You know what's fun? Naively identifying with songs that have no relation to you whatsoever. When I was a child, carrying my Power Rangers lunchbox in one hand and practicing ""rock, paper, scissors"" strategies with my other, I'd innocently sing songs about slapping booty as I made my way to school. Throughout my life it seems as though my enthusiasm for a catchy beat has made me lose friends, gotten me in trouble or made me question if I'm having an identity crisis. Here are some examples:
1. In kindergarten, if you knew what was good for you, you joined baton club. A) The instructor was the kindergarten teacher so it meant you could bide more time with her. If you were a cool kid like me, that of course meant she'd secretly pick you as her favorite and thus she'd give you more stickers on your homework. B) There was an annual baton show where you got to flaunt your moves in front of the whole freaking school. C) Do you really need another reason?
Weeks before the show, my routine was planned and I had my sweet, sweet moves down pat, but I still needed to find a song to rock the house with. I have two older brothers, so, naturally, I sought their guidance. Basically they told me if I wanted to be idolized by the student body, there was only one song that could truly put me on the map—""Peaches"" by The Presidents of the United States of America. I gave the song a listen and confidently decided it would be the anthem that brought me glory.
The big day came and I was more nervous than Smalls when he is trying to catch a ball for the first time in ""The Sandlot."" After a myriad of Disney songs were played for other girls' performances, I was up. Sporting acid wash overalls and a blinding bright orange shirt, I took the floor. Three minutes and 15 missed baton catches later, I was on the map all right. I'm sure to the older kids I became ""the headbanging girl with blunt bangs who had music taste way beyond her years."" To the kids my own age I probably became ""Kathleen: the strange girl; steer clear of her."" If I had 17 friends (that's being generous) prior to the performance, it definitely plummeted to around three (tops) by the end of the day.
2. In second grade I memorized Snoop Dogg's ""Gin and Juice"" and taught the lyrics to my friend Sam, because I obviously had to share with her the storyline that embodied our entire seven years of existence. ""I got b*tches in the living room gettin' it on / And they ain't leavin' til six in the morning."" Yeah, we basically wrote that. So we were spitting out Snoop's hot rhymes on the playground when a nun overheard us drop a swear word. She made us stay after school and write on the board in our limited vocabulary, ""I will not say bad words. They hurt God's ears,"" 100 times. Honestly, I don't think that did the trick. What she really needed to do was put a muzzle on me.
3. Despite TLC explicitly telling their listeners what a scrub is A) a guy that thinks he's fly, B) also known as a ‘buster,' C) always talking about what he wants, D) sits on his broke ass—I still don't think at the age of 10 I truly knew what a scrub was. But, that was a minor detail; nothing would get in the way of me singing the song at the top of my lungs. What was the first album I ever bought, you ask? Well, that, my friend, was the Mary Poppins soundtrack. Second purchase was Spice Girls, duh! Third was TLC's Fan Mail because they were just preaching the story of my life and I couldn't pass up paying respect where respect was due. TLC for sure wrote ""No Scrubs"" for me; I had so many boy troubles back then.
4. The first song that I actually considered the meaning behind the lyrics was Joan Osborne's ""One of Us?"" My brother and I were riding our bikes and I had one of those bad boys that had a boom box attached to the handlebars. Like a couple of goons we were singing along and that's when it hit me. I thought to myself, ""What if God WAS one of us? Holy moly! If God is my brother, that guy riding his bike right next to me on this gravel road, then God really likes McDonald's breakfast, has a chronic nasal problem and sleeps with his mouth open."" In the middle of this epiphany I was spacing out so much I didn't notice the approaching curb. Thanks for nothing, Joan and your existential lyrics; where can I send you the hospital bill for that broken arm?
