Some of the weirdest songs I’ve ever heard

I’m feeling goofy so I have to share this. I have been listening to the radio as I work lately, and a few songs have played that made me stop and do a double take. Some songs are just like that. They’re just so bizarre you wonder if you heard the lyrics correctly. Well, I have heard a number of these songs over the years, and all I can say is, “WTF??”

“Into the Night” by Benny Mardones has to be one of the freakiest stalker songs I’ve ever heard. Every time I hear the piano lead-in, I have to hold back my vomit. And for some odd reason I almost always hear it at Togo’s as I’m biting into a Santa Fe Chicken Wrap.

“She’s just sixteen years old leave her alone, they say…”

Yeah, they say that for a reason. It’s called “pedophilia.”

“Separated by fools who don’t know what love is yet”

Whether or not they know “love”, they know the law.

“If I could fly, I’d pick you up
I’d take you into the night and show you a love
Like you’ve never seen, ever seen”

Might as well just say you have a pit in your basement and you collect human skin.

“Invisible” by Clay Aiken is just as bad. Well, minus the pedophilia… that we are aware of, anyway…

“Whatcha’ doin’ tonight
I wish I could be a fly on your wall
Are you really alone
Who’s stealin’ your dreams
Why can’t I bring you into my life
What would it take to make you see that I’m alive”

Some chloroform and duct tape?

“If I was invisible
Then I could just watch you in your room
If I was invincible
I’d make you mine tonight
If hearts were unbreakable
Then I could just tell you where I stand
I would be the smartest man
If I was invisible
(Wait..I already am)”

Careful, honey. That pervert is is waiting for you in your closet right now!

This one isn’t a perv song, it’s just literally the laziest song in the world by a band called Snow Patrol. “Chasing Cars” sounds so busy, though!

“We’ll do it all
Everything
On our own”

That’s the first verse. Wow. That would be pretty inspiring if it were at least a fucking haiku.

“We don’t need
Anything
Or anyone”

Kids and their heroine these days.

“If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me
And just forget the world?”

What are you, quadriplegic?

“Forget what we’re told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden
That’s bursting into life

Let’s waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own”

In other words, “I hope you have a job because I’m a deadbeat and I plan on making a permanent dent in your sofa and eating all your eggs and Cheerios. But I love you!”

“Copacabana” by Barry Manilow has to be the perkiest depressing song I’ve ever heard. It’s so cha cha cha, but if you listen to the lyrics, it’s a travesty!!!

We know that Lola was a showgirl with yellow flowers in her hair and her dress cut down to “there,” but once we get past the familiar lyrics of this super upbeat song, we find out that Lola’s boyfriend Tony was shot by some dickhead named Rico. And then what happened Barry??

“Her name is Lola, she was a showgirl
But that was 30 years ago, when they used to have a show
Now it’s a disco, but not for Lola
Still in the dress she used to wear, faded feathers in her hair
She sits there so refined, and drinks herself half-blind
She lost her youth and she lost her Tony
Now she’s lost her mind!”

AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! That is the most tramatic thing I’ve ever heard in a song!!! Merengue anyone?!!!! “At the copa….”

This one’s just funny because I used to love it and then Doug pointed out what was not obvious to me. This is “Take It On The Run” by REO Speedwagon.

“Heard it from a friend who, heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messin’ around
They say you got a boyfriend, you’re out late every weekend
They’re talkin’ about you and it’s bringin’ me down

But I know the neighborhood
And talk is cheap when the story is good
And the tales grow taller on down the line
But I’m telling you, babe, that I don’t think it’s true, babe
And even if it is keep this in mind”

Then he goes on to say that he doesn’t think she’s cheating on him. Doug: “What a fucking whining pussy!” (lol)

This song makes me roll my eyes every time I hear it. It’s so arrogant and ridiculous. I love some Elvis Presley songs, but this one is priceless!

“It’s now or never,
come hold me tight
Kiss me my darling,
be mine tonight
Tomorrow will be too late,
it’s now or never
My love won’t wait.”

No pressure or anything. I really love the big crescendo at the end. “My dick won’t wait!!!”

I love the song “Stagger Lee” by Lloyd Price, and I love “Hey Joe” by Jimi Hendrix, but I am more than slightly mortified that they are encouraging the men in their songs to murder another human being. So your wife or girlfriend cheated on you, Joe. Dump that bitch and let it go, man! I hope you speak Spanish. And Stagger Lee?

“”Stagger Lee,” said Billy,
“Oh, please don’t take my life!
“I’ve got three hungry children,
“And a very sickly wife.”

Stagger Lee shot Billy
Oh, he shot that poor boy so hard
That a bullet went through Billy
And broke the bartender’s bar.”

Oh my God!!! That’s horrifying! And then they merrily sing “Go Stagger Lee!” over and over and over and over again. Good Lord!

“Secret Lovers” by Atlantic Starr is a train wreck of a song. You are seriously singing so romantically about something that would tear your spouse’s heart out and serve it up bleeding on a silver fucking platter? You are sick!

“Here we are, the two of us together
Taking this crazy chance to be all alone
We both know that we should not be together
‘Cause if they found out, it could mess up
Both our happy homes”

Soooo happy! So happy you’re banging someone else?? Wait, is this Joe’s wife? I change my mind. Shoot that hussy!

Art and a long bath…

I spent my Sunday praying to the street, begging her forgiveness as I painted her in shades of rose, violet, amber, crimson, emerald and more… I was invited by artist Juliana Martinez to create chalk art on a section of Owensmouth in Canoga Park. On a day that promised rain, it was perfect. Cloudy and cool, with welcoming moments of sun peeking through to shower us all with a near energy-crippling amount of light and heat, only to retreat mercifully. It was perfect and so was the company.

I did my amateur best, having never created chalk art before, let alone on the unforgiving palette of a well-trodden street, to convey the heartfelt rendition of my good friend Jonathan upon the Día de Los Muertos Festival in Canoga Park. I’ve never been so close to the tar, rock and wood-riddled visage of the world’s most common thoroughfare before. The black glue locks together debris and leaves crevices almost impossible to fill, until I saw the expression of so many other artists. Juliana and her friends, including her best friend of twenty years, Lori, worshipped this rough terrain into submission with their bare fingertips. The rich color of forty-eight pieces of hue variations were massaged and worked lovingly from the highest peaks down to the lowest valleys of the street floor. The images were alive and transcendent of what most only see as a monotonous route to traverse, in a similarly monotonous world. The experience was raw and illuminating. I regret that I had to leave so soon.

I took my friend, Monica, home, stopped at Trader Joe’s and proceeded home, myself. Once there I drew a bath, started up my iPod, lit some candles and poured myself a tall glass of wine.

Sometimes I forget why I’m here. Sometimes I forget what my passion is, but I remembered, staring at the smoky sillouttes of steam as they lifted, dancing in a macabre chorus from my leg, extended from the hot water of my drawn bath. As the candlelight danced against the eggshell walls and sweaty powder blue tiles; as Otis Redding crooned a coarse and velvety number for his long gone paramour and the wine sunk its bitter signature onto my welcoming and appreciative tongue, I let myself drift in a liquid sorrow that only a sadist can enjoy. It is the curse of the writer to uncover beauty through such revelations. Beauty and truth are only aware to us some of the time if we’re lucky. Waiting through pain; sometimes days, sometimes years; awakening to the epiphany of perfection for a moment, requires sacrifice. Each time I am exposed to this kind of sadness and profundity, a delight I can never sustain, something is taken from me. It steals my heart, freezes my senses, and like a junkie, I suffer through the pain of waiting for the next moment. Everything comes at a cost. Feeling like this and finding the words is like slicing my spiritual veins and bleeding verbal music. I bleed feeling. Can it ever be this good again? Can it ever be this good again… and not take everything from me…?

Being An Animal, by Lydia Lee

Raise your head to the sky,
Watch the clouds float by,
Why, are we animals?

Beating dogs, beating chests,
Drooling madly over breasts,
Why, are we animals?

Praising love and the divine,
Slurring words over wine,
Why, are we animals?

Protect your children from the world,
Berate the motherless, slutty girl,
Why, are we animals?

Preach my evil ways away,
Judge it all into decay,
Why, are we animals?

I am happy to be
As perfect as I can be,
But not if it means
Betraying the purity
Of being… an animal.

Lydia Lee

Poetry Tag: “Animal Kingdom”

I was tagged on my YouTube page yesterday by Divinity33372 to create a poem. She was tagged by YeOldeHeretic. I’m posting all three in the order that I viewed them. Divinity’s is silly, which inspired me to be silly, and YeOldeHeretic’s is beautiful. So much fun!

And the date in my poem is actually September 7, 2010. My subconscious mind does not recognize the month of September for some really bizarre reason.

For Tony: Julie, Texas Ranger!

Courtesy of my friend, Tony:

“In the eyes of Julie the Ranger,
the unsuspected stranger
had better know the truth of wrong from right,
Cuz the eyes of a Ranger are upon you,
any wrong you do she`s gonna see.
When you’re in Texas look behind you,
Cuz that`s where the Rangers are gonna be.”

And my silly pictures to match… I like the first one because my head is way too big. BWAHAHAHA!!!

I was not made to last in this life…

In heartbreak, there is no poetry. Not in poverty and not in pain. The people who imitate pain would have you think so, but it’s not true. There only remains the aching need and what is lost.

I was not made to last in this life. My heart and my body, the process of my working brain was not made to weather this storm, no way! I thought I was impenetrable early on, but I should have known better. I was shy for a reason. I thought I could hold a cold wall to anything, but I wither easily and tremble from the noise of too many outside voices – overbearing and cold.

I felt some pride at a female’s assertion in a blog post today about the difference between a  mindless bimbo who does porn because she feels she has no other choice, from the educated woman who chooses her fetish knowingly, but then I wilted. So what if a woman does choose porn because she feels she’s no other choice? Does that make her stupid? No. Choosing sex work as a means when there is no other is intelligence, in itself, and it is unfair and incorrect to judge it as ignorant.

I was not made to last in this life, in this world. I was not made to survive it at all. But I will. By sheer strength of will, I will survive well beyond your years… well beyond your years.

Random Things, by Julie Meadows

I originally wrote this at Mike South’s blog on March 13, 2010. It is being added to other articles under the category ‘Archive Posts’.

I’m going to totally pussy-out of writing “Relationships: part 5″ this week. I started two nights ago and couldn’t get my thoughts to connect properly. Then, last night, I realized I was suffering from exhaustion, so I went promptly to bed as soon as I got home. Tonight my car broke down, so I am pretty much at a loss for writing about anything that’s not silly or random. What a fucking week!

A Thought To Ponder

I was thinking about people in terms of growth and transformation the other day and how a person can be static like a piece of furniture, or fluid. A static thing can sit and be lovely and useful in one place – like a coffee table, for instance – but over time, because it doesn’t move or adapt to its surroundings, and because life causes change whether we like it or not, it just slowly gets chipped away. Its color fades and the marks appear. The same old piece of furniture with an altered appearance. A fluid person who does change and doesn’t sit in one place, instead of just getting chipped away at, takes new experiences and uses them to transform into a completely different presence altogether. It was a nice thought. That we are capable of transformation and not just being static, slowly worn objects. And then I realized I was comparing a person to a coffee table and thought, “That’s just fucking stupid.”

Silly Gringa!

Doug and I went to Home Depot one Saturday to get light bulbs and also to get me a big, mean, nasty hot dog. It was a pretty day, too, so we parked the (now broken) car and skipped (walked) to the concession stand.

It used to be that the concession stand was a tiny rolling number, but the box they have out in front of the Home Depot off of Sunset now is much bigger. Maybe they get so much business now that they need space for two or three cooks. Well, good for them! As long as I can still get a big, mean, nasty hot dog.

A staunch woman stood outside of the little eatery with her arms folded against her chest, a frown in my direction and said, “You want something?” I said, “Yes, I do! Do you have the hot Polish hot dogs?” Since it was, technically, a new establishment, I thought it might be better to make sure, first. She pointed to the menu, “We got that.” “Oh,” I said, not seeing anything about hot Polish hot dogs or another other kind of hot dog, for that matter, on the surprisingly small menu. I said, “Well, you have hot dogs, right? I don’t see it.” She said, “Yeah, we got hot dogs,” and yelled my order to the cook. I started to tell her what I wanted on it and she pointed to a nearby table with condiments. I said, “I don’t see jalapaños on the table,” and she yelled for the cook to add jalapeños to my dog. I paid and said, “Graçias,” and walked away thinking, ‘Wow. This must be a five star joint because she is rude!’ but I didn’t actually mind. I expect to be treated rudely by Hispanic women. I expect to be treated rudely by Caucasian women, and Armenian women, and Jewish women, and Italian women, for that matter.

Finally, the time came to eat my spicy hot dog. I accepted it from the cook’s hands and took it to the condiment table where I doused it with hot sauce. But upon closer inspection I decided it really didn’t have enough jalapeños on it. When you loooove jalapeños, a mere scattering is a measly amount, so I braved my way to the window and beamed at the cook and said in the nicest and most polite way, “Can you please give me more jalapeños? I really love jalapeños!” He just looked at me for a second and then shook his head, ‘Yes.’

I waited. And I waited. I waited some more. I got nervous. I said to Doug, “That dog sure is taking a long time. I hope he’s not shitting in it just because I like jalapeños.” Doug shrugged, which didn’t make me feel any better.

I walked up to the window and looked in. The other cook, a woman, was staring down at what he was doing, intently. Then she looked over at me, then back at what he was doing. I wasn’t too nervous, really, because I hadn’t been rude to anyone. Somehow I knew it wasn’t something I couldn’t handle, but I was filled with some trepidation because I couldn’t figure for the life of me what he was doing. Finally, he turned around and gave me back my dog. I looked at it. ‘Oh,’ I thought, then looked up and said, “Graçias,” politely.

There are dark green jalapeños that are pickled and sometimes they are hot, but they’re not the hottest kind of peppers. Truth is, there are many different kinds of peppers and I know from experience that some of the lighter green peppers are much hotter than the dark green peppers. What’s more is that the seeds really pack the biggest punch in the ‘spicy’ department. Basically, if you can’t handle spicy things, what this guy gave me would melt your face.

My dog was covered, I mean covered in light peppers and seeds on top of the standard dark green jalapeños he had originally put on it. I’ve never seen so many seeds on a hot dog before. He sprinkled them carefully all over. I hid my delight, because I instantly understood what was happening. He wanted to get a laugh at my expense. He was thinking, “Oh yeah, gringa [Spanish for 'white girl']? You want spicy? I’ll give you spicy!” I sat down with my dog, then got up again, deciding to douse it with more hot sauce, then sat down again. I bit into it. Oh… it was… divine! It was so good!! Halfway through the dog I started laughing. Doug stared at me, “What?” I snorted, “He thought he was going to kill my taste buds with these peppers and seeds! He thought he was fucking with me.” I explained what I was talking about and kept laughing. Then I looked over. The guy was standing off to the side with his arms folded in front of his chest, looking at me with the same dark scowl I’d been met with by the woman who took my order! Without being obvious I hissed at Doug, “He’s watching us!” Then we got up and and collected our things to go into Home Depot. We had to walk past him so I made eye contact and smiled. He continued to scowl. Then I said to Doug, loud enough to be heard by the Menacing Jalapeño Bandit, “Best fucking hot dog I’ve ever had!” Then as an afterthought, “Could’ve been hotter, though.”

A Poem To My Car

That sweet summer,
When romance bloomed,
I squeezed your wheel,
You purred and vroomed.

We fled together,
‘Cross miles of road,
In your sexy-ass trunk,
My treasure – stowed.

But now you’re cold,
You run not oft,
I stroked your engine,
You spat and coughed.

What did I do?
Did I push too hard?
Did I dent your affection?
Is your chassis scarred?

You broke my heart,
Our love, unhitched.
I replaced every part,
You owe me bitch!

No Animosity

There was a period of about four years, from 2005 to 2009, where I had to really disconnect myself from the adult industry. Conflicting interests, really. I had to flee in order to recoup.
It is frustrating, though, when you like certain people, and yet, the process is still necessary.

I went to a friend’s birthday gathering a few weeks ago and ran into an old friend. We were never the best of friends, but we got along okay and had one very good mutual friend. We didn’t really talk right away, but once we started to talk, it was wonderful! Read more