No, I’m Not MIA. Nor am I AWOL….

…..I’ve been out of town, trying to buy a house in another province.

Lo, we managed to find a house, make an offer, lift the conditions, and we take over our new pad on September 2nd. Yay, or something.

More about that another time.

After a week of being nearly internetless, I’m momentarily back on line before the hideously invasive surgery on August 19th, and then moving to Winnipeg on August 30th.

Due to jet lag, an overly hot house and general lack of ideas at the moment, I’m going to take this opportunity to sit on my arse and watch True Blood instead of writing.

In lieu, I offer one of my older blog posts from my other (long-retired) blog.

Red Light, Yellow Light, Green Light…No?

If, at any given time between 1988 and 1998 you had approached me and asked me “Hey Tia! What is your favorite band?” I wouldn’t have hesitated to inform you that I had a deep, unbridled love for all things Def Leppard. I remember the magical moment I first heard “Love Bites” on American Top 40, and the subsequent angst-y moments of my early pubescent life that were spent sitting in the dark, bawling, while listening to Love Bites over and over again on a poor quality mixed tape full of songs pirated from the radio. Love Bites was followed up with “Rocket” which seemed to be following me everywhere I went that summer, and Def Leppard became my new obsession. Bon Jovi had a good deal of market-share in my soul at the time, but the spunky Brit band with the unrelenting one-armed drummer had my heart. At some point, I managed to rub enough pennies together to afford to skip into Sight and Sound, and bought my first piece of vinyl – “Hysteria.” My life was changed. A fan of late 80’s big hair and loud guitars had been hatched.

The song that really grabbed me, and seemingly, a lot of people in my peer group, was not Love Bites or Rocket. It was “Pour Some Sugar On Me.” I couldn’t tell you exactly why it raptured me so, as I really did NOT get the context of the words at the time, nor have I ever (to this day) seen the music video. The beat? The enthusiasm? It just made me want to stand up and sing. To dance. To rock out. When my parents were out, I’d run around the house blaring Pour Some Sugar On Me, making up dance routines and sliding up and down the door frame growling “I’m hawt! Sticky sweeeeeeet! From my hands to my feet, yah…” I was certain that I was going to be the Paula Abdul of Rock, and choreographed complex moves and actions to go with the lyrics and rhythm. When I got a bit older, the song made me feel sexy & powerful. I would drive to my life guarding job in my fugly red Eagle Vista, singing my heart out (I’m completely tone deaf, yo) on the open road. Goddammit, I loved Pour Some Sugar On Me. Favorite song ever.

Fast forward to 2008 – twenty years later. I’m married to a man who prefers Kenny G (and at best George Michael) and has had little tolerance for my affinity for hard rock. The vinyl has been donated to thrift stores. My brother inherited my vast collection of hair band tapes. My preference for music is still rock, but of a classic sort – Stones, Beatles, The Guess Who, Neil Young. Cassettes pirated off of the radio are something of an in-joke between my girlfriends and I, as we’re fully equipped with MP3 players and vast play lists. The days of standing around waiting for Kasey Kasem or Shadoe Stevens to play the song you wanted to tape are now long gone. There is no DJ talking over the first 20 seconds of your recording. Just crispness. Sterile music.

I happened to be hauling The Fowl to the pool for swimming lessons the other day, and my preferred radio station, Classic Rock 101, coughed up Pour Some Sugar On Me. I was delighted, as the few bars at the beginning of the song triggered the nostalgia button in my brain, and I reached for the dial and cranked that puppy up. I started rocking out, not really caring if the BMW driver next to me was judging me. I didn’t care if the Fowl thought that my music was loud. I was living!

Hey!
C’mon, take a bottle, shake it up
Break the bubble, break it up!”

What? What? Those aren’t the words! No! What the hell?

Isn’t it: “Make a fire! Shake it up! Be a rival! Break it up..” ???

“Mirror queen, mannequin, rhythm of love
Sweet dream, saccharine, loosen up (loosen up)”

Heh? No! I can’t believe what I’m hearing! It’s “mnkn, mnkin, rhythm from below. Sweet dream, seraphim, you say love (you say love)”

My foundations were shaken. This, is my favorite song EVAH. I have spent TWO DECADES singing it! Those are NOT the words. Maybe someone slipped something into my caramel machiatto at Starbucks, and I was hearing things?

I went home after pondering the changed lyrics to PSSOM, and ran to the Internet. Googled the lyrics.

The pain! Oh, my aching heart! My red face!

I have been singing my OWN special(needs) lyrics for 20 years. Imagine my surprise when I read what they REALLY were.

“Lookin’ like a tramp, like a video vamp
Demolition woman, can I be your man?
Razzle ‘n’ a dazzle ‘n’ a flash a little light
Television lover, baby, go all night
Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet
Little miss ah innocent sugar me, yeah.”

Seriously?

I had been singing:

“Livin’ like a tramp, like a video scamp, television woman, can I be your man? Razzle and a dazzle and a catch it in my eye! Television lady, baby do or die! Summertime, anytime, sugar me sweet, lead me on baby, sugar me, yeah!’

This has shaken all of my core beliefs. I mean, if 20 years goes by and I was wrong about what the lyrics to my favorite song were, what ELSE am I wrong about? Maybe there IS no utopian political ideology. Maybe there is no such thing as a diet soft drink that tastes good. Maybe Elvis is in Argentina farming sheep. I just don’t know what to believe any more….

Maybe if there had been some mofo liner notes included with the record, this whole earth-shattering revealation could have been avoided, and instead of being a 30 year old white collar wife & mommy, I WOULD be the Paula Abdul of Rock.

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