What I'm Listening To:

Today's playlist is a little embarrassing to confess to. So, without further ado:

1. Sweet, Ballroom Blitz
2. Rod Stewart, Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?
3. Josie and the Pussycats, Those Three Small Words
4. Village People, YMCA
5. REM, Losing My Religion
6. GoGos, We Got the Beat
7. Men at Work, Who Can It Be Now?
8. Letters to Cleo, I Want You to Want Me
9. Foreigner, Jukebox Hero. I have a funny story--well, no, not funny, but a story, nonetheless--associated with this song.
10. Stevie Ray Vaughn, If the House is a'rockin'

First the Jukebox Hero story. I was 17 or 18, still living at home. I worked in Dallas, quite a long way from home. I went with a guy I was crushing on to see Van Halen. He picked me up from work and did the driving. We were both underage, but that didn't stop us from drinking and necking after the concert. We had left his friend's house where we'd been hanging out, and he was driving me back to my office so I could get my car and go home. He was probably speeding, or giving off other indications that he was intoxicated, as a police cruiser flashed its lights and turned on the sirens. Instead of pulling over, the idiot actually sped up and tried to outrun the cops. The single cruiser was joined by another two or three. I heard the song Jukebox Hero playing on his car radio while I was screaming at him to pull over. He finally did pull over, and was immediately searched, cuffed, and put into a police car. The police told me I was free to go. When I panicked and said that I was miles away from either my own car or from my home, they allowed my date to give me a few quarters (we'd spent all the cash I had with me during the evening) and the phone number of one of his friends who lived nearby before they DROVE OFF AND LEFT ME alone, in Highland Park Dallas, at about 2 a.m. I called my date's friend, and he and his father came to pick me up. Instead of taking me back to my car, they very kindly drove me all the way to Fort Worth where I lived. I had some scary moments, though, while I was waiting for them to arrive. I saw a car cruise by me quite slowly; it turned and came back the opposite direction even more slowly, and then turned again. Fortunately my rescuers got there before the people in the car got back to me. I had been mentally rehearsing the way my mother had taught me to defend myself in a life-or-death situation, but was grateful that I didn't have to try it out.

You know, I was angry and disgusted then with the police. And over the years, the anger and disgust have not ceased. I'm 42 now, nearly 43, and it still appalls me that they left a nubile young woman alone at 2 a.m. on a street corner in Dallas, with no transportation and my nearest relatives tens of miles away.

I have no idea what happened to my date after he spent the night in jail. His mother, when I called the next day to check on him, spat accusations at me like it was my fault the moron was driving drunk and didn't pull over when the police first tried to stop him. I never saw him again.

Okay, enough of that. I'm changing subjects. I was thinking earlier today about that Dandy Warhols song I love so much, Bohemian Like You. And it occurred to me that I spent much of my life playing different parts. When I was little, we moved a lot. A whole lot. And I was naturally shy and withdrawn, and it became more and more difficult to make friends because I knew that we were going to leave them behind. So whenever I found someone who would tolerate me, I began adapting to the expectations of that person and his or her group of friends. I was hanging out with stoners? Okay, so I'll dress like they do and listen to music I hate. Didn't do any drugs, though. I was hanging out with punk rockers? Okay, I'll rip my clothes and put safety pins through my shirts, but I'm not piercing my tongue or anything else. Was I hanging out with Mormon moms? Okay, I'll wear the clothes and do the crafts. Anything in an attempt to fit in. And I never had any true friends, because no one knew me. I mean, I had friends, sure, people that I hung out with. But all of those people, when I decided I wasn't going to play that particular role anymore, dumped me faster than a red-hot ember. Oh--and for an example of what I used to be like, watch Freaks and Geeks. I swear I had some of those clothes, and I remember walking around in my Dad's old military jackets.

It's taken a lot of courage for me to take off my masks and be myself. Sometimes I'm not even sure who I am, but that's okay. I've got eternity to figure it out. I'm glad for the friends I have who love me despite anything. It takes courage to be willing to stand up and stand out, and I'm glad that I've been learning how to have that kind of courage. Because what's worse: having plenty of friends who don't know and don't care to know the real you, or having a very few friends who love you despite the eccentricities and quirks and strangeness? I know which is worse. I've been to both places. And I'm happy where I am.

Okay, one more change of topic and then I'm done. I mentioned a song being an earworm the other day. Today while I was at lunch I started thinking about other earwormy songs. It's a Small World, Beer Barrel Polka, and Lucille are among them. Look, laugh if you must, but I've just confessed how strange I am, so you should expect it by now. Anyway, I remembered the worst earwormy song ever written. Breakfast at Tiffany's. Have you ever heard it? If you have, you're probably already mentally singing it while you cuss me out. I hate that song. I hate that all I have to do is think of it in order to mentally sing it for day. I hate when I hear it in the grocery store, and catch myself dancing down the aisles while singing along. (I hate even worse when I get caught dancing down the aisles while singing along.) So what's your worst earworm song? Share, so I can quit thinking about Breakfast at Tiffany's!