Beauty Mark

I have this mole.

It's a beauty mark actually.

It is near my right eye.

I'm not sure if you have noticed.

I don't mind it so much. It is one of those signature imperfections that adds to my quirky cuteness, (when I don't look gross.) It is to me, as Jewel's snaggle tooth is to her, or Tina Fey's scar.

I think.

I haven't always had this mole, beauty mark, I mean. It is not in any baby pictures. Pictures of my childhood are a little grainy and I can't tell for sure.

It would make sense if it came about sometime during adolescence; hormones pinging off every cell in my body.

I'm not sure what to do about it, though. I don't mind it and it minds its own business. But I wonder if it will turn on me some day, kill me even. I admire it suspiciously from the corner of my eye.

Waiting.

It is just there.

I'm not sure if you have noticed.

The Worst

I am officially the worst blogger. I'm not referring to content. Thats decent. Its the actually finishing the blog that I suck at. Do you know how many posts I've started and not finished? 4. That includes the one where I talk about not finishing blogs...

Ug, so this is cheap... but its necessary.

This is my whole blog for the day.

I had a GREAT weekend. So, I'll tell you about that later. It includes food and tattoos!

OK Posting

I'm not going to tell you the make or model

I love my phone. When it dies, I will absolutely by the same brand, if not the same exact model. There are things wrong with it. Certainly, its not perfect, but for the price and my needs... I love my phone. The best thing about this bad boy is the slot for an 8 gb memory card. I have hundreds of songs, thousands of 2mp photos. I record movies of my adorable kids and kittens. Not so much the dog, because she is more a pain in the ass than cute, but you get the idea. I love my phone. And say what you will about pay as you go plans... I know exactly where every cent of my $30 - $50 a month goes. I never see a lame ass connectivity charge or some uninterpretable bill not even a professor in Sanskrit can translate.

One neato little feature on my lovely phone is the voice recorder. I know most phones come with one these days and lots of smart phones have some memory, but like I said before, for the price and my needs...

Now, if you know me, you know that I am song writer by hobby. If you don't know me, hey, I'm a song writer by hobby! I only grew the balls to do this about 2 years ago. Singing has been a part of me since I was wee. I grew up with my mothers motown and my sisters weird 80s pop and my dad's Wagner. (I'm imagining Devo in shiny suits and Viking helmets right now.) When in gradeschool, I tried keyboard, took 5 guitar lessons, mastered The First Noel on recorder, but nothing stuck.

I'll tell you something right now and save an intense revelatory moment for something I haven't discovered about myself yet. I'm terrified of failure. Terrified to the point that I won't try anything new until I am reasonably sure I'll reasonably succeed. It's a fear that has left me out of a lot of activities I might have enjoyed, really hindered my adolescent development, contributed to self medication of varying degrees and subsequent poor choices.

Gosh, you know this is a lot heavier than I anticipated! I only wanted to talk about my kick booty phone!

Anyhoosey, my phone rocks. Long story longer, as I get over my irrational fears and insecurities, I am taking hold of that musical part of me and learning guitar. I shuffle that together with a boat load of maudlin poetry and TA DA, I have a song. Isn't that grand?

I have days where I do nothing in the way of music, don't touch a pen or guitar. And then there are days where ideas and lyrics and melodies and bass lines and harmonies and hooks just ooze out of me. And, good grief, that is why I love, love, love my phone and its neato little voice recorder and the 8 gb of memory. I have hundreds of recordings and snippets; songs recorded 12 different ways, 40 different versions of 1 single idea.

Now, the suck thing about it is that unless I am diligent, the files save out as "Recording 1", "Recording 2" "Recording 857", and so, when I have time, I sit down and listen to each one and rename them. That is what I was just doing a moment ago. It's tedious, but a fascinating little demonstration of the evolution of a song and my guitar playing ability. (Thank god my guitar from February 5th, 2010 is better than that of June 5th, 2009, (THANK GOD!)) So I do this, I enjoy it, I rename the files, I make new ones. And as I listen to the struggle, I wish I had talent like Carol King and Cole Porter, and Stevie Wonder. Though, come to think of it, they're probably wishing they had my phone.

Blog

Time for blog. I promise this will get more interesting and then less, then more then not at all interesting!

Begin

If you've ever met my husband you already know that one of his ongoing hobbies is creating band names. His best ever was the name of a much anticipated all girl band in the late 90s early 00s called Anal Yourmometer. There were girls, there were instruments. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortuitously, none of said girls could actually play said instruments. Visions of rocker girls faded but the name was strong and lives on. In fact, the none of the bands EVER materialize, but fortunately for all of us, Brian never stopped naming them.

Last night, Brian came home with a good one, one that spoke to me and I am officially taking it as a moniker. Not THE moniker. I'm noncommittal and frankly too chicken shit to make that big of a decision.

Wait its not that big of a decision.

I do feel that writing in this venue requires some focus. The subject "Me" is a little broad, or very broad if you are into puns. What does SexNotLove mean? Well I am going to take the asshole creative type cop out and refuse to interpret my own 'art.' You can't put your thumb on a sunbeam.

That is a joke.

Maybe I'll discover what it means over time. Maybe YOU will, maybe we'll discover together that it has none and never will be able to be categorized in a tidy label. Maybe SexNotLove will be a revolt against labels and against the limits labels create. Maybe we can just enjoy the action without feeling one way or another about it. ...Strip away pretense, and just be.