depression · illness · life is a bitch sometimes · recovery · sadness · taking care of myself

The Things I’m Doing


So it turns out that I am having a little more difficult recovery than what is normal. And given the fact that I was in pain for about 5 weeks before I went to the doctor, this extended waiting to feel better is affecting me in a bad way.

I’m starting to doubt that I’ll ever feel better again. I get glimpses here and there of feeling normal, but the next day I am back to feeling not great. I hate to say it, but I’m flirting with depression.

I don’t want to feel like this. I’m tired all of the time, I’m afraid to get up and get moving. Everything I do, I have to push myself to do. Things that used to make me happy aren’t working anymore.

This is not how I am. I mean, I’ve been down and I have felt like this before, but I have always been able to work it out.

Here’s the bonus.

I went to see my doctor last week to see what the deal is. She told me I am going to have to be a little more patient and everything will be okay soon. I felt a huge surge of relief that day.

But I came home that night and when Bill and I retired upstairs to relax for the day…I mean, I was in bed thinking “I am going to work on getting better”….our dog, Penny Lane, proceeded to have a huge seizure.

We had to get her to the vet right away. It was one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen. I had so much stress, I got sick at the vet office.

We came home hoping she wouldn’t have another seizure, like maybe it was a one time thing.

Nope. She had another huge one in the middle of the night. Scary as fuck.

The next day she started seizure medication. It has stopped the seizures, so we’re grateful for that. But she is experiencing side effects like stumbling here and there and she has gotten even more nervous than she was before. I was a nervous wreck the day after, wondering if she would have another seizure. I am scared if she has one when I am alone with her, I won’t be able to help her. Plus, let’s be real.

I am pissed she has to have this. Why my baby? And for real? This is a lifetime thing. And will it shorten her lifespan?

I could kick myself in the ass. Why I continue to get pets that I love so much that it breaks my heart when anything happens to them, which it always will eventually…

Wait…this is a dumb thing to say. I get pets because I love animals. I love my fur babies.

I am just so stressed right now. About everything.

Finally, I’ve decided I have to take a break from Facebook. Actually, all social media. It won’t be easy, you know. But I just don’t have the room in my central nervous system right now to take the extra bullshit. How do I move all of my pictures from Facebook somewhere else? This, I feel, is an old lady question. I’ll figure it out.

I’ll figure all of it out.

Right now, though, I am a mess.

To combat all of the shit in my life right now, I am trying to take extra good care of myself.

This is what I’m watching this morning:

I love this movie. I love this song. I love Guy Patterson and the Fair Faye.

This is what you call a “feel good movie”.

And I need more “feel good” in my life right now.

guilt · illness · life lessons · pain in the butt kitty cat

ugh. and persistent kitty cats.

I had to go to the doctor this week. I was feeling so bad that I was excited to go.

I’m going to be okay, but for the time being I am still not feeling well. A little better, I guess.

Anyway, I am really tired of this. On one hand, I am grateful I am all right. On the other hand, I just want to feel normal again.

So, you know, I’m one of those people who rarely gets sick. And even when I am sick, I do all the things I normally do because I figure checking out only makes things worse. I don’t want to lie around all day. I hate it.

Unfortunately, this time around I have to take care of myself. And I feel guilty about it. Like I should be getting shit done. I don’t like my husband working all day like he does and having to come home to do a lot of the things I normally do.

And you know what else? My pets are so fucking confused. Their mother, who typically plays with them kind of a lot, is on her ass all the time now.

As I type this, my cat is sitting next to the backdoor meowing because she wants to go outside. We are not going out right now. In fact, I think I want to take a bath.

I feel guilty.

Stupid, isn’t it. She’s a cat. We will play outside again soon. Just not right now.

I know there are lessons for me to learn from feeling this bad.

This guilt over taking care of myself might be something to think about more.

Anyway, I just wanted to pop in and whine a little. It makes me feel a little better.

A little better is a step in the right direction, huh.


little stories · Proud to be an American · writing

Four American Icons Walk Into a Bar…

National Anthem, American Flag and the Unknown Soldier sat quietly at the bar nursing their beers.

Flo, the sassy high-haired waitress, cracked her gum and placed a gigantic appetizer platter in front of them.

“There ya go, boys,” she said. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Would you mind turning up that tv for us?” Flag asked.

“Sure thing, honey,” she answered and then she grabbed a remote and pointed it at the big screen television.

“Should we wait?” Anthem asked the others. A friend of theirs was in the latrine.

“Nah, he’ll be out in a second,” Flag answered, then they all started to dig into the potato skins, chicken fingers, cheese sticks, buffalo wings, pizza rolls, brownie bites and fun-sized candy bars.

A Sunday afternoon football game was coming on. All the patrons in the place turned their attention to the tv and watched, as they stayed seated over their wings-n-things, as the NFL players kneeled on the field instead of standing for the National Anthem.

National Anthem kept watching the show while putting a blob of sour cream on a potato skin and then ate the whole thing in one bite.

“These are good,” he told his friends with his mouth full, reaching for another.

Suddenly, a table full of dudes behind the American icons started flipping their shit. There were lots of cuss words and peanut shells flying all around them.

One guy was especially vocal.

He walked over to the bar, and put his beer down while holding it with white knuckles.

“Look at them millionaire sons-a-bitches. I’d like to kick their asses, disrespecting our country,” he said.

A puff of heated anger streamed from the guy’s nostrils like dragon fire, but, you know, not as cool. His face was as red as his ball cap.

“Ain’t you guys pissed about that,” he snapped at the trio.

Flag, Anthem and Unknown looked at him and then each other exasperated. They had grown tired over the years of people who could never grasp one of the true freedoms of being an American.

“Them millionaires got rich here and now they’re dissing you,” hot-head guy said loudly.

Everyone in the bar was watching and listening now.

Unknown Soldier took a long swig of his delicious craft beer, put it down on the counter, dragged his sleeve across his chin, turned on his bar stool and looked at the guy.

“They’re exercising their freedom of speech,” he explained calmly.

HotHead sneered.

“Don’t get all fancy on me with that educated opinion shit,” he said, moving closer.

“Freedom of speech is what you guys should be concerned about respecting,” Flag explained, starting to flap a little. He was agitated. He had come here for some beer, some grub and a little relaxation. Now he had to deal with this bs.

“You know what y’all are beginning to sound like to me?” Hotheaded guy asked.

“Let me guess,” Anthem replied. “Snowflakes?”

The pissed off guy’s mouth dropped open a little, disappointed because he didn’t get to say it.

Suddenly, the door to the men’s restroom swung open and the 4th friend from the American icon group came out buckling up his pants.

He was a yuge guy—strong, muscular, longish grey-hair, good-looking and wearing little round spectacles that made him look handsomely intelligent.

He looked up to see what was waiting for him at the bar.

And he winced.

“US Constitution!”, the Unknown Soldier hooted. “Finally, dude.”

“We got a live one for ya here,” Anthem said. “Come over here and explain some things to this guy.”

Constitution walked over and stood at least a foot taller than the dude in the red ball cap. That guy looked up at him and gulped.

Constitution’s bicep with the tattooed bald eagle flexed as he snapped up his beer. He held out his hand and shook hands with the other guy and introduced himself. Then he put his arm around the guy and turned with him to go sit at his table with his friends.

Anthem, Flag and Unknown heard him say as they walked away:

“Now, I’m going to be using some big words and explaining some big ideas here for a little bit. I want you to try and listen real good, okay?”

And the trio smiled a little, feeling good about the prevalence of common sense and enlightenment, then turned back to their appetizer platter and 3 fresh beers placed in front of them, on the house, by that snappy little gum-crackin’, big-smilin’ waitress Flo.

The End

aging · losing loved ones · sadness · stress


I’ve been so stressed since the day my brother-in-law passed away. I’ve actually been kinda sick. Like as in stomach distress you might experience before an important test or starting a new job, but like, all of the time.

Of course, my sister who lost her husband is probably feeling similar but times 800.

I find that instead of acknowledging my own stress/grief, I tend to tell myself that mine isn’t as important as the person who is most affected. But why do I do that? My feelings can coexist with other people’s feelings, you know? There’s enough room in the world for everyone’s feelings.

But I do this thing where I’m affected but I try to ignore it and then my digestive system blows up in a big upheaval causing other symptoms I can’t ignore.

Do many other people do this? Probably, huh.

What’s the answer. Am I supposed to go see a doctor and get on that whole assembly line of this and that? Is there medication that can trick my brain into relaxing and therefore give my stomach a break?

Or is there a way I can fix this by myself.

I hate going to doctor. The thought of having to go makes my stomach hurt.

Oh well.

So currently I’m stuck in a rut.

I want everyone to be at least somewhat happy. And if they aren’t happy, I want to help figure out how they can be happy again.

Including myself.

Remember when I talked about not wanting to turn 50? Not wanting to grow older?

These, right here, are a couple of the reasons why I feel that way.

I don’t want people I love to leave. And I don’t want people I love to lose the people they love.

It makes my stomach hurt.

knowing who I am · make-over · No, thank you · self-confidence · transformation


A couple of weeks ago, right after my brother-in-law passed, I was out running errands, one of which was trying to find black footless with lace around the ankles tights. I wanted them to wear to opening night of the drag show our daughter is dancing in.

I had popped into a department store for a quick second, bolted up the escalator to find they did not have the tights and promptly bolted back to the escalator to run off to do the rest of my errands.

An attractive younger girl with a very cool outfit on got on the escalator with me and complimented my outfit, so I complimented hers too. Then she told me, she really wanted to put me in a “red lip”. Turns out she was a makeup artist (salesperson). I told her that I wasn’t in a red lip mood. You know, I was just trying to be nice, but in my mind I was like, what the heck.

Then she told me she wanted to give me a makeover. This time I laughed and said thanks, but no thanks. We continued to talk for a few more moments, and she was a nice person, and I realize she was trying to sell me something.

But even as I stood there making polite conversation with her and now that it’s a couple of weeks later, I find myself wishing I would have said to her what I was really thinking.

Which was:

With all due respect, I don’t need a makeover. From you or anyone else.

I started thinking about why I felt so annoyed by her offer of a makeover.

First, I guess, is because I’m not super-concerned about being “beautiful” anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I like looking good. When I was young, achieving the perfect look was something I worked pretty hard on, from working out for a good body to getting the right hair to having all my makeup on, etc. Nowadays, I’m only concerned with impressing myself and my adorable husband who thinks I look pretty with shitty old clothes on and not a stitch of makeup. (I’m a lucky gal that way). My idea of beauty for myself isn’t what mainstream society would necessarily deem beautiful for a woman my age. And you know what? I really don’t give a flying fuck about that. In fact, I like that I don’t bow down to society’s “norms”.

Then I was thinking, ever since I gave birth to my babies some 25 and 24 years ago, I started walking away from what most people do in regards to a lot of things. Not everything, of course, but what I’m trying to say is–as soon as they put that 8 lb. 11 1/2 oz. little boy on my chest, I started to blossom into the woman I always knew I would be.

It has been a rather slow metamorphosis in regards to the way I look. I was changing a lot on the inside the whole time I was (still am?) mothering. A brush with illness in 2001 sent me down the path studying paganism and witchcraft. Right after my brother-in-law passed, I was at my sister’s house and we were sifting through photographs. There were a couple of us at a family reunion back in 2003. I looked interesting in those pics. I was wearing Capri pants, and a button down shirt with a sweater over it. Pretty normal-looking, you know? But I looked closer at those snapshots and I noticed I had on Celtic knot earrings and a triple-moon ring.

I had to smile. That was me in the meek beginnings of my physical transformation.

My real physical transformation began after my parents died. I had been wanting a tattoo for a while, but was afraid to get one because I knew my dad would not like it. My mom might have been a little more whatever about it, but I wasn’t about to take a chance on letting my parents down. Ever since my spirit was broken down and abandoned the year I entered kindergarten, I spent all of my life trying to make them proud of me.

So, after dad died and mom was in the process of dying, I got my first tattoo. I thought I’d only ever get one. After mom died, my sisters and I were pretty depressed. I isolated myself from most people. I went through all kinds of changes from 2008 and I’m still going through them. Anyway, one day I got some money in the mail from my dad’s estate. It wasn’t much, just enough to get the morning glories on my arm I had been dreaming of.

I found my tattoo shop and that was that. I got the morning glories. Then my moth. Then my blue rose. I found with every tattoo I got, I wanted another one.

I was a force unleashed. I was completely free to look and be the way I wanted to be. I had no one to let down anymore, especially myself. Lucky for me, that man I’m married to has always been in favor of me being the real me. So with every passing day, I have become more and more ME.

Clothing-wise, I’ve embraced my black. It’s mostly all I wear. You open my closet or dresser drawers, you’re gonna have to go through every piece to find what you’re after because it’s a sea of darkness. Now, I throw in a little white here and there. Maybe a smidge of grey. And I’m all about polka-dots, bows, sparkles. I tend to go for conservative looking clothes and bitchin’ accessories and shoes. Doc Martens, as the kids say, give me life. I know what belongs on me and what doesn’t.

Now, makeup-wise, I go often without. Lucky me, I have freckles. They make me look younger than I am. I feel bad for hating them a little when I was younger, making me look like Alfalfa from The Little Rascals. If I do wear makeup…and let me tell you, I freaking love all the makeup tutorials you can find online. I could watch that shit for days. Kids today are so talented with that kind of thing. And they have such cooler makeup than we ever did. Anyway, if I do wear makeup, it’s never very heavy. I have an arsenal of cosmetics on my vanity. I’m all about my black eyeshadow. I even have blue lipstick…something I used to only dream of as a little girl. Thank you, Kat Von D.

All of this to say

I am finally comfortable…dare I say…happy with the way I look.

This is the best and most authentic I’ve ever looked my whole life.  If I were to go back in time and see 5-year-old wild child me, 5-year-old wild child me would climb up into my arms, put her hands on my face and say “WE LOOK AMAZING.”

So even though she was very nice and didn’t intend on rousing such a reaction in me, I wish I could go back and tell that girl on the escalator:

I don’t need your makeover, kid.

Isn’t it obvious?

I am years of work in progress, all on my own.

eclipse · God · Goddess · little stories · messages


God sat at his desk with his “Mondays Suck” mug full of Sanka. His heart palpitations had started to freak him out lately and he decided to try to go caffeine-free for a week to see if that helped his ticker calm down. Otherwise, he knew he’d have to make an appointment with his cardiologist and he dreaded the thought. That guy was a pretentious pain in the ass, constantly bragging about his luxurious vacations and adrenaline junkie shenanigans.

As if God had never experienced any of those things since the creation went down.

God’s chest began to hurt a little from the stress of thinking about it. He rubbed a spot on his chest, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and focused.

He had a big event to pull off today. It was time to get to work.

Just then, the door to his space office opened and he turned to see his gorgeous wife the Goddess coming into the room holding a tray.

“Hi babe,” she said, sliding the tray in front of him and then slipping herself into his lap.

God looked at the big bowls of Grape Nuts and fresh fruit she brought him. Next to the food sat his Lipitor, Prilosec and a multivitamin.

He gave his girl a kiss.

“You taste like Sanka,” she said as he rolled his eyes and she stood up.

He took a really good look at her then. She had on yoga pants and a tattered Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon t-shirt.

“You are the cutest thing, I swear to…me,” he said.

The Goddess laughed a little and picked up the bowl of fruit and started eating. She had heard that joke about a million times, but it was still kinda funny.

“So, are we going to screw with the humans today?” she asked looking out the giant space window at planet Earth.

“Nah,” God replied. “I don’t really like to mess with them too much anymore. They’re so goofy down there now, they don’t need any more problems. Know what I mean?”

“So you’re just going to press the solar eclipse button and leave it at that?”

God nodded taking a sip of his beverage.

The Goddess stood quietly next to him, her wheels turning.

“Hey,” she said, bending over the keyboard in front of him. Her long wavy brown hair spilled over her shoulders onto his desk. She tucked a wisp behind her ear. 

God admired her big time. He might have smelled like Sanka, but she smelled like summertime. And patchouli.


“Let’s stencil a big message out of the moon for the sun to spill through during the eclipse for the humans,” the Goddess suggested.

She started typing away. 

“Do you want them all to have heart attacks?” God asked, picking up his Lipitor and slugging it down with a spot of decaf.

She leaned back to show him the message she came up with.

In capital letters she typed out 


God laughed out loud. 

“You are bad,” he said. “I like the little witch flying on the broom at the bottom.”

His wife smiled bigly.

“Can we do it?” she asked.

God thought about it for a second and said,

“Yeah. What the hell. Let’s have some fun. They’re going to poop their pants down there.”

“Especially Donald!”


The two laughed out loud as God entered code to carve out messages through the moon.

“All right,” she said as she gave him one more kiss. “Finish up here and come down to the meditation garden. Buddha and some of the others are coming over for an eclipse meditation. I think it’ll do you some good.”

“Hey, were you able to get everyone those special glasses?”

The Goddess stood in the doorway and smiled.

“Duh,” she said. “NASA sent us a boxful last week.”

“Cool beans,” God said as she bounced away. He picked up his bowl of Grape Nuts as he hit the enter button for the special message and the moon started chipping away at itself.

God admired all the heavenly bodies quietly dangling out in outer space. A sense of calm and wonder overwhelmed him.

“It’s going to be a good day,” he thought to himself as he took a big bite of cereal. He sorta missed and a bunch of milk and Grape Nuts spilled all down his shirt.

“Yep, a good day,” he sighed, rubbing at the spill located over that certain spot on his chest.

This time, the pain was gone.

birthday · Led Zeppelin · poetry · Robert Plant

Birthday Poetry for Bob

You know, I’ve tried
But I just can’t
Imagine a world
Without Robert Plant.

Silky hair
Of golden blonde
Lion-headed singer
From across the pond.

Strutting hips
Chest unadorned
Tight-assed jeans
No underpants worn.

Older man now
He’s mellowed out
You can find him jamming
with Alison Krause.

As we wind on down the road
And leaves fall all around
The voice is undeniably
How Golden Gods sound.

So here’s to many more years
May you continue to enchant
Everyone raise your goblets high
Happy Birthday, Robert Plant.

Robert Plant in the 1970s (20)

losing loved ones · passing away · sadness


My brother-in-law passed away last week.

I was having a weird morning that day–all kinds of things were going wrong, and on top of it I wasn’t feeling all that well. My daughter texted and asked if I could pop up to her job to bring her lunch and I was in my car going to do that when my sister called.

I thought we were going to have just another regular conversation, but it was anything but. I ended up calling my husband and telling him the news, putting him in charge of taking our kid lunch, and I hauled ass to my sister’s place.

My brother-in-law had a stroke 13 years ago and since then my sister has worked and he stayed home with their puppies. He was in his chair when the police broke down the door to see what was going on since he didn’t answer any of my sister’s calls that she made to him.


I’ve known Billy since I was 10 years old.

It wasn’t even almost long enough.

choices · Goddess · Horses · Patti Smith · tattoos · The Godmother of Punk · turning 50

Making the Right Choices


The event I semi-dreaded for the past year came and went last week.

And what do you know–I didn’t self-destruct.

I turned 50 last Monday.

A joke regarding growing older goes–

Well, it’s better than the alternative!

And yeah. I guess it is.

Anyway…I really did have a lovely birthday weekend. I ate out way more than any human should, and I got to see my grown children and their significant others for lunch on Sunday. On my actual birthday, my son’s girlfriend had him call (how much do you think I appreciate that?) and he told me he loved me before we hung up, and his girlfriend and I got to talk for a little while too, and my daughter wrote a really sweet thing about how much she loves me on Facebook for everyone to see and right before I fell asleep that night she and a couple of friends called and sang Happy Birthday to me.

I spent the evening of my 50th on a date with the man who makes my life a great place to be. We went out for pizza at the place we’ve been going to get pizza from for the past 1 million years.

My special day turned out exactly how I wanted it to be:

Simple. Easy. Familiar. Comfortable. Nice.

I also got to see both of my sisters that night too and that was good.

So, as far as gifts for a girl like me…

If you recall me mentioning before, anytime there’s a gift giving occasion, I pretty much always want the same thing.


I had an appointment to get a tattoo. And I had to put some thought into what I wanted to get because for a long time I couldn’t think of anything I wanted. I had knocked around the idea of getting Mary. You know, the Mother of Jesus? Because out of all of those scary-ass characters I was introduced to as a little girl in church, she was the only one I wasn’t freaked out by. As in–okay, these stories are really scary, but there’s the one lady in the book who wears a scarf on her head who looks like she would hug me and be nice if I got too weirded out by whales and floods and crosses and that devil character.

Also, Mary is beautiful. I like her star halo. I’d wear a star halo like that if I ever got the chance.

I thought about getting her on my arm, but I never really felt 100% gung ho with the idea. I don’t practice the religions she is associated with, and even though she is my favorite in the Bible, I didn’t want anything from the Bible or Christianity on me for eternity. That boat sailed a long time ago and I don’t miss it one bit.

Then I thought, hey wait. How about a goddess? As in, a beautiful woman with a triple crown across her forehead. That’s kinda more my style.

I don’t believe in God as in a real supernatural being somewhere in the universe controlling shit, but when I am super-stressed out and/or in need of comforting, I like to envision a woman out there, somewhere in the stars….

A beautiful grandma-type, who thinks I can do no wrong, who loves me no matter what, sitting in a big rocking chair. She’s always ready to listen to me and whatever I’ve got to say when I need her. That’s my idea of a good God.

That could work as a tattoo, I thought. So I made the appointment to get her on my arm.

A couple of weeks ago, when Bill and I were out to dinner talking about the tattoo I would get for my birthday, I had mentioned I had given a little thought to getting a Patti Smith inspired tattoo. But I didn’t know if it would look good or what. And then I told him about the Goddess idea and he said to me–

Well, who is a bigger inspiration to you?

And I was like, Patti.

He made a good point. He’s good for that kind of thing. So I thought about that for a moment, then we dropped the subject and moved on.

So fast forward to my birthday last Monday. I was feeling weird that morning, just sitting in my recliner, drinking my coffee, turning 50. Feeling old, getting older, feeling blah about it all. I was sitting there scrolling through my Facebook and I clicked on a video of Patti singing Gloria at a show in 2015. There she was with her long grey hair and sweet smile, wearing her jeans and jacket, dancing with Lenny at her side, singing her version of that song we all love, the crowd singing with her, throwing her fist in the air to punctuate each letter

G!  L!  O!  R!  I-i-i-i!  G-L-O-R-I-A!

It was awesome. That chick has so much energy and she’s so cool. Poet. Mother. Artist. Says OUT LOUD what she wants. Watching that video lifted my mood. I thought to myself–What the hell. Would Patti be sitting around, feeling sorry for herself turning 50? I don’t know. Maybe she gets down every now and then. But in that moment, I was inspired, like I always am, by Patti Smith. I thought, I need to quit dicking around here, get up and get going and have a good day.

Before I did, I posted the video on my Facebook and told all 311 of my friends that I want to be like Patti Smith.

I texted my tattoo artist friends later that day and said–hey, can I get a Patti tattoo instead?

So here ya go.

Done last Wednesday by my friend Naomi Fuller-Brown at her amazing shop Thrill Vulture Tattoo in beautiful uptown Westerville, OH.

I have to say, I love it.

I made the right choice.

It’s not Mary. It’s not the Goddess

It’s so much better than that.

It’s Patti fucking Smith!

He saw Horses Horses Horses Horses Horses Horses Horses Horses!

Yeah. ❤

patti tattoo 2

Beatlemania! · Beatles · driving parents crazy · memories · music · ticket stubs · writing · young girl fun

ticket stubs and memories

A couple of nights ago, I was up in my room looking through my books and I started to look for a ticket stub I’ve saved since 3000 years ago. Or, as many of us know it, 1981.

I knew the ticket stub was tucked inside one of 3 bigger Beatles picture books I’ve owned for the longest time. I flipped through the pages, coming across loose pages, and black and white Xerox pictures of George and Paul that my sister and I had made on the copier at our local library.

‘Twas a different time, kids. You had to go places to make copies of pictures. And it was a glorious time, I’ll tell you.

Anyway, I found the ticket stub.

It was for the show “Beatlemania”.

The time was the beginning of the year 1981. I was in 8th grade. My best friend was also in 8th grade. My sister was in 7th grade. We had just discovered the Beatles right before John was murdered. And after he died…do you remember? The Beatles were everywhere again.

And that Fab Four media explosion was just what we needed to fuel our new interest and turn it into full-blown love affairs with the music and the men who made it.

So, if I remember correctly, and believe me–I am reaching way back here–I think we found out about the Beatlemania show the day of the show. And we asked our moms if we could go. Amazingly, my mom said she would take us and my best friend’s mom said she could go with us.

Looking back on it, this was nothing short of a miracle. It was a school night, my mom had to work the next day and it was January (there had to have been snow on the ground).

But sure enough, we 3 silly girls and our hero of a mom went to the show and we had really good seats in the front of the loge at a popular concert venue here in our city.

Beatlemania was a Broadway musical featuring four dudes who dressed like the Beatles and played the same instruments as the Beatles and took their audiences on trips through the 1960’s with images from the times flashing on a screen while the band played the massively incredible and world-changing song catalog.

It was a show designed to take you back, or in our case introduce us to, and enjoy.


Beatlemania wasn’t, however, really a show designed to make you get out of your seat and dance.

Keep that in mind as my story goes on.

To say we loved the show is an understatement. We were located just far enough away from the guys on the stage to help us imagine that they could really be the actual guys if we pretended hard enough. And believe me, we did. Also, the show on the screen behind them was pretty cool, full of headlines and pictures from times before and right when we were born. My BFF brought her camera with her and snapped a few pics throughout the show. We needed documentation of this momentous occasion. I texted her last night (we’ve often talked lately about what if we would have had cell phones and texting back when we were young?! That would have been fucking awesome! But we didn’t, so…) and I asked her if she could remember details from that night.

I laughed out loud when she texted me the following photos:

beatlmania 2

Are these not the greatest photos in the history of photokind?! I remember we were so excited to get these pictures back and when we did we were so bummed out. Hey, at least she tried. After the initial disappointment over not being able to see anything besides the heads and rail in front of us, we laughed and laughed at these snapshots.

We’re STILL laughing about them! I can’t believe she still has them!

So, back to my story….

As we sat with my mom that night so long ago, we really got into the show. People all around us also enjoyed it from the comfort of their seats. It was all a very lovely and civil experience, jamming to the tunes of the BEATLES…

…til we got to the very end of the show and then something happened. My sister, my BFF and I could no longer contain ourselves.

We got up and danced in the aisles.

I am sitting here as I write this, racking my brain trying to remember what song we danced to and for some reason, Revolution keeps coming to mind. I’ve done some Googling, and for the life of me, I can’t find a list of the songs in the order we heard them that night. I’m almost positive it was Revolution.

This would get most people up and dancing, am I right?!

But here’s the funny part–I do remember my mother was not happy when we did this. I think she must have been totally embarrassed. But that didn’t stop us. We kept going. It was like we couldn’t help it. We were young girls possessed.

And it totally RULED.

The thing is, the other audience members didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I think they were digging the 3 young girls shaking it for all it was worth. Hell, they probably wished they could join us.

The dudes playing the Fab Four on the stage saw us too.

I like to think they congratulated themselves after the show on a job well-done. Those crazy kids up in the loge were losing their minds.

And having a blast.

And taking silly pictures.

And loving every minute of it.

And making their mother mad.


And from there, our love for the Beatles grew.

What a great memory.

It still makes me smile.

All these year later.