junecleavage

For as far back and long ago as I can remember, I have wanted to be a singer. I was surrounded by and raised within such an intensely heavy music scene that it was the most natural dream in the world to me. I didn't even just want to be a singer just for the love of signing. I wanted to be a famous renowned celebrated singer/songwriter. There was this one little problem. I was a horrible singer. I wasn't disciplined enough to follow through on any of my lessons...I took piano and quit because my weird teacher's bird sanctuary in her scary old stone Addams Family House kept making me think of that scene in "The Hunger" where Bowie slices open the neck of that poor little violin student and sucks her dry. Anyway...I also quit vocal lessons because the bitter, never made it big either vocal coach made me sing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" twenty one times too many and I was done with her lead in the high school drama musical ass. I ran away to Los Angeles, a number of times actually, where I amazingly had some really huge personal connections in the music industry. I mean big time wigs for their day. And I STILL fucked it up. I refused to bank on their signing me out of our friendship and I refused to buckle down and really commit myself to the band I had auditioned for and joined. I mean I loved it. And I wrote all our lyrics and I sang all our songs. But I also loved beer, and long haired tattooed no good for me rockers who practiced in the same studios as us, and cigarettes, and staying out until the sun came up, and well, there became less and less room for perfecting any iota of talent that might be laying in there. So here's the kicker...now...43 years in the making in mere hours I actually can sing. In ways I used to wish I could muster out of my overwrought Bea Arthur voice. But the only people who know it are my 40 million avatar fans on Rock Band. Let me ask you this Alanis Morisette, is THAT irony? Or just dumb luck?