If this number is especially bad, at least it's brief, right?



2.) I can't dream of why Tegan and Sara's song Night Watch wasn't more popular, coming out as it did in the era of Nirvana... [Sarcasm Font]
Have you ever heard of them? If so, you're definitely one up on me. If not, I looked them up on Wikipedia for you: "Tegan and Sara is a Canadian/Indi, Indie/Pop duo formed in 1995 in Calgary, Alberta, Canada composed of identical twin sisters Tegan Rain Quin and Sara Keirsten Quin." 
I suppose it was the gimmicky twin-factor that did Canadian hearts good in 1995, and I am just jealous that I don't have a twin sister to write songs with...or have any musical talent at all, whatsoever...



3.) Eric Clapton's Old Love. There's nothing at all to the lyrics, and no reason the song should run for six minutes and twenty-seven seconds, except that it's Eric Clapton, man, and he does what he wants. He was cited at the fourth best guitarist out of one hundred in Rolling Stone Magazine (Here's the address, if you're curious, but we all know Number One had to have been Jimmy Hendrix: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/100-greatest-guitarists-of-all-time-19691231/jimi-hendrix-20101202 ), so I guess we can attribute the song's fame for all the guitar playing Clapton gets to do in this song. Eric, I wish my old love would go away, too, but singing about it for over six minutes isn't going to help.




4.) On My Own. Sadly, not the song from Les Mis. The lyrics are pretty good, but this is just not my kind of music. I really hate it. The one part that makes me laugh a little, though, is: "Now we're up to talking divorce, and we aren't even married..."



5.) I guess you know it's all a matter of taste, that I can criticize Patty Labelle and still really love Jim Croce's Operator, but I just can't help it. I heard this song during my formative years and thought it was kind of sweet. "My best old ex-friend, Ray" is just about the most pathetic phrase in any break-up song I've ever heard. I relate to the idea of trying to get rid of a feeling that you have for someone who chose to disengage from you entirely, and also that need to show them up by acting as if you've got it all together and don't care anymore, either. This song doesn't make me physically weep, but my heart is crying. ha ha



6.) Usher's Papers. As an artist, I think he crosses all kinds of boundaries. The bland pleasantness of the music for the subject matter is kind of off, but I can't quite bring myself to vomit over that. 



7.) Pendulum, by Anastacia, "the little woman with the big voice," is a study in break-up denial, but I love the strength she's shown personally in battling breast cancer.



8.) Genesis's Please Don't Ask, proving once again that old adage: "The majority of people who say 'I'm fine' are just lying." 



9.) Quick -- The song's a little weird at first blush, but there's something about Jill Scott that I can't help but like -- Maybe it's because she almost became an English Teacher. I'll bet the world lost a good one. By the way, The No1 Ladies' Detective Agency was a very good book.



Well, I couldn't find a number ten, so that's it for the week, I think. 
I still maintain that after I've finished this long and sorry exploration of Divorce/Break-up songs that make me want to cry/vomit, I'll be more than happy to go into Empowerment Songs next. Play 'em if you've got 'em.

Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 12 & 13 of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "L," and a Couple of "M's."

Turns out I couldn't find very many Divorce Break-Up songs that begin with the letter "L," but no worries -- There's still plenty of misery available for this one day, and enough misery to go around still tomorrow. 

Although I started on this subject as a response toward songs that made me mad or sad, I am finding, as my sister once told me, "The reason there are so many songs about having a broken heart is because that really happens to a lot of people all the time, and that really is a big deal." It was nice to hear it, simply because I'm so prideful that I don't want to admit that someone could make me feel so bad about myself or my life. I try to shove things down and be stoic about them when really writing or singing a song, writing a poem or short story or letter, or even painting about what hurts -- No matter how truly awful, funny, sad or true to life that expression of your feelings may turn out to be, it's best to let yourself grieve before moving on. Otherwise, you stay stuck in this mode and start weeping at odd moments, like when Can't Help Falling in Love is playing at some gas station, or you get angry when you hear Queen over the sound system in a department store singing Crazy Little Thing Called Love because it's just so horribly cheerful. In the end, you can use that time to put the power back into your own hands where it belongs. You don't have to allow someone to make you feel bad or question yourself. You've got the power to get over them and let them go. I guess what I'm saying is, "Listen to these songs and wallow in misery if you must, but if I could I'd choose to make you laugh. You deserve that gift, so go ahead and give it to yourself."


1.) Ben Folds' Landed. It's okay. Not the kind to make me cry or vomit, but it's simple and it does what it came here to do.



2.) In Love for a Child, Jason Mraz sings about being a child of divorce. Having no idea what the reference to the pool and losing memory was about, I looked the song up. I read that every time Mr. Mraz sings this song live, he dedicates the song to his mother. In the September issue of Richmond Magazine, there's an interview stating that "While the song could be interpreted to have left Mraz feeling negative about the whole situation ...Mraz says "this is a love song... really when I look back at my life, I was loved through and through and through. So it was a really powerful song for me and to share it with them too ." 
Because it speaks of lost innocence and misunderstanding, it's a sad song all the same.



3.) I hadn't listened to more than one minute of Fishbone's Ma and Pa before I started smirking. I probably should include in my already long title "Also Divorce/Break-Up Songs That Make Me Want to Laugh." That said, like Love for a Child, the song addresses what divorce can potentially do to children. It also suggests that there could be a better way to handle that experience so that "little sister" doesn't have to act out against all the fighting. Maybe if it were less dated it could be a better song, but for now all it does is make me want to...vomit, I guess. Laughing is not an option, and it does get less funny as I adjust to it... oh, crap. This is catchy, too. I'm going to be singing it out loud some time tonight when I least expect it because it's now stuck in my head.



4.) Made of Money, Adam Ant. It's bad. This video is pretty hard to look at, considering it's just his face and has no lyrics. Add to that the fact that the lyrics are really bad (makes me choke on my shreddies" was my personal fave) and it makes me want to vomit.



5.) Did you know that Eddie Cantor was the first to sing Makin Whoopie? I'm bemused that they were allowed to film/record this in 1928, but mind you it was before the heavy censors came raging through Hollywood. [Side Note: In case you didn't know that 1920's movies were done in color, I would like to point out that at this stage of development, historically the color process for films involved a two color (red and green) additive system that used two color negatives pasted or printed together, and I believe that this video is a result of that process]. The song about marriage and divorce (in case you didn't know), and is really rather cynical for being sung by a comedian. And for the record, by all reports Cantor was happily married and had five daughters. I'm going to end on this note despite the fact that the song is also pretty silly, this version especially so, making me want to roll my eyes like Eddie Cantor rather than laugh.



Tomorrow I'll have a list of  ten more Divorce/Break-Up songs that make me want to cry/vomit beginning with the letter "M." 

Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 9 of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "I" ...and "K."

1.) I'm So Happy I'm Crying. Usually Sting is a great lyricist, but this song is kind of bad. I hate to say it, but I think maybe he's reached that point where he's resting on his laurels. In truth, he more or less reached that point somewhere around his 1993 album, Ten Summoner's Tales. I'm smirking a little as I type this because of his fascinating haircut in the video. The subject matter lines up nicely with Divorce/Break-Up Songs That Make Me Vomit. My apologies, but I will not be posting the Toby Keith cover. I just can't take any more.



2.) Idiot Wind~ I suspect there is a reason that this Bob Dylan song isn't all that well known, and I further suspect that no one ever wants to get on Bob Dylan's bad side.



3.) In If Leaving Me Is Easy, Phil Collins kind of makes me want to vomit. Get over it, man. Move on. These lyrics are insipid and so is the music. I'll see you an In the Air Tonight and raise you a One More Night.



4.) In Pieces ~ Linkin Park. Not terribly impressed. Bleh



5.) Speaking of In The Air Tonight... I think what makes this song effective is that it comes from a firm perspective of rejecting the other person as opposed to the part of us all that likes to pity ourselves.



6.) It's Over, sung by Rod Stewart. I like a few of Rod Stewart's songs, but this is not one of them. The lyrics place it undeniably on this list, but I don't have to like it.



7.) This is the song that comes on at two in the morning when you're driving home from someplace you didn't want to be, don't want to be on the road, and are struggling to stay awake. Then good old Carole King comes on the radio singing It's Too Late, Baby and you nearly get into a car accident, unless you're quick to turn to another station. If there's anything to be said about this song, it would be that she tries to be grateful for what was good about the relationship. I think being able to acknowledge something like that at the end of a relationship helps you feel better prepared for another one -- certainly more so than spending too much of your time dwelling on the bad times and either hating your ex or yourself for mistakes made.



Now, luckily for you, I have run out of Divorce/Break-Up songs that start with an "I," and I have found no Divorce/Break-Up songs that begin with "J."
Unfortunately for you, I'm ending this list on a low note, because I did find just one single song beginning with a "K......

8.) Ending on an even number, I present to you possibly one of the worst bands of all time: Abba, cheerfully singing Knowing Me, Knowing You. It's not quite as bad as Fernando, but close.



Tomorrow, or on some other day this week, we'll look at Divorce/Break-Up Songs That Make Me Want to Vomit/Cry, 12 of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "L."

Divorce/Break-Up Songs That Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 5 of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "E."

I'm pretty sure I need to start doing more than one letter a day for these songs, but it does come in handy on days when I'm in a hurry. If all goes well, we'll have five songs that start with "E" this morning, and then I will see you tomorrow, maybe. Or not. I'm pretty busy on Sundays.

1.) First song on my list: Emergency, by Paramore. Should I vomit or cry? I have no opinion of this one. It seems rather generic to me, so my response is pure apathy. If it should happen too affect you more strongly than this, let me know, 'cause I got nuttin.



2.) Every Breath You Take ~ The Police. Was this song ever romantic to anyone out there? I personally looked at it as possibly the most creepy stalker song ever, even in 1984 when I was in Elementary School. Although I have always enjoyed Sting as an artist, stalking is not cool, so this merits a certain amount of spillage.



3.) Evil Eye, by Josh Ritter. Oh. My. Goodness! Now, this song is just hysterical! I'm not crying, I'm not vomiting -- I'm just sitting here watching the video and smirking.



As it turns out, I was unable to use two of the songs. One of them, by a group called Lighthouse, was actually a praise and worship song about being close to God. This seemed a strange choice for Google, but you never can tell with the Internet. It's like a box of chocolates.

Divorce/Break-Up Songs That Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 4 of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "D."

In today's journey into the heartbreak and tears of bad music fans everywhere, I give you just five songs that start with the letter "D."

I'm actually beginning my list of songs (that either make me want to cry/vomit) feeling a strange sensation that is neither tears nor upchuck, but rather a sort of resigned acceptance, bordering upon admiration.

1.) In 1968, Tammy Wynette became the first ever person to sing about divorce. Were it not for Ms Wynette, I would have no divorce songs to complain about. And yet here she is in her bleached blonde bouffant, singing from her heart and personal experience the helpless grief of knowing that you're making a decision that you fear will steal all your child's sense of happy innocence, security and trust. I know how that feels. 

D-I-V-O-R-C-E The song is old, and it would be almost satirical or sappy if anyone else had sung it, but I think Tammy's got a beautiful voice and puts just the right level of emotion into what she's singing. Furthermore, women everywhere were given a voice in a matter that no one at the time liked to discuss. She was a gutsy lady in this respect, and therefore has earned my respect despite my lifetime abhorrence of sad country songs that dwell on the negative side of divorce and heartbreak.

I wanted to make fun of this song, I really did, but just you look at her face as she's singing -- I took one look at her face and had to give in. Shoot, if I were the guy in this situation, I'd take one look at that face and renew our vows right on the spot.

2.) On the other hand, Wayne Newton totally makes me want to vomit, singing Daddy, Don't You Walk So Fast? Terrible song. And why was this guy ever popular? I'm glad I wasn't born yet when this song came out, because I'm sure it would have made me spit up more than a little. Wayne, you get a "D."

3.) Doesn't Anybody Stay Together Anymore? To be or not to be, this is definitely the question that created this blog series. Did you know that Phil Collins used to have hair? Me, Neither. And I don't mean just a ring around his head, or even just an ordinary amount of hair -- I mean like, a LOT of hair! Amazing. In my personal opinion, this song is kind of generic for Collins. He has much better stuff out there, but the song asks a valid question. I don't cry when I hear this one because it's just not very emotional, and I don't vomit, but I do feel a little queasy...

4.) Don't Give Up on Love, Sanctus Real. I neither love nor hate this song. Total indifference. Oh, sort of a Christian Rock Song. Wait, wait a minute... These are the guys responsible for that horrible Lead Me song, that makes me want to vomit! But that starts with an "L," so this is the song we get today. What do you think? 

5.) Down to Earth, sung by Justin Bieber. Honestly, I have never listened to Justin Bieber. Listening to this song, I can see why people kept calling him a girl when his music first came out. The lyrics are kind of sad, but I don't like the song much. Not my preference in music. Then again, neither is Tammy Wynette.

Tomorrow we will be going over songs that make me want to cry or vomit, 5 of 26, Songs that Start With the Letter "E," including what I consider to be one of the ultimate stalker songs of the 80s! Can you guess which song that would be? Take a guess! 

Have a nice day!

Divorce/Break-Up Songs That Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 2 of 26 ~ 3 Songs That Start With the Letter "C."

1.) VOMIT ~ Change My Mind. Billy Ray Cyrus (aside from raising a class act, Greek tragedy of a daughter), comes off as a complete ass in this song. He tells some poor woman that he loves her, dumps her, and is now thinking that, although it was a lie when he told her he would love her forever, he's considering changing his mind. Well, that's all fine and dandy, Billy, my boy, but it doesn't mean you deserve to have her back again, or that she doesn't have enough self-respect to tell you to get lost.



2.) Conversation 16, The National. I don't quite know if I should laugh, cry, or vomit. This is an interesting take on a relationship gone bad. Brains, anyone? Or, as RH1no1 said on YouTube:
"If Conversation 16 was about eating brains, I want to know what conversations 15 and 17 were."




3.) VOMIT ~ Just in case you didn't get enough of our little ray of sunshine, Laura Bell Bundy, she returns for Letter C of Songs to Vomit to, singing Curse the Bed at Walmart. Yeah, you heard me right. She burns the bed and then dances around the charred frame dressed in white and drinking champagne. The music is pretty sedate next to the lyrics. Not quite sure what she was thinking here. The song is so good that this is the only copy of it I could find online that wasn't sung by a wannabe teen.



This is all I have time for this morning. If I had to pick a "favorite," I'd go with "eating my estranged partner's brains" song. Revenge never tasted so sweet?

Tomorrow: Divorce/Break-Up Songs That Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 
4 of 26 ~ 3 Songs That Start With the Letter "D."

A Word on Neurological Integrity

Every week I go to Lansing for tests to determine the extent to which my brain is damaged.
As the weeks and months go by, I feel better and better. I can do so much more, so long as I don't get overtired. And I don't get tired as quickly, but when I do I definitely know it; it makes me feel nauseous and dizzy, and I get "ping-pong eyes" again.
Once a week, though, I pretty much have to go in for those tests, and also therapy for the PTSD and other issues plaguing me. On those days, I am a stumbling, babbling idiot by the end of the day. Reality lands on me like a piano and I forget which side of the car is the driver's side, or I forget the difference between a lion and a tiger. On those days, I don't tell myself "Why am I wasting so much time at the neurologist's office taking all these tests when I feel fine? Are they just telling me something's wrong with me for the money, or to meet the requirements for insurance coverage?....um, what color is a stop-sign again?"
The funny thing is, though, that the part of my brain that's supposed to regulate and inform me of how well I'm doing is one of the parts of my brain that's damaged. Now doesn't that sound like a handy diagnosis to give someone who has a brain injury? "Oh, your brain is in denial. It says you're fine, but you really aren't."
But again, my brain is obviously addled on long days.

Rescued by Manic Mechanic Angels

A few weeks ago my car, a 1996 Oldsmobile Cierra, died.
I know that it was really dead because the auto repair shop refused to charge exorbitant amounts to make any unnecessary repairs upon it.
With very little money for a new vehicle, I have been driving my friend's old van back and forth to work and shopping around for something that my bank might be willing to take a risk and give me a loan on - something around $5,000, as that seems the most I could afford to pay back as well as the most I dare ask for. The search has gone badly because I am so busy with moving into a new apartment, homework, and the new job. That, and even for $5,000 as opposed to the little I have in the bank, it is not easy to find a good car.

This week I had to go to a conference for the Michigan Reading Association on Mackinac Island. Mind you, I'm not complaining that I had to spend three days at a vacation spot taking notes on literacy and education, paid in part by my financial aid, but the extra expense of eating out and gas money bit into my meager savings toward a new vehicle.
The drive was long and my borrowed van was starting to rock loudly from side to side, but I made it in time to catch my ferry and spend a fine time listening to published authors talk about all the things that mean the most to me in the field of education by day and exploring the island by night.
It was a tricky place to be alone in, but I have cultivated a love of my own company over the past six years in such a way that I can be alone without being lonely.
It took me a few years to become aware of that distinction, and so my contentment was hard-won.
You appreciate things more when you work hard for them, though.
Also, when you go without things for a very long time, you appreciate every single little good thing that comes your way. I loved every minute on that island. I loved the long hours sitting in chairs at Mission Point Resort. Sure my hindquarters were tired, but they were tired in the most beautiful resort on the island. Yes, I was trying hard not to spend money on anything but food (fudge is food, right? Can't leave Mackinac Island without fudge!), and yet all kinds of nice little things came my way free of charge.

I found myself sitting at a table over lunch with the author of my children's favorite storybook, The Pout Pout Fish. It's a great little book about how we have the power to change our attitudes and how others can help us to change them, too. The author was a charming woman, and very kind - she gave me signed copies of her books to pass along to my kids. Souvenirs of my stay for the two most precious people I'd had to leave behind: Check.
I was inspired by the stories of Christopher Paul Curtis, author of The Watsons Go to Birmingham and Bud, Not Buddy. He grew up in Flint (I hail from around there) and worked in a factory for thirteen years before publishing his first novel. As a speaker, he was as funny as any comedian and yet brought me to tears with some of the stories of his mother and the lessons she taught him.
I made a point of seeing all the authors who spoke on bullying or intolerance, as the connection between those concepts with literature is something I've been exploring for my Master's thesis. I could write an entirely separate post on those sessions alone, but there's something else I want to get to first.

This something else did not happen until I was already back on the mainland driving home. I had spent the afternoon of my last day on the island literally walking around the entire outside of the place, which took three and a half hours (four miles during which I had to go to the bathroom) in my cheap K-mart shoes, and I was driving on I-75 toward home literally thanking God for land masses that allow you to drive cars upon them when suddenly I heard a LOUD bumping and flapping noise from the front right of the van.
 Flat tire, I figured, and pulled to the side of the road. Please God, don't make me walk any further!

Sure enough, upon further examination I found that the tread had peeled completely off the tire and slapped against the lower running board so hard that it was falling off. All that was really left of the tire was the rubber underneath, cross-hatched with shreds of metal.
I scanned the road around me, trying to come up with a plan. There was an exit for some town called Wolverine just ahead, so I got back in the car and flapped my way off the freeway and coasted into the parking lot of a little mom-and-pop joint called The Whistle Stop.
My phone was dead, so I stepped inside and found a table with an electrical outlet beside it and had a seat. Had to call my sister to see if she could rescue me somehow.
She couldn't.
I was three hours away and she didn't have the gas money, plus the baby was sick. She Googled my location and suggested I drive seven minutes further to Gaylord and find a hotel for the night, since it was late, and see if I could get to a shop in the morning.

Exhausted from my trek around the island earlier, I limped the van to Gaylord and checked in to the only room available (two Queen-sized beds for my one tired body - More car money down the drain!) and went sadly to bed, wondering if I bring all this bad luck upon myself or if it's just random, and why it couldn't go bother someone else for a change...

When I drug myself out in the morning equipped with the telephone numbers of local auto repair shops to drive to, I found that the tire was now completely flat.
Figured.
I popped the trunk and took a look at the spare tire.
No tire iron.
Of course.

Then I spotted a small collision shop across the parking lot, behind the hotel. It looked so small and shoddy that I thought it must be abandoned, but there it was - an OPEN sign in the front window.
With a gleam of hope, I crossed the parking lot and the little road between me and the shop, then drifted in through the front door.
There was a windowed office to my right and an old van bench to my left, and voices coming from out in the shop. I sat down on the bench for a moment to get my bearings and decide if anyone would return to the office or if I would have to go back there and see if I could get someone.
I'm always afraid to ask for help, especially today, since I'd given the hotel what surely was close to the last of my money. My island hotel had charged me roughly $400 more than I'd bargained for.

I took a breath and headed into the Man Cave.
There were cars jacked up all over the shop that I had to wend my way through, maze-like, toward the voices, which were definitely all male and uncensored.
I came out into the light of an open garage door and found three men, looking like ZZ Top, wearing Harley Davidson t-shirts with the sleeves ripped out, standing around a Cadillac swapping wild, profane stories and ribbing one another about whose car was better than whose.
"Look, asshole, mine is a Ninety-Seven!" declared one, a shorter man with the ZZ Top beard and a grimy blue bandanna tied tightly over his grey hair.
"Yeah?" countered a tall fellow in a tweed-like cap with soulful brown George Harrison eyes and a pleasant voice, "Why, those fuckers stopped paying any attention to what they were even doing after Ninety-Three, so mine is the superior vehicle." He caught sight of me, kicked his companion with the scraggly beard in the shin, and removed his hat. "Hey, don't look now, Jim, but there's a lady in our presence!"

Jim, clearly the owner of the establishment, had the kind of twinkly blue eyes over his long beard that always makes me fall almost  in love with any older gent.
 Language aside, I had a really good feeling about these guys.
Jim was all red in the cheeks and already apologizing, but I grinned and said cheerfully, "I don't mind; I've worked in factories!"
"Still," said Jim, "we're awfully sorry. Is there something we can do for you?"
I explained what had happened the night before and asked if they might lend me a tire iron.
The men exchanged amused glances, and Jim said, "You plan on using that tire iron yourself, M'am?"
Attempting to be independent, I said, "If the lug nuts are really tight, I figure I can give the tire iron a good kick with my foot."
They looked at one another again, and Jim asked, "What did you say you do for a living?"
"I'm a substitute teacher."
"What do you teach?" asked the tall man politely.
"English, if someone would hire me, but you know how the economy is."
The man held out his hand. "My name is Bob, what's yours?"
I took his hand and we shook. "Heather. I like the name Bob. Nice and simple."

"Yep," he agreed, "Spelled the same in either direction. I like Heather, too." Peering across the parking lot at my van, Bob started clapping. "God Bless America for paying its teachers so well that you've gotta drive that piece of crap!"
I laughed.
"What year is that van you've got over there?" asked Jim.
Embarrassed, I had to admit that I didn't exactly know. "I borrowed it from a friend to get to the conference," I explained sheepishly.
Bob started clapping again.
Jim amended, "God Bless America for paying its teachers so well that your actual vehicle is even worse than that piece of shit!"
"Language, now, Jim --" intoned ZZ Top, whose name turned out to be Tim.
"Sorry," said Jim. He added wistfully, "I wish I'd been good at English. My English teacher, Mrs. Nelson, used to make me sit under her desk for reading comic books in class. The Lone Ranger."
"Really?" I said, "Nowadays, we kind of figure that so long as you're reading something, you're doing pretty good for yourself."
"Well, I like her!" declared Tim.
At that, Jim smiled at me. "How about I walk over there and take a look at that tire with you?"

I thanked him heartily and he followed me over, telling me about his shop. He bought it years back when this particular part of Gaylord was just a two-track, and had lived in Gaylord all his life. Tim, surprisingly, was actually his nephew, the son of a brother eight years older than him who had died some years ago. "We'd lost touch, but then my sister found him again, and it was like having my brother back. He and I have been working together ever since. Bob, that other guy - he's just a real good friend. We've known each other forever. He's got that Cadillac you saw over there. Thinks it's his baby. But he's got this Woody that leaves all the car shows with awards like you wouldn't believe. Now, neither of those guys are about to admit this to you, but I'm actually the Grand Poo-bah of the group."
"Oh, I could tell the minute I saw you," I assured him with a grin.

By this time we were standing at the side of the van looking down at the tire. Jim walked around the van and studied all my tires grimly, shaking his head. I popped the trunk so he could take a look at the spare.
"I'll tell you what," he said, "You can't hurt that sorry old tire any more than it's been hurt already. How about you pull it on up to the side where we're all at, and we'll help you get this spare on? We've got all the tools and everything over there, and it won't take but a minute."
I followed him back to the shop with the van thumping and rumbling as if it were going over uneven metal rocks all along the right side. Bob, seeing what was up, got into his Cadillac and backed it up to make room for me.

Jim jacked the car up while Tim worked on the spare.
As they worked, Bob engaged me in conversation about car shows and The Blues while occasionally calling out taunts to Tim: "Aw, come on, now: You'd think you'd have had the sense to check the tire pressure before now! And you call yourself a professional!"
"No point checking the pressure until after the spare's on the car, goddamn genius,"grunted Tim good-naturedly.
"Hey!" barked Bob, "Watch it around the lady!"
"Sorry, lady." Tim grinned at me and hauled the jack back to where Jim had pulled it from. It wasn't the type that would fit in your trunk, if you've never seen one.

Jim and Tim disappeared around the corner of the shop for a few minutes while Bob told me about his
nephew who teaches High School Up North somewhere.
When the other two returned, Bob asked, "Have you got any 15-inches lying around that she could have?"
"Nope," said Jim mildly, "We just looked." He went out into the yard and started digging through a pile of tires, muttering to himself.
I realized they were talking about replacing all my tires.
"How much is this going to run me?" I asked anxiously.
Jim pulled a tire out from under something that looked like part of a go-cart -- or maybe a motorcycle. "Hey, the way I figure," he said, examining it, "You've got us by the -- I mean, you caught us back here. You've got something on us,what with the way you heard us talking and all. Seems to me like we need to work up some kind of a deal."
"Too bad we don't have four fifteens," said Tim. He scratched his bandanna and eyed Bob's Cadillac.
"They're the wrong size, dumbass," smiled Bob. "Besides, I'm still usin' em."
Tim grinned back. "She don't want your sorry-assed 2003 tires."

"Okay," said Jim, coming back up to the van and putting a new spare in the back. "New plan. Let's go over to Tom's across the street."
"I'll tell you what," said Bob lazily, "You go with her to Tom's while Tim keeps an eye on the shop, and give me a call when you've got her all squared away. I'll come get you."
"Oh, gee, thanks," said Jim, "Like I've never walked it before."
Bob shrugged. "Suit yourself." He turned to me. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Heather."
Tim smiled and waved at me as I got into the van with Jim and drove across the busy main street.

At the tire shop, Jim explained to Tom that "the hotel got all her money and she just needs to get home to Big Rapids all right. I've got a spare here for you to mount for her so that she doesn't get another flat without a spare, but I was hoping you might have something better around here."
"Sure thing," said Tom, a short, round little guy with receding black hair and John Lennon glasses.
After a few minutes in conference with Tom over by a pile of spares, Jim came back and explained that Tom was going to rotate my tires and switch them up so that the spare tire was coupled with a tire of about the same size so that it would drive more smoothly. He cautioned me to drive slowly on the freeway and wished me luck.
"So I'm not going to owe Tom anything, either?" I asked.
Jim smiled. "Nope. I come over here all the time. We know each other pretty well. There's only one catch."
"What's that?"
"You have to promise me that the next time you're in Gaylord you're going to stop by and see us -- And if you don't, I will know!"
I made my promise right into his twinkly blue eyes and then gave him a big impulsive hug.
Jim wiped his eyes and told me that his wife had died about a year back.
It seems it had been a long time since anyone had given him a hug.
"Wait till that asshole Bob hears about this!" he said happily, and walked out of the tire shop into the sunshine.
When I texted my friend Kara about it, she was vastly amused, and said that God must have some sense of humor, since she'd prayed that some nice, grandfatherly sort would come to my rescue.
It seems to me that whenever something really bad happens to me, something else always happens that's very good.

Not Sleeping...

Among My Favorite Quotes...

Forgive my brevity (the soul of wit).
My eyes are going to burn right out of their sockets
if I stare at the computer screen
one minute longer.

Confidence

Sometimes I wish I had the brazen confidence of a little boy. They may screw up a lot, but I admire the way they come out swinging and are unafraid.
I even wish I had a little more of Calvin's ego.
How nice to know who you are at your best and to expect due treatment from all the rest.
Put me in my areas of strength, and I think I do have this confidence.
I have the confidence that there is no teacher in the world who can stand before a class and set up such an intricate, well-balanced performance that contributes, entices, involves, entertains and engages students in such a way that they find themselves demanding to learn. This is me at my best and most confident in a public forum. (Conversely, on a bad day, I would probably tell you the opposite)
I feel confidence when I'm doing any presentation. I'm not a Communication Minor for nothing, I tell you. I love to stand before an audience, get them on my side, and use nothing more than the power of well-chosen words to move them. I've gotten both laughter and tears in the same performance when I've chosen to do so.
Of course, High School students are a much tougher audience. They prefer that you be quick, sharp, and hilarious.
I'm a good public speaker because I can read an audience and know what they require.

I was not always this good.
I will never forget the time when I first stood before an audience and heard the sound of laughter and applause. It was, as I have mentioned elsewhere, when sharing a story I'd written with my fourth grade peers.
But time and circumstances chipped off my shiny veneer of confidence. We moved three times in one year, each time to a different school district. My father's drinking went out of control and frightening things began to happen. A vat of venomous negativity began pouring into my ears every evening after dinner when he came home from work. Nothing and no one was ever ever good enough. I became a  perfectionist who could never meet her own standards. I shrivelled up inside of myself and became all but invisible to the world around me. Social situations had never been easy for me, but once I accepted a vote of no confidence in myself, I was finished.
I dreaded the scrutiny of public presentations with an extreme level of fear equivalent to someone being thrown into a pit of lions. I would become physically ill. I would sweat and shake. I would miss school. I would do whatever I could to get away from standing in front of people and reading anything that I had written. I had this sense that no one would want to hear what I had to say. If it was well-written, they would sneer at me for being arrogant. If it was poorly written, as I suspected, they would laugh at me for being incompetent.

My artistic abilities somewhat relieved me of my low self-esteem. I could always paint, and no one

ever disliked anything I created after my Junior Year of High School. But I didn't get over my fear of public speaking until I was in college. I had to do a speech class, and the Professor had everyone give their speeches in the most nonthreatening environment that she could possibly devise. Our first speech had to be ten whole minutes long, and an introduction of ourselves. I remember observing my classmates, all of whom seemed to have a deadly fear of public speaking themselves, squirm and tremble before the class as if they were in a firing line. In addition to their great discomfort, they were presenting their personal information with all the organization and variety of a resume. After a certain number of days of this with no one dying of anything but perhaps a little boredom, it began to seem just a little bit silly. I decided to bring in one of my paintings, because I knew from High School that a good visual could break the ice like nothing else. I tried to think of what things I had to say about myself that might be interesting or funny. Interesting I wasn't so sure of, but funny, now - funny happened to me all the time. Or maybe I just saw something funny in most situations. Either way life was a little more bearable.

I don't remember exactly what I told the class, but I remember that I opened with one of my favorite stories from art college. One day, my friend James and I were walking down the street together when a man came panting up to us and was begging us for money. "My car just broke down!" the man was explaining urgently, "I got out to get help, and somebody mugged me. I was on my way to my grandmother's house. I had some food to bring to her. She's going into the hospital. She had an accident!"

I was thinking his story sounded a little suspicious and wondering when he was going to mention that there had been a wolf in the house wearing his granny's pajamas, but then I caught sight of the man's feet. Seeing the direction of my gaze, he embellished with a grand sweep of his arms: "And then they stole my shoes!"

"Oh, gosh," said James. James was from a small town in Louisiana and had the most pleasant Southern drawl I think I had ever heard, primarily because he was also the most laid back, pleasant person I have ever known. "That's terrible!" James dug around in his deep pocket and fished out a roll of quarters that I happened to know was for his laundry. "Here you go."

The man grabbed his quarters and ran.
I looked at James accusingly. "James, obviously the man was making all that up!"
James smiled at me slowly and drawled, "Aw, come on, Heather - It was a good story, wasn't it?"

My audience laughed.

I had succeeded in both getting their attention and killing two of the ten minutes that I was supposed to be talking about myself. I segued into my actual story, which was about how I ended up in art college to begin with, and also about how frightened I used to be of being myself around other people. (I secretly still was, but talking about it in the past tense really did seem to help some) I talked about how, through art, I was able to express things to people that I had been unable to do before, and then for a finale I revealed the painting that I'd brought.
My only self-conscious moment occurred just then, when I found myself apologizing that I couldn't draw hands as well as I'd like. My audience loved my painting and the speech anyway, and I got an A.
In this way, I learned something that I have used in all my dealings with people: That, as a general rule,  if you make yourself even a little vulnerable before people, they will be drawn to your side. Get the audience on your side, and from there make them laugh, and from there you can make them do whatever you want - get angry or motivated, cry or feel touched. I have always been a natural storyteller, and now I had the confidence again to do it.