Ah…. the joys of hanging out with a bunch of guys.
It never dawned on me until last night what kind of boundaries I’m pushing here, for myself, as well as those around me. This I think of on the toilet yesterday.
You see, the washrooms at The Spot are… well, substandard at best. I don’t wanna sound like a princess, cause I don’t complain, and I use the facilities anyways, but… The girls washrooms are out of order (have been since I’ve been going there), and the boys washroom… has one stall with no lock, and rarely any toilet paper…. and well, it’s hard to tell when someone last used a sponge in that place. And then there’s the all wonderful guys talking to me over the stall. Nothing quite as unnerving as someone trying to pick you up through a bathroom stall while you’re trying to pee (this also made me consider taking an escort with me from now on, but I simply resolved to always wear my combat boots to The Spot, as well as keep my hands free… hard to do when you’re holding the door closed and the roll of toilet paper in the other… thank god I’m a mother and have octopus arms…I managed).
So I start to think about the differences between boys and girls………….
I never really gave any thought to my being a woman being any kind of issue. I’ve always believed that when it came down to business, there are no differences other than the obvious. I’m just as strong as any man (hehe… got compliments yesterday….”no, I wouldn’t wanna mess with you in an alley”), smart, fast, furious, ballsy……but ignoring the obvious doesn’t do anything to fix it… no matter what I might think, the guys don’t perceive me the same way as each other. Their perception is first and foremost… I’m a girl… and all that that entails.
Gentlemen that they are, they always have toilet paper for me, The Spot has been cleaner since we’ve been hanging there, they take good care of me… Shawn god love him, even walked me home yesterday…. took me on the scenic route which was really nice, and got me in the door in time for curfew (yes, I have a curfew, and it’s important, and it’s not cause I’m a girl, it’s cause I’m a wife and mother).
The fact that I’m a girl automatically sets off a protective instinct in guys right off the bat. This in return causes them to shelter me, sometimes even from myself, and especially from each other….. and make judgements that I must then dispell.
The fact is, the world of Rock and roll is dominated by men. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise, cause if you spend any amount of time where Rock and roll is being played, you will notice that there are men at the healm, and women are the groupies. I’ve never heard of a guy referred to as a groupie, no matter how many Joplins, Nicks’es, Lennox’es, Hynde’s, have made their mark on Rock ‘n Roll. It’s hard to dispel that, without shedding my femininity.
Part of my femininity includes some pretty strong emotions, the same ones the guys have, except they internalize them, and express them through their music. I have never learned to do this with my emotions, although I’m learning. Another difference between me and the guys, they have instruments… all I have is me. Brain, lungs, mouth…. words. I have lots of words.
These are the lyrics I wrote the other day, I realize they are a tad angry, and they are meant to be. As a writer, it is sometimes difficult to help people understand that what I write is not necessarily what I live. “Artists use lies to tell the truth” – V for Vendetta. Indeed. I wrote them as I said yesterday, as an observation on the primal nature of the male/female relationship… NOT as a statement about my life, or anything in it….. really. They don’t reflect how I really feel, except for how I felt when I wrote them. They are a picture of emotions that I had, at one moment in time, inspired by another moment in time.
They’re not finished, there’s no chorus, and they don’t have a name yet….
I’m so fucked up inside my head,
I don’t know what to say,
I caught myself wishing I was dead the other day.
I think you know my secret,
you must see what I am.
Either way, it’s very clear, that you don’t give a damn.
I was born into bondage,
I’m breaking through my chains.
But there are times, I just find, I cannot stand the pain.
So lie to me and give me more,
you know what I want.
Say you love me, puke the words, and then fill up my cunt.
Push me, pull me, fill me up,
Break me if you can.
If you don’t, you’ll never know if you’re a real man.
You couldn’t stand to be me,
even if you tried.
Maybe we’d be better off if I just fucking died.
But then you’d miss the drama,
all waiting to unfold.
It’s all a lie, there’s no such thing, as to have and to hold.