I have this really interesting relationship with music … for those who have read me often you know my music tastes span from Bach & Beethoven & Clementi to Prince, Kanye West, Tori Amos, and most recently Charlotte Martin. There is a song on her Stromata album called “The Dance”. The chorus … oh my god. It has to be one of the prettiest things I’ve heard in a long time. The rhythm is intricate, interesting, haunting and poignant. Her voice sounds similar to Tori Amos which is a big huge plus for me, too. So yeah … I’m totally into Charlotte lately. I dig her. If you enjoy chick music (eyes Tiffy with a wink) you may really enjoy her, too.

So this post is going to be to the accompaniment of Charlotte Martin. Think Chick music with a certain depressing/yearning note and you’ll get the affect. *wink*.

I realize that I have written some pretty interesting and “deep” posts lately - and not that I need to explain anything in my blog to anyone …. I’d like to.

I’m a writer… I write all the time with and with out paper and pen. I write in my head - gathering up little bits of information that may come out in a story, role play, poem, journal entry, etc. I write on little pieces of paper while listening to lectures during school, or while waiting in line at the grocery store, or sitting in the really comfy chair with Jackson in my lap after breakfast. I’ve always written. When I’m not writing I’m buying things to write with or buying things to write on. Writing makes me feel … relief. Writing makes me feel better and sometimes (lately) it makes me feel slightly worse… I am a writer and I’m one of the most frustrating kinds of writers, I think. I’m not well organized in how I write and I know my punctuation leaves much to be desired. I’m also an emotional writer - which means (as you probably have guessed) I either write when I’m on some rant fest, or when I’m in love, or when I’m frustrated or sad or one of the other 50 or so emotionally charged feelings that cause me to write in here. I can be either very funny or extremely depressing, I can write and inspire you or write and completely frustrate the ever living hell out of you. I can write things that will make you want to know me better, or I could write something that could cut you to the core…leaving nothing unexposed and laying all your shit bare (tyt). I can use my words as little tiny daggers aimed directly at the most sensitive part of your soul and I can use words as soft delicate caresses - snake charming explosive orgasms from your body.

Writing - is how I dance. And the things that I write here … though some may see it as a sort of marketing genius - is really just an invitation to “you” to dance with me. It may not be the type of dance you are looking for all the time - but it will be a dance that is intimate. You WILL get to know me while dancing with me - or by reading what I write. You may not always like what I have to say, hell, sometimes I don’t like what I have to say, either! But you will get to know who I am … and if you just hang in there for a little bit you’ll get to the place where I make you laugh again, or give you a shiver down your spine from some delicate verbal caress I throw out onto the page. You may even hold some of the more intimate “CeCe-isms” hostage and unleash them during a call with me…making our time even that much more connected. If you want. It’s up to you.

I know that my “job” is often an escape from the real world … and sometimes I feel a certain amount of pressure to be that type of an escape for you all. I know that you have a wife that is telling you how she feels all the time maybe - or that demanding girlfriend who is always so caught up in her feelings and blah blah blah. Maybe you’d prefer to have a girl to sit back and drink beer with - trouble free - just another one of the guys…with tits. Maybe getting to know me is just a little too much information … a little too real when all you really wanted was a convenient 15 minute fantasy; a break from your own reality. I get it. I don’t blame you. Truth is … I’m that girl that you can sit back and drink a beer with. I’m that girl that can give you 15 minute breaks from reality. But I’m also pretty damn complex (or at least I’d like to think I am…). I’m “flighty” at times, a little demanding, spoiled, egotistical, self-loathing at times, hyper, imaginative, stubborn, sensitive, pensive, shy, eager… and a dancer. I like to dance. I live for that type of connection. That’s just who I am.

I’ll be dancing tonight from 9:00PM - 1:00AM.

My parents are kinda … hippie-ish, I guess you would say. I have mentioned it before - the shag carpet straight out of The Brady Bunch (green carpeting at that!), the vinyl (records) of bearded men, my mother’s fascination with monks even though she is a devoted Lutheran, my father’s campfire retreats he would hold during most of the summer, and the pig roasts we would have at the family reunions. Wait - that’s more gross than Hippie-ish, right?

My 3 brothers tried their hardest to introduce me to other music - and some of it stuck - but I have to admit that I’m a bit back dated. Blame my parents.

I don’t remember ever getting the “talk” from my mother, either. I remember one day I woke up - and I had a little talk with my mother, and she led me to the bathroom and showed me my supplies under the sink. That was it. Until later that evening. My mother informed me around 5:00pm that Wednesday evening that our family would be going out to celebrate. When I asked her what the blessed event was that needed such celebratory hoopala, she smiled a sneaky little smile and told me to wear a pretty dress. My 3 brothers, my parents and I scrambled into the car and drove into town, sat down at the local diner and ordered whatever we wanted from the 2 page glossy menu. Before the waiter served us, my mother made the announcement. “CeCe became a woman today.” My brothers looked at me. Then they looked at me again. My eldest brother snorted a little, and the 2 others repeated the sound and added, “She don’t look no different to me!” to the mix. I was humiliated. Not only was I wearing what could only be described as a diaper, but I was also humiliated in front of my entire family. I think the other people at the diner came over later to offer their congratulations, too. I never forgot it. I might have mentioned it before in this blog - and if I did - well - it’s part of my healing to talk about these things…at least you are just reading it - you didn’t actually have to experience it like I did. *sad face*

So when my little cousin informed me that her best friend had “started” - I took it as a personal mission to make sure we celebrated the event appropriately. We went to pick her up and delivered her a care package of carefree, chocolate, midol and a sympathy card. We also burned a disc with all sorts of songs we felt would be appropriate for her little journey into womanhood; Genie in a bottle, Breaking Dishes, More Than a Woman, I’m Every Woman, Emotions, Girl…You’ll be a Woman Soon, and a few others. I told the poor little camper that lunch was on me - and that she could choose the place. We drove about 5 minutes while I threw out suggestions. She settled finally on In and Out - a local burger joint. I thought that maybe she wanted a milkshake or something, but she chose a diet coke (??). She calmly informed me that the blessed event had ended as soon as it had started and that she was fine and really didn’t see the big deal. I laughed - but didn’t dare destroy her dream. She also believes that texting boys in the middle of the night is innocent and the only bad thing about low rider jeans is that you can’t bend over with out showing the crack of your ass. I appreciate the innocence of 7th graders. When I played “Edge of 17″ for her and announced that Stevie Nicks was someone she needed to recognize as pure talent - she grinned and told me her parents listened to her all the time. Hmph. As I ate my salad I suddenly realized that I have somehow squeezed past this “girl” stage into this woman stage - with out so much as a dinner or announcement. It didn’t happen that night my parents took me out to dinner - but happened somewhere between graduation and eating a salad with 2 13 year olds who liked thousand island dressing on their french fries.

I grabbed a near by marker and threw a hair brush to my 2 pals and taught them how to do a Stevie Nicks song with style. “Just like the white winged dove….” we sang loudly and out of tune… and giggled while singing “ooooh baby oooh”.

I can’t wait for the next “dinner”.

Until then - I’ll be working tonight until Midnight - and will log on for a bit tomorrow morning before my orthodontist appointment. Tomorrow evening I’ll be working until Midnight or later if need be. I’ll update again to let you in on my schedule this weekend.

Talk to you soon… oh - and … If you so desire - listen to a little bit of “edge of 17″. It’s a fabulous song. No hair brush required. *wink*

My father had a beard for a while. I thought it was… interesting. He kinda looked like Paul Bunyon. He looked a bit scary - but it grew on me. I like the 4 o’clock - or is it 5′oclock? shadow look. I’m stalling.

I don’t know if it’s the beard thing or not - but I have a few musical crushes. They will probably shock you - but I’m a complex person. I’m still stalling.

Ok - fine. Here it is: I love the bearded guys of the late 70’s early 80’s. I’m talkin Kenny Loggins and Jim Messina, Dan Fogelberg, and even a bit of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. I really love those bearded guys. The music always makes me think of campfires and marshmallows and my father’s guitar playing. Even though John Denver isn’t a bearded guy I even like him. Annies Song is one of my favorite songs of all times. I think I mentioned it once before on here and it deserves to be mentioned again. What ever happened to Dan F? I’m sure I’ll hear him this New Year’s eve like I do every year…I like that song - but I prefer Longer Than. God…he’s so romantic AND cute.

You know what it is? Those bearded guys really knew how to sing about love. You fill up my senses like a walk in the forest? and what about Longer than any bird ever flew - I’ve been in love with you? And Even though we ain’t got money… I’m still in love with ya honey… Dang. That’s beautiful. Summer breeze makes me feel fine… blowin thru the jasmine in my … never mind. That didn’t count - there were drugs involved with those group of bearded guys.

Anyway - I just thought that you should know. If this makes you love me less then … I don’t know what to tell ya. LOL. But I’m sick of hiding it. I’m a proud 70’s beard lover. So bushy and out of control but mushy and sensitive underneath it all. *sigh*

Ok - about this being on alerts thing. I’ve been really under the weather. I’ve been so ill that even Danny’s Song can’t cheer me up. First I had a really bad cold. I caught it - I’m blaming Jackson because I distinctly recall hearing a slight sneeze from that adorable snout. But before that I had my monthly visit with the Dr. of Agony - or the Orthodontist as he likes to be called. Rubber bands and thicker wires makes for a very achy CeCe. I thought that if I just left the phone on “alerts” that when I caught a little bit of a break I would be able to … you know… take a call or two. It’s not deliberate - the calls I take, I mean. I just take the ones that I happen to hear when I gain consciousness. I’ll be going to a concert tonight via telecast (St. Olaf Christmas Concert … it’s very important in our family. It’s a Lutheran thang) and then I’ll be logging in tonight if I can possibly make it - around 9:00PM or so. I figure a hot shower and a shot or two of brandy will do the trick.

Sorry about the lack of updates - but I did manage to write 2 times this week. 1 post shy. Maybe I’ll make my goal this upcoming week. One can dream.