Tuesday, December 6, 2011

#13.5...it doesn't really count.

Growing up, I had a group of 5 girlfriends - we called ourselves the sugar girls. Corny I know, but we were inseparable throughout high school. My friend Julie had the best house. Not only did she have an older brother with cute friends but she also had a trampoline and a pool...and when you're 15, what else could you possibly want in life? She also had a video camera. Which is where this G rated story is headed ( I know your sick mind was headed that way).

Julie thought it was a great idea to memorex every event. Like the book report - Animal Farm by George Orwell - that I faintly remember filming at my next door neighbors house because their kids had a play farm. I don't really remember much about the book or the video except that it ended with Ryan Jones jumping over me in roller blades across a very busy Pump Road. What that had to do with talking farm animals I'll never remember. There also was the time when we recreated Sampson, Abraham and Gregory from Romeo and Juliet. This, too, I faintly remember but  it had something to do with getting the attention of Steven Schemmel and Scott Appicella, both of which I was in love with. Or the time when for our US government class, we recreated a robbery by "borrowing" my new next door neighbor, Mr. D's, white Mitsubishi 300x putting a flashing light on the top and driving up and down my cul-de-sac street really fast blaring the cops theme as my friend Lee climbed through my front window. No one seemed to care that a crazy red headed girl was speeding through the neighborhood or that a boy was climbing out of the house with a tv or the fact that my father also got into the video by dressing as "blind justice" wearing a black robe, a cane and sunglasses.
Where was I going with this walk down memory lane? Well last Thursday I woke up singing a song. This in itself isn't really odd for me. But I couldn't remember the words, only the music. And so for 5 days I've been humming and driving myself crazy only remembering "cocaine katie". It finally hit me...and I started to remember.  You see, this too was a high school project that we videoed. I'll paint the scene - jeans, flannel (we were in costume), and some sort of instrument on Julie's patio singing this weirdo random song that her dad (a fiercely republican hippie) listened to over and over. "On the cover of the rolling stone". Never heard of it? Neither had Ann or I before we were coerced into performing the song.

The video is still out there...somewhere...along with my dignity and one of the many reasons I'll never be able to run for congress (but a congressional wife is totally fine Tim Ryan!)
This was a super long about way of giving you #13.5 on the holiday movie schedule, because I youtubed one of the songs and it triggered the "rolling stone" song.  See, I had never seen of heard this movie until last week but I had multiple emails, texts, and even a CPs happy hour to discuss Emmit Otter. To be honest, I don't get it. Singing puppets are one thing but poor singing puppets? Well that's where I draw the line. Yes, I know that this Jim Hensen classic is supposed to teach is the true meaning of Christmas - that we are supposed to remember to love each other and not the presents and that's all well and good. But I'm pretty sure I would understand the meaning more with the LV drawstring monogrammed bag.


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