I know I come across as extremely put together and mature, and what you’re about to read could blow your mind, but there are times when I’m pretty ridiculous. When I say ridiculous, I mostly mean silly/awkward/probably offensive to many cultures.
My parents raised me well and taught me how to act appropriately in public. I can usually get by, day to day without committing any sort of major social faux-pas, but when I’m alone, all bets are off. Let me enlighten you with what you might find me doing if my roommate has left me home alone, and I am left to my own devices to entertain myself.
I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned that I love to sing. While some people might tell you that I have “talent”, I prefer to take pride in my ability to sing in a wide variety of styles and accents. This is more of a ‘private’ skill- sort of like a little secret I have with myself (and I guess now with all of you, too. Whaddup.) While I don’t have a preference for any particular type of song, I get a lot of joy out of singing songs that the American Idol judges would say “is too big for me.” In other words, songs sung by such divas as Whitney and Mariah. Often, as I’m singing my throat out to I Will Always Love You, or Alicia’s Fallin’, I realize that singing it ‘normally’ is both boring and stupid. Don’t get me wrong, those bitches can sing, but it’s a bloody fucking yawnfest to sing that shit alone in my room. I only ever last half a verse or so before I get tired of it and decide it needs to be sung differently.
More often than not, my go-to style is a Hindi/Bollywood inspired voice. Coming from a white, Irish-Canadian girl’s mouth, I imagine this is pretty offensive to overhear, but when I’m alone with myself, it isn’t remotely offensive; it’s just plain awesome. Sometimes I’ll convince myself I should get into the Bollywood industry, if they could just overlook my nationality. I mix in some dance moves I’ve seen on late night Hindi TV stations, throw political correctness to the wind and fantasize about the glory days to come. Usually by the time I finish the song, I come to the conclusion that I’m not that good, and switch to a good ol’ country twang. T-Swift has got nothing on me, y’all. I’ve had tears on my guitar since she was sucking on a placenta. (I’ll be the first to admit I’m pretty clueless when it comes to pregnancy. Babies suck on placenta, right? Whatever. T-Swift totally would be the type to suck on one. She’s totally one of ‘those’ girls.)
I don’t mean to hate on Swifty. I think I may have gotten off topic.
You would also find me dancing- probably in my underwear, maybe in the mirror, and most definitely to Hiphop and/or Pop music. Much like my un-blossomed Bollywood career, I’m also convinced that if I could just get into shape, I could totally be a badass backup dancer to such rockstars as Ke$ha, Beyonce or Britney. (Brit and I would tots be BFFs. We already have the name thing going for us, plus I could learn how to do a sick weave, and we could sit together on mounds of hair, giggling about how much she needs to get her shit together. Brit would confide in me. I just know she would. I’m not sure why she’d be giggling, but goddamnit the bitch will giggle if I tell her to.)
When I was a kid/pre-teen, I took all sorts of dance lessons, with a focus in Jazz. I don’t know about you, but if someone said “She was jazz dancing”, even after all of the years of classes, I still probably wouldn’t know what that meant. I’d just assume she was throwing some mad Jazz Hands, and leave it at that. Needless to say, that dance style will not be coming in handy when I’m backing up Brit. My one year of Hiphop lessons, however, will definitely pay off. Not only did we learn how to gyrate like no one’s watching, we also learned some pretty sick stripper moves, including the classic “drop to your knees and slap your palms against the floor”, and a sexy “walk like an Egyptian” variation that would have made The Bangles blush. These moves have become the stepping stone to my budding dance career. (If you can call dancing in the privacy of your room and/or when you’re wasted on the dance floor having a dance-off with a gay man a ‘budding career’.)
While dancing and singing alone can make for hours of entertainment, I’m also a big fan of making faces in the mirror to see how outrageous I can look. Turns out: I can look pretty fucking outrageous. If I’m alone and I catch myself in the mirror, I’ll smile a little to see how my teeth are looking that day. Once I look at myself mid-smile, I’ll decide that it’s ridiculous that I’m smiling at myself and instead I’ll stretch my mouth as far as possible, throw my head back and make googley eyes at myself. I then think to myself Damn I’m sexy, choke on my saliva, and go about my business. While this mostly only occurs in the privacy of my own home, it has been known to happen in fitting rooms, as well. Sometimes, if I get an image of the sales person walking in on me mid-mouthstretch, all googley-eyed, I’ll start laughing hysterically and have to stop before I choke on my own tongue.
My outrageous faces aren’t limited to this one monstrosity, but it’s a personal fave.
In case you are wondering, I have yet to get caught.
While I do a lot of other ridiculous things when I’m alone, I’m pretty sure nothing can beat when these three things get thrown together in a clusterfuck of crazy. No song is safe from my Bollywood-style serenades.
Akon? Oh fuck yes.
Neil Young? Duh.
The Beatles? The more the better.
Katy Perry? It’s really the only way to make her songs sound good.
Like any blossoming rockstar knows, if you can dance while you sing, you’re pretty much set for life. The sexy faces are just an added bonus.
So, in the throes of a Hindi inspired Rolling in the Deep, I’ll get my booty shaking, throw my palms to the ground like I just don’t care, and watch myself in the mirror as my face is contorted and smushed into what can only be described as atrocious and hideous.
I’m only moments away from stardom. I can feel it.
If I could only get Brit to answer my calls…