I Was Born on Memorial Day

I wanted to tell you the story of my birth, but even my near idydic memory isn’t that good. So I enlisted the help of someone who would know better than anyone else.

Blog Friends, meet Mom. Mom, meet the Blogosphere. (I’ve taken the liberty of adding my own two cents in pink).

Chrissy and Mom

This is my mom and I at the White Sox game a few weeks ago.

Well, I was awakened by my daughter this morning at 9:11am to write a blog post…which she’s wanted to do for a while. Oh, if only 30 years ago today it had been so easy. You see, she was born on Memorial Day. Although, it was actually May 30th, it was Monday, Memorial Day, 1983.

None of our friends had children. For the past 5 months or so, I had been their slave. I was the designated driver everywhere (hmm that still has not changed). I was very sick of the drunk people, especially my sister and my husband! So the Sunday night before Memorial Day was party time. At our apartment. Larry (Chrissy’s dad), Susan (my sister) and her then-husband, Jay, had me making drinks all night…until 1 AM! I kept complaining my back hurt and they called me a baby.

After falling asleep for a couple of hours, I awoke to a leaking water (and some other stuff that Chrissy edited out). I was thrilled!!! She’s coming! Christine Regina! The enjoyment of waking up my husband was twofold. Number one I wanted to get to the hospital and see her as quickly as possible. Number two, I knew he was still drunk! Hello payback!

I was calm and collected for the next few hours. My father-in-law arrived to witness, or at least be there for her joyous moment into this world. Yeah, well…that didn’t happen.

Hours went by, and still, no Chrissy. After 8hrs I was still only dilated to 1. At 12 PM, they decided it was time for Pitocin to move the LABOR along. After several hours of this nonsense, and much screaming involved, a nice shot of Demerol may help. GO FOR IT!! A few hours later, still no success and no doctor. You see he had a feeling I was going to need a C-Section, and went home to sleep for a few hours. I was positive that I was dying. My father-in-law went home. My parents and family were told we would call them.

The doctor came back and ordered an X-ray of my pelvis. NOW??? It was 10pm!! And I had been on Pitocin for 10 hours!!! Now an X-ray?

Showing that it would be very doubtful Chrissy would be able to come through my tiny body. (I would kill to be as TINY now, 9 mos and 3 days pregnant I was still 60lbs less than today). At this point, I had been screaming for hours. Loud, piercing screams. NO offense to Chrissy, but I was yelling things like…”Get this fucking thing out of me!!!” That’s not very nice, Mom. The doctor was furious with me. I was scaring all of the other mothers..the ones who had not been in labor for 20 and 1/2 hours and on Pitocin for nearly 12 hours.

Ay 11pm I was prepped for the c-section and as soon as that needle went into my spine, I was like “THANK YOU!” Numbness was good…no pain. Ahhh…where’s my baby!!! I was awake for her birth, but could not see. Larry could not watch it. he had been drunk and happy when it all began. He was now tired beyond measure (poor baby), hungover, and had stood by my side for nearly the entire 20 1/2 hours of labor. Good things take time. He had to wait to see her. She was perfect! Of course, I was.

Aside from the very pointed head, Hey! Who you calling pointy? because she had tried nonstop to come out, I thought she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Happy almost birthday, darling…I love you.

P.S. 10 months and 2 days later, her brother Brian was born. The doctor looked at me after his birth and said…Are you going to listen to me now? I did. Ew.

You guys, I love this story, because my dad was all hammered and had to suck it up and deal with it. And then I took my sweet, sweet time. So I knew I had to share it with you.

Blog Friends, I know a lot of you are moms. Were your kids as much of a pain in the ass as me?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Dress Code Discrimination?

I read about this controversial dress code from Delightfully Ludicrous and I just knew that a rant had to happen.

So I thought I could make it more fun by offering you my very own dress code story and incorporating it into Monday Memories.

Monday Memories

So today, friends, Monday Memories is all about dress codes.

First and foremost, I want to state for the record that it’s a sad sad state of things when the dress code of a child in kindergarten is considered compromised. The fact that it needs to exist at all? Baffling.

I got in trouble in grade school for wearing a tee-shirt featuring Spuds McKenzie, because it represented beer.

But never in a million years would my mother have let me out of the house in a freaking push up bra at 7. Or a thong. A freakin’ thong. I see younger and younger girls at Victoria’s Secret every time I stop in. (Which is a lot, because I have an obsession. And it’s not with their underwear. Yoga pants. Yoga crops. Yoga leggings. Yoga shorts.) But these little girls are buying thongs.

I STILL don’t like thongs.

So back to dress codes. After watching the news clip of the little girl who got in trouble for wearing a hello kitty outfit with a skort and tights (for the skort being “too short”), I was appalled. And annoyed. Because school administrators are very picky about who has to turn their shirts inside out, who has to wear their gym clothes, who has to be sent home. I feel like they may have discriminated against this girl. Not necessarily because of her race, but for anything. Maybe the school didn’t like the way her mother dressed. Maybe the school admins didn’t like the mother. I don’t know, but I don’t like it.

It happened to me once in high school. Because I was the chubby girl. Now in high school, I wasn’t fat. But I was bigger than a lot of the other girls. One of my favorite go-to warm-weather clothing items (when I wasn’t wearing pajamas to school-which I did a lot) was a tube top and overall shorts. I know. Classy. But I liked it. I thought I looked nice. My mom thought I looked nice. The overalls had straps that fit the school’s dress code criteria and lots of girls dressed that way. It wasn’t revealing. At all.

But one day I got pulled to the side by an administrator who politely informed me that it was gym shirt or get sent home. I had a sweatshirt in my locker that I was able to throw over my outfit (though I was sweltering) and I made it through the day. She was discriminating against me, because I was the chubby girl with boobs. She basically told me it was because girls with chests shouldn’t wear clothing like I was wearing. There wasn’t even cleavage showing (well, not any more than the skinny girls showed, anyways).

dress code discrimination

This was not the set in question. This was actually MORE revealing than the one that got me in trouble. I wore this on the last week of school as a “Fuck You” to the administrator who called me out the first time. Guess what? No one said a word. So they pick and choose their battles.

I was pissed, but I survived. And fortunately so will the little girl in her Hello Kitty cuteness. Let’s just hope she doesn’t start shopping and A&F or Victoria’s Secret for bras and thongs next year when she’s 7.

Go visit Lily at It’s a Dome Life for more dress code memories!

So what about you guys? Ever felt like someone in charge was calling you out because you were different?

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Bookish Memories

This week’s Monday Memories is all about books! My story is a short, but sweet one…and by sweet, I mean I had a teacher who didn’t know who she was dealing with…and by that, clearly I mean my mom.

Monday Memories

(Note to Mom: If I get this wrong according to the story in your head…just you know…keep it to yourself 😉 )

In 3rd grade, back when I didn’t have a large collection of chapter books for kids, I would read children’s books. Rapidly. I mean, I also chewed through Ramona Quimby, Fudge, Roald Dahl, The Babysitters Club, and other kid-themed books faster than a lot of kids…But sometimes, I would read several books in one night. Especially if they were my Little Golden Books.

There was all that Book-It stuff in which you got free Pizza Hut personal pan pizzas for reading books. And we got extra credit for the more books we read. I’ve always been a fan of extra credit. Always. Of course, upon reporting these to my 3rd grade teacher, she thought I was making shit up.

When my parents went in for parent teacher conferences? She told them I was a liar and had a problem. So my mom asked, what does she lie about. She says she reads all of these books and it’s impossible to read that much. (Bad teachers don’t do research on the names of the books that kids are reading. Bad teachers assume that the kids are telling the truth that the book titles they list exist, unless of course, there are too many books on the list. THEN, those kids are liars. Bad teachers tell parents that they’re doing a piss poor job of raising a kid who stays up late at night to read books instead of sleep.)

I’m pretty sure my mom went off on her. She was already holding a grudge that I wasn’t in the “gifted” program at school. I just made my own gifted program. By reading more than anyone else. Whatevs. I was reading flipping picture books and writing that shit down. Documentation, my friends. Documentation.

Speaking of which, I wish I still had that shit.

The Best Reading Chair

I’ve been reading in this chair since I was old enough to read. It lived in my Gram’s house for years…she gave it to me when I grew up, because she knew I loved it so much.

Want more bookish memories? Go visit Lily over at It’s a Dome Life. I swear she and I are kindred spirits. If you like me, you’ll love her!

Tell me your favorite bookish memory? What was your favorite book when you were a kid?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: We Put the Loud in DysFUNctional

Today’s Monday Memories to Make You Laugh are all about the dysfunction in families. I could probably write for days about the various ways my family is a little crazy…in an obscenely lovable way. But today…I’ll just tell you about this one little aspect of us.

My family is LOUD. Really. Fucking. Loud. I’m the quiet one. Well. One of the quiet ones. And I put a normal person to shame. Because we’re all loud. You have to be in a family like this. If you want to be heard, you better learn quickly to talk over everyone else. Which is hard. Really. Fucking. Hard.

As a kid, at sleepovers, I was the one getting yelled at to “BE QUIET!” even though I was using my best indoor voice. It just wasn’t an adequate indoor voice for normal households. At my house, yelling was more common that whispering. And yelling didn’t mean anger. It just meant…talking. LOUDLY.

Game nights with the ladies of the family were frightening. Remember that one time I told you all how much I hate Scattergories? It was because of game night with the ladies. They’re loud. And proud. And argue about things that are silly. Loudly. And they never listen to THE ENGLISH MAJOR. Because I’m not loud enough.

But in the exact same breath, the loudness of my family is endearing. It’s lovable. We laugh just as loud as we argue. We’re like Texas. Everything is just BIGGER. We even smile bigger. We cackle. All of the ladies in my family have this infectious cackle. Passed down from my Gram and maybe even before her, we got this big bold laugh that comes from the deepest part of our soul and reaches up to the heavens. And you can’t help but love it. Even though it’s loud. So. Very. Loud.

Every time we leave my family, Brian breathes a sigh of relief. Not because he doesn’t love my family–because he does. But because he comes from the quiet family. His family parties are just as loud as ours…but with THREE TIMES as many people. At least. And his immediate fam? Way quieter. When I met them for the first time…it reminded me of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. (Yes! My family is a lot like that actually. Just you know…not Greek.)

(Just watch from 1:00-2:00 on that clip. Unless you want to watch the rest. Because that movie is awesome. I made requested that Brian watch it during one of our first movie nights in.)

OK, so it wasn’t really awkward. Just quiet. Quieter than I am used to. Because my family is loud.

What about you, Blog Friends? Any family quirks that set you apart from the world?

Next week Lily from It’s a Dome Life and I will be writing about FIRSTS. If you’d like to write about a First (kiss, vacation, car, ANYTHING), send me an e-mail and I’ll make sure to link you in!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Innocence is in the Eye of the Beholder…Especially in New Orleans

Welcome to this week’s edition of Monday Memories to Make You Laugh! Today, we’re using a quote prompt instead of an idea.

“I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.”
F. Scott Fitzgerald

Innocence. When did I lose my innocence? I bet you’re thinking about virginity right now…but I’m not.

  • I’m thinking about the time I went to the dance club, even though I wasn’t supposed to and had to sneak into the house.
  • Or the time I went away to college and started drinking heavily.
  • But maybe the real downward spiral of my innocence truly was my first trip to The Big Easy.

What Happens in N’awlins…

I was 19. At a conference in New Orleans. Pre-Katrina. With more than 2,000 college kids. My fraternity brothers. (Co-ed service fraternity, thank you very much.) The week between Christmas and New Years Day. Unsupervised vacation for the first time in my life. It was glorious. Here are my top three less than innocent moments from that trip.

New Orleans Bourbon Street

5. Experiencing Bourbon Street in all it’s boozy glory. Now I was in my sophomore year of college, so I was no stranger to liquor…But I definitely indulged in all sorts of deliciously potent concoctions. That I got at bars. And not from older friends. Yes, blog friends, I snuck my 19 year old self into several bars, and ordered booze without being carded at others.

4.  Acquiring beads. Hear me out. This was a little unorthodox…but it happened. Instead of the traditional way of earning beads (which I may or may not have done…), my girlfriend and I set up a team effort to help our favorite shy guy out. Now, this was a guy who stayed in a room full of 4 very open ladies who believed You’re a brother…you don’t count…as we walked around in our underwear. And he would run to the window and stare out politely, waiting for us to cover our lady bits. So Mel ran the camera while I yelled down to the lady that our dear gentlemanly friend chose. “Hey! You! You down there with the green shirt! Show us your titties!” And then Mel would pop out from behind our pal and snap a shot with his camera. And then he gave us beads.

1. My first viewing of man bits. And then my second viewing of man bits. Yep. There were dudes just as willing to show their junk as ladies showing their tatas. And one of my newfound lady friends was ALL over that shit. And yes. I was a sophomore in college who had never seen man bits. And so, innocent little Chrissy fell down a little rabbit hole of crazy.

New Orleans Karaoke

For more Monday Memories, or just because they are awesome, check out It’s a Dome Life and First Time Mom and Dad.

 Tell me about a loss of innocence memory that YOU have (and no, I REALLY don’t want to hear about how you, you know…lost IT…unless it’s hilarious. Then you can share with the class.)

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Yes.

No.

Well…not anymore anyways.

First things first: This post is a part of the Monday Memories to Make You Laugh Series. Each week, you can join me, It’s a Dome Life, and First Time Mom and Dad in our adventures of remembering. If you’d like to jump on our little bandwagon, we’d love to have you. Today’s prompt is all about being afraid of the dark.

When I was a kid I used to have these recurring nightmares.

  • A giant gorilla escaped from the zoo that smashes through our kitchen wall from the backyard. (I blame Disney)

  • A pack of wolves chasing me around my dining room table.
  • Vampires – hiding under my bed.

I couldn’t fall asleep without the hall light on. In the holiday season, I had to have Christmas lights in my room (but NEVER red ones. Red ones were evil. They made my pink room glow with scary red walls. I suppose my disdain for the color red makes it a little ironic that I wrote a poem about the color red…)

If I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I would JUMP from my bed to the middle of the floor, so that anything hiding under my bed would have to come out from under there to grab me, thus giving me time to sort of run away. Really, it all worked out in my head.

Nowadays, I can’t sleep without complete darkness, but I’ll always look fondly on the days of vamps and wolves. Oh crap. My childhood was like a clip of Twlight.

Blog friends! Did you have nightmares when you were a kid? Crazy fears of the dark? Worries about something under the bed? Tell me about it!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Because Polish Girls Have Some Crazy Arm Hair…

Today, thanks to Lily from It’s a Dome Life, our Monday Memory is all about Beauty Gone Painful. I’ve already told you about that one time I accidentally cut a giant bald spot in my hair (Seriously, go read that) And there was the time that I was visiting my aunt and we took some SERIOUS glamour shots…This one is all about unpleasant hair.

I’m Polish. (And Irish. And English. And German. And Jewish-ish. And probably a little bit Scottish.)

So regardless of the blond hair as a child, the brownish hair speckled with gray hiding under the red dye, I have some black as black can be arm hair. Or I would if I didn’t shave it all off weekly.

Yep. I shave my arm hair. But long before I thought to just…you know…shave it all off…my little sister and I invested in NADS Australian no-heat wax. With money from my grandfather.

We thought that it would be an excellent way to get rid of that pesky arm hair. And so we lathered ourselves up, and let that shit dry. The we let-er-rip. Holy fucking crap, did that shit hurt. It was like trying to get gum out of your hair and pulling your hair and stabbing your skin and burning your skin (no-heat wax or not) all at once. And it didn’t even do a good job. So what did we do? We tried our legs. And that didn’t work at all because apparently your hair has to be ridiculously long for it to work.

The lesson? Even if it leaves the occasional need for Mickey Mouse Band-Aids…Bust out the razor.

Band-Aids

Check out my Monday Memory partners in crime, as they tell you all about their beauty mishaps!

Monday Memories
Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Sneaking In is WAY Harder than Sneaking Out

I thought I’d talk to you guys about sneaking out. Or in. Or doing some type of “sneaking.” Me? I don’t think I’ve ever snuck out. I was a good kid. My mama raised me right.  (If you didn’t read that one, I highly recommend it.) I didn’t drink or do drugs. I didn’t do too many crazy things. I mean, I was a teenager at some point, so I did SOME stupid shit… (Like piling a lot of kids into my Explorer) but I was overall a pretty good girl.

One weekend, though. Columbus Day Weekend. My senior year of high school. My brother and I were left to our own devices. Sort of. Because there was Felix. Grandpa. G. However you sliced it, our 85 year old grandfather still lived with us. But my brother and I had big plans that weekend. My best friend (who was also my brother’s pal) was going to sleep over. And we were going to go dancing at Zero Gravity (the juice bar that we weren’t allowed to go to-because there were drugs there…even though I had already been there a few times over the previous year. Sleepovers were great.)

Sneaking In

Elizabeth’s mom had a pretty high regard for me among most of her friends, so it was easy to say she was coming to my house. Neither of our parents knew that there would be dancing at the club. (Or should I say in da club? What do the cool kids say these days?) Our other friend Rae came over to join us, though she wasn’t planning on sleeping over.

We got ready by dressing in tiny spandex skorts and skimpy sparkle shirts, said goodbye to G and the four of us hopped into Melba Toast (the Explorer). We made our way to Zero Gravity (which seemed SO FAR AWAY-and really I live like 10 minutes from it now).

We danced our little hearts out. Warded off dirty older (like 19-year-old old) guys by dancing with each other. My brother was falling asleep on the bench, so he took the keys and went to sleep in the car. When the club closed, we made our way out (around one I think), and headed home.

I’ve drawn a little “art” to demonstrate how we got home.

Going out Dancing and coming home to a locked houseSneaking into the house is hard when you're a teenager...Sneaking into the house is hard when you're a teenager...Sneaking into the house is hard when you're a teenager...Sneaking into the house is hard when you're a teenager...

The stupid dog was going to ruin EVERYTHING.

Sneaky!

Yes, I would leave him to believe I was just in the laundry room…for God only knows why. Real bright, Chris.

Tricky Grandpas and Tricky Granddaughters

He mumbled a lot of shit under his breath about not believing a word I said, but he went back to bed anyways. After I was assured that he was back in his room, I “let the dog out” in order to let my brother and Elizabeth in. We went to bed and all was (sort of) well.

When your grandfather still doesn't believe you

G mentioned it again when my parents came home, but I just kept brushing it off. Hopefully, he knew I still loved him even though I lied through my teeth…and let’s be honest. I’m a TERRIBLE fucking liar.

How about you, Blog Friends? Ever snuck in or out? How’d that work out for you?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Melba Toast and Me

I know. I know. I KNOW. You’re sitting there thinking, Melba Toast? Really, Chrissy? But there’s a lot going on in this post…so bear with me.

The Bloggess and Me

FIRST, this week is a very exciting week for me. In honor of the excitement of my meeting Jenny Lawson (AKA The Bloggess) on Thursday and creepily stalking her err…. making her my new best friend getting her to autograph a book at a bookstore 10 minutes from my apartment…I am dedicating this whole week to just a few of the bloggers I love (If you don’t make it into a post, this doesn’t mean I love you any less…I had to go with the bloggers that fit into my posts, yo. Promise.)

Get to the Fucking Point, Chrissy.

SECOND, today is Monday Memories and April from First Time Mom and Dad has created today’s topic: My First Car and Joyrides. So visit April and Lily from It’s a Dome Life (do not fret, Lily–your dedication is coming) for more memories of joy (rides)!

Monday Memories

 My First Car

When I was 16, I opened up a very lightweight box on Christmas morning from my parents and my grandfather. Inside was a slip of paper that said, “BAM! You’re getting a car!” OK, it may not have said BAM. But it was awesome. I had dreams of a cute little Jeep Wrangler…but those dreams would not come to fruition. Even better, of course, was stumbling upon this white 1994 Ford Explorer (in 1999) and even though it had a funny smell, I fell in love with it. I felt taller, stronger, and more awesome in this giant beast of a vehicle.

Obviously, I had to have it. And it, I did have. Throughout the rest of high school, this beast was recognized as different variations of “the Pink Mobile” thanks to the ever-changing, but always hot pink license plate frames, pink fuzzy dice, and furry pink steering wheel cover.

This car was the greatest thing for a high school kid, but it was also the worst thing. Back in those days, we 16-year-olds didn’t have a graduated license program. We just got the license and drove. Wherever. Whenever. With however many kids could fit in the vehicle. (MOM, stop reading here. No seriously…you don’t want to read this part.) For the record, in a Ford Explorer, that’s a lot.

(Mom. I’m not joking.) I’ll never forget my parents driving my car to an away football game (I was a cheerleader) so that my pals and I could go out afterward. They asked who else was driving, and I listed off a couple of names, as a huge crowd of my brother’s and my friends followed us to the parking lot. As my parents got into their own car, several of our friends hid behind the explorer, waiting for the P’s to drive away. At the very least, there were 8 of us. The five in the picture below, plus 3 more that I know for sure, and 2-3 maybes. It may have been 11 people in my vehicle that night.

my first car fit a lot of kids in it

This was that night. Don’t mind my terrible bangs.

On the plus side MOM (if you’re still reading…), I yelled at them all to shut the fuck up so that I could drive safely to the bowling alley. And they listened. Mostly.

It was a lovely car.

My first car

The Explorer is on the right, next to her replacement, Dawn, the Sunfire. My dad drove the Explorer after I was done with her.

Always Name Your Own Car Right Away

Where does Melba Toast come in? OH. RIGHT. In college, I met Katie. And Katie had this weird thing about naming…EVERYTHING. She named her plants. She named her car. She talked to her cereal in the morning. She was basically awesome with a side of awesome.

One Fourth of July, while sitting in my house, eating taco dip and potato salad, Katie decided to name my future child Melba Toast. (She had already named our BFF Deb’s future child “Stumpy.”) I told her that was a horrible name for a child. So, then, she opted to name my car Melba Toast instead. Just like she named Deb’s car, Julio. And somehow it stuck. I tried to fight it, but Deb and Katie kept calling her Melba Toast. And giggling uncontrollably. And until her death (sentence to the junkyard in 2009), she was lovingly referred to as Melba Toast. And I learned the all important lesson that you should always name your car right away…or anyone else has the right to.

Today’s Post is Dedicated to…(Drum Roll Please…)

Katie from Words for Worms

Katie is my butter-churning best friend from a past life. My best friend in real life (yes, REAL Freakin LIFE), Katie writes a brilliant book blog and sometimes sidetracks with quirky stories of her quirky husband…and she has a penguin problem obsession. But she’s awesome…and this post is a little about her…so dedicating it to her was easy! Also, she is nominated right along next to me (AND THE FREAKIN BLOGGESS) for Best Writing of a Weblog as a Bloggies Finalist.

AND

April from First Time Mom and Dad

One of my BBBs (Blogging Best Buddies) who is also nominated for a Bloggie (Best New Weblog!), April came up with today’s topic. She writes a blog about being a mom for the first time, and her hilarious husband who Photoshops their baby onto the funniest pictures. Product reviews, giveaways, and laugh out loud stories…you’ll love her honesty and humor.

 

Bloggies Finalist
Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Monday Memories: Punk Rock Prom Queen AKA Chrissy the Musical

This week’s theme for Monday Memories is music. When I posed the idea to my lovely lady bloggers, April and Lily of First Time Mom and Dad and It’s a Dome Life respectively, they both jumped at the thought. I was excited. And then…I thought about it…and I couldn’t think of what in the world I should write about.

I grew up with music. Dad was into the oldies music; Mom was into classic rock; My big sister was into 80’s hair bands and 90’s rock; and me? I was the classic NKOTB and Tiffany kind of kid. But can I think of something hilarious to tell you?

Yep.

Does anyone else walk through life imagining that hey are the star of their very own musical? Just me? Oh. Okay…well let me explain how this works.

Sometimes, I’ll be walking down the street…having a great day, and all of a sudden my head is full of a song.  More often than not, it’s a real song. Sometimes, I make up a song in my head. And it’s usually pretty terrible. But to be a fly on a wall inside my head…could be pretty amusing. Or frightening. One of those.

I sing sad songs and happy songs as my day or week progresses and sometimes, I even start dancing along with the music. I like to think that the musical version of my life is pretty awesome. I’ve decided to give you a list of real songs that often run through my head in the musical of my life. Some of these are mere snippets from the songs, others are the entire songs. I’ll let you figure out which ones are the snippets. Also, please don’t judge my random and sometimes terrible taste in music. People, I give you: Chrissy: The Musical

  • Basket Case by Green Day
  • All That Jazz from Chicago
  • A Thousand Years by Christina Perry
  • The Remedy by Jason Mraz
  • The Middle by Jimmy Eat World
  • Only the Good Die Young by Billy Joel
  • 3 Small Words from Josie and the Pussycats
  • Circus by Britney Spears
  • Seasons of Love from Rent
  • Anything by Bon Jovi before 2001
  • Cheeseburger in Paradise by Jimmy Buffett
  • Tik Tok by Kesha

I know that there are more. I know that there are better, cooler songs. But I’m trying to finish this post today and not next year.

 

Monday Memories

Happy Monday everyone! Go visit Lily at It’s a Dome Life and April at First Time Mom and Dad for some more musical memories. Want to write about your memories with us? Send an e-mail to quirkychrissy@gmail.com to let me know!

ALSO, if you’re feeling so inclined, please feel free to make your way to the 2013 Bloggies to vote for me and other much more amazing bloggers (like Words for Worms, First Time Mom and Dad, and Pocketful of Joules)!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!