Obsession of My Life during the Month of August 2011: Stevie Nicks

If I wasn’t so incredibly broke, I would have gotten the following tattoo last weekend:

Pretty, huh?  Sadly, I just ate a white bread and barbeque sauce sandwich because I’m out of all other food, and the script above my boobs is obviously from a sharpie.  A friend even had to buy me that sharpie...poor little street urchin I am.  Anyways!  My newest of new features on the blog is called Obsession of My Life during the Month of Whenever (yessir, just like the title of the post indicates), and the fixation of August 2011, the woman that really wound me up, was Stevie Nicks.

How cute is that?  Stop draggin’ my heart around, lil’ Bella Donna, it’s not fair.

So yeah, the gypsy with the hole the size of a dime inside her nose from cocaine use stole my soul this summer.  The woman who said in an interview she was afraid she would get kidnapped if the public mistook her as a witch fucking shot me in the face with a love arrow.  The rock temptress that has stood her ground on all of her fashion choices since 1972 except for her permed bangs made me….wait for it…tap my fingers on the steering wheel in my car!

You may not like her, and I’d ask why, but who am IIIIIIiiiii to keep you down.  Everybody can’t like everybody else – that’s not the way it works with humans.  I’m not really a huge Fleetwood Mac fan myself, but I can’t get over the sad eyes and the talent behind Stevie Nicks’ persona and songwriting.  Also, out of all of the interviews on Youtube I poured over in preparation for this post, she never came off as the least bit pretentious in any one of them.  That totally sucks, because I get pretentious (okay, well, condescending) talking to my cat sometimes.  God knows how I’d behave in an interview if I were a female singer in a widely successful rock band.  Hopefully, as fucked up as this:

Yes, yes, lady was HIGH a lot of the time.  But, I guess that’s part of what’s been itching at me about her lately.  I started a blog a month and a half ago because I really like to write.  I think I’m juz okay at it, but even if I were better than what my actual marginal intelligence offers (note my decision to post a picture of my cleavage covered in sharpie for all to see), I’ve never been able to be so fucked up and churn out something so creative at the same time.  Plus, Stevie is really pretty:

I saw this hilarious comment on Youtube from one of Stevie’s interviews back in the 70s that sums up my feelings perfectly: “Listen UP Assholes!!  She does not have a Pig Nose so go Fuck Yourselves!  You’re Jell-O of her Beauty and Talent!”  HAHAHAHAHA!  I wonder what that commenter had to say about the episode of South Park where they likened her to a goat.

That shit made me laugh hard, but whatever.  I like to think of her like this:

Nothin' goat-y about that, right?

So, this week, I walked through my first day at my new house of employment in total delirium.  As excited as I was about getting a new job so soon after I figuratively said ‘fuck you’ to my old boss, I’ve had insomnia so bad, I could barely muster the strength to keep my eyes from crossing while a really sweet lady was showing me the ropes.

I kept on drifting off into a totally exhausted daydream about lying on my back, vacuously dazing at someone trying to ask me how it feels like to finally make it to Japan.  In his (or her?) broken English, the interviewer is asking me silly questions about all of my fellow band members I’ve slept with, but all I can do is barely brush the cumbersome tambourine in one hand against a couch while tapping my long fingernails along the stem of a glass of wine I haven’t had a sip of. 

My new office manager ordered a pizza to commemorate my new existence at the firm.  About half the staff gathered in the conference room to get to know me, and I couldn’t come up with a goddamn thing to say.  I ate one slice of ham and pineapple greedily because that’s about all I’d had to eat in a few days.

As my coworkers started understanding what kind of a drag I was, I fell back into my dream, on to the dressing room floor, listening to the interviewer askin’ me how many cats I have, and if I like all of them.  I laugh a little, and in a sorry attempt to compose myself, I say, “I feel wild.  I’m very wild, and so are my audiences.  We’re all in love, everybody’s in love.  Absolutely….If you can’t do Rock n Roll, you’re old.”