I’m gonna run to you, but maybe later after I take care of some mom stuff

Why do we like songs that nobody understands?

Blinded by the light, revved up like a deuce
Another runner in the night

I know you thought it was wrapped up like a douche another rumor in the night.

For years (I might have mentioned this one before) I thought Bryan Adams was singing

I’m going to write to you.

It made sense to me. There was no email or internet back then. There were no cell phones. One would be lucky to have an answering machine on their home phone. I wrote a lot of letters. I send a lot of cards and post cards. And I had no idea what the title of the song is “I’m going to run to you.”

I’m gonna run to you
I’m gonna run to you
‘Cause when the feelin’s right I’m gonna run all night
I’m gonna run to you

About two years ago my husband told me the truth about the song 1984 song.

By the way Bryan Adams was born in 1959 so that would have made him ten years old in the Summer of 69. That would make him the same age as Nigel the Ghost, that is if Nigel was alive. I guess it would still make Nigel the same age even as a ghost. So do you age a ghost from the day it becomes a ghost or from the day it is born as a physical person? Anyway, I’m glad to hear that our Canadian friend Mr. Adams is still alive and well and singing, even if his lyrics are different than mine.

People like a lot of things that nobody understands, or at least I don’t understand.

Some things I don’t understand:

  • Zac Efron Movies
  • Bob Dylan
  • Small yapping dogs
  • Most currently popular female singers.
  • Sometimes my husband
  • Badly written fantasy novels
  • Mystery/Crime stories told by cats and barnyard animals
  • Crime/Mystery novels written by older men where all women get their crotches waxed and like to have sex 15 times a day.

My kids, who are almost adults, or more or less adults, think they understand everything, but are still willing to admit things they don’t understand. Yes, there are stupid questions, but I’ve tried to teach them to ask questions. I never asked questions when I was a child. I lived in a clueless world of my own ignorance. I still do.

But let’s put that aside. I was going to write about EMPTY NEST, or give it another attempt again, today, but I keep getting distracted, or don’t want to write about it.

Knowing your kids are going to be GROWN UP SOON is more frightening that any horror movie. It is also exciting. It is like jumping off of a cliff into a dark canyon without a light. There is that logistical panic of figuring out how far away they’ll be living. There is that panic about new friends who are also young adults and having no control over it. No control. Maybe not control, but it is no control.

And you wonder if they’ll get the lyrics right or if they’ll start singing the wrong words for years before they know the right words. And sometimes it doesn’t matter if the words are wrong because their lyrics are more fun, or make more sense.

And sometimes you have to smile because you know they’ll go out into the world and tell everyone, “my mom writes about Vampires.”

That’s it for today. Now I have to go see my mom who sometimes wonders how all of her children turned out so weird, and odd, and interesting, and… honestly I have no idea what she thinks.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m going to write to you…

Excuse me while I kiss this guy. What is that about?” I heard Cody’s voice.

I could hear my husband Teddy laughing. “No, Excuse me while I kiss the sky.

He was in the living room with my brother Val and our friend Cody talking about, what else, misunderstood lyrics.

Now Teddy had to show off, “Juliette thought Bryan Adams was singing I’m going to write to you.

I had to defend my reputation, “Hey, it was 1984. People still wrote letters.” Until a few months to ago I thought the lyrics I’m going to run to you were I’m going to write to you. 

I’ve been overhearing and slipping into a lot of conversations lately that seem like I’m just sitting on the edge waiting to slip off and slip away.

Yesterday while at my daughter’s skating practice I overheard some of the spectators talking about how good it was to see all of the children there. We’ve had a lack of kids lately.  One of them said something to me about the boys. It was the the Uber Type A Aggressive mom. Every club of any sort involving children has one of those. I mentioned to her  that it was good to see so many boys in the club now. She mentioned that the thirteen year old male was rude to her girls. I said that all of the little girls pester the jeebers out of the poor kid. That is what little girls do – if there is a boy around. I didn’t blame him for being rude all things considering. I’ve overheard the girls complaining about the said boy, but honestly look at what your daughters say to the kid. Besides that they won’t leave him alone. What is the poor boy to do? No matter what he does they do their best to bother him.

Then Aggressive Mom says, “Which little girls?”

I wanted to tell her, “Why, madam, your bratty little tattle tale princesses pester the crap out of that poor young man.” But instead I said, “All of the girls do it. That is what little girls do.”

Yes, I’m always glad to keep them wondering, least I didn’t spew out vulgar language, as much as I’d love to. And I mean I’d really love to.

I thought now that my daughter is a teenager and my son in college that I would be done with annoying parents. God knows elementary school was full of psycho parents from Hell. You know who I’m talking about. Unfortunately I can’t show my fangs.

This morning some guys were out working on my house and I overheard them talking. I wasn’t really listening in but then my ears alerted me to “I’m tired of being a sugar daddy. Now I have a sugar mama.”

So back to my men.

Clara was upstairs doing homework (her nightly 3-4 hours) so I took a glass of wine and the bottle into the living room with the guys.

Val was talking about a couple he just met. He wants to be their Vampire, which means he wants to add them to his regular donor list. They’re youngish, in their thirties, with hipster style and a taste for microbrews, Beat Poets, and act as though they’ve single handily discovered vinyl records. They’re really sweet people, so says my brother. Both are type A+ blood, Val’s favorite (mine too.)

He had another interesting fact about them. They both want to go Big Foot hunting. Yes, Sasquatch hunting. Searching for the giant people of the old woods and mountains. I should have laughed but even I got the chills and could feel the hair stand up on my arms.

I’ll admit, that being a Vampire, I shouldn’t have this reaction. Sure I heard the stories going way back to when I was a child in the 1860’s. But back when I was a kid anything that moved was likely to be shot, so if the Sasquatch family was around they were shaved and wearing suits and hats, that is if they wanted to stay alive.

I can imagine if there are Big Foots they’d be masters of ease dropping and Tom Foolery.

Then Val mentioned that they would talk about their passion as if it were a huge secret but they’d tell everyone they met about it. That might have been their vetting system. I don’t know. I couldn’t imagine a guy in a waxed mustache and man bun out in the woods chasing around large hairy humanoids. I couldn’t imagine him chasing anything except a round of Brie that had fallen off the kitchen counter and rolled across the floor. But I might be wrong. I have to remember to assume nothing about everything.

“Did you ask them if they’d ever consider hunting Vampires?” I had to ask.

They all laughed.

Then I thought of another song…There’s a Bad Moon on the Rise.

You know, you know, YOU KNOW what everyone thinks THAT sounds like.

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

strangereyes