Sunday, November 13, 2011
I Don't Know That One. Hum a Few Bars...
I'M FREAKING OUT HERE!
Every time I think about it I feel that fight or flight reflex kick in and I want run and punch a random pretty boy in the face... It's mean of me, I know.
It's not HIS fault he's pretty. Pretty little pony. Brush his hair with a pretty pink comb every morning, dressing on the side, pimp his ride. Metro man all cool and tan.
I have been asked to SING. A SOLO. ALL ALONE. ...By myself. In front of PEOPLE. LOTS OF PEOPLE. At the church Christmas party on December 3rd in the year of our lord 2000 and eleven.
I need a bag to breathe into... *head between the knees*
My tummy feels funny. Vision is blurred. Speaking is slurred.
I don't understand what has happened to me.
SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO ME!!
(I apologize for shouting but I'm feeling stressed here. I need a friend who will let me shout. Will you be that friend? You will? Mmmk. Thanks.)
Ever since I could walk I was singing and dancing on stage and off. If there was a microphone or dance floor available I would naturally gravitate toward it.
My daddy would play guitar and I would sing at every family/social function we attended. I was a drama freak in high school. I danced at studios and in college and in clubs.
It never occurred to me to be nervous. I had crowds eating out of my hand like hungry stray puppies roaming a dank, dark alley. They were verily starving for entertainment.
Here is a leftover pork chop to eat out of my hand, I would say to the smiling crowds of stray puppies. And they would eat it up. Chomp. Chomp. Yum. Yum. Clap. Clap. ENCORE!
But now? Well, I suppose I am out of practice.
I also really want the Mormons to like me.
What if I CHOKE? Oh crap. WHAT IF I THROW UP OR PASS OUT OR RUN OFF THE STAGE CRYING AND SUCKING MY THUMB? The Mormons won't like me and no one will invite my children to birthday parties and we will have to sit in the back row at church and not make eye contact with anyone for the shame I brought upon our once respectable family. Eventually we will have to live in a dank, dark alley with the stray pups.
I can't say no to the singing gig, however. I would never forgive myself. If I say no for fear I may as well stay home, become a hermit and begin hoarding cheese and used body wax balls.
Plus I shouldn't hide my talents under a bushel or bury them in the sand. That's called sinning.
I'm supposed to sing something fun.
I'm famous for singing Santa Baby with a feather boa and elbow gloves. I may do that one. These particular Mormons haven't seen that number yet.
Or maybe I'll sing Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.
Or possibly an energetic rendition of Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an Egg...
Or I'll bust out, I like big butts and I cannot lie... you otha brothas can't deny, when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face I get SPRUNG! ....My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hon! (I know all the words to that one...)
Do YOU have any suggestions? I can sing pretty much anything as long as I'm not vomiting simultaneously.
What's your favorite Christmas song?
And what do YOU do to calm ruffled nerves?