Muchness and Light

Now here I stand, one grain of sand inside this crazy life.

So today's the big day: 40. 

The first thing you should know is that I don't care about turning forty.  I'm not scared of it.  So please don't bother to lament my youth or future aging. 

When I turned thirty, everyone called me, encouraging me to freak out about it.  What was there to freak out about?  It's natural.  Everyone who lives past that certain point passes the milestone as they move toward the next one. 

Thirty was the age I didn't have to pretend to care what other people thought anymore.

Forty is the age I can afford not to pretend to care what other people think. 

I am who I am, and so much of that is because of the crazy and amazing experiences I've had since the hot summer day when I launched out of my mom, all six pounds and six ounces of me determined to get going, a month early. 

Good, bad, crazy, and boring—there have been a lot of laughs and tears and breathless giggles and blank stares of utter, incomprehensible disdain.  More of that than not has been spent with my BFFs, with the girlies who turned into women, right along with me.  This weekend I was blessed with the ability to go to my hometown of Birmingham and see these women, to spend the weekend with them while we ate and drank and cackled boisterously at each other, causing a raucous public scene.  (Turns out people are very forgiving of your obnoxious laughter when you're wearing a pink glittery hat and carrying a glowstick wand.)

There were moments when we were all sixteen again, giggling about some boy or some twenty-year-old memory.  But now we are wives and mothers and teachers and friends in ways we could never have imagined in our brash youth.  We are grown, and we are women who can own our lives, whether or not anyone else likes it. 

But being a grown-up doesn't mean we have to stop being who we are deep down.  There's no reason to suppress the essence of Me, just because society thinks we should act our age.  And that's just it—I will act my age, as I think it applies to me and regardless of what that means to anyone else. 

As we said all night for Pretty Pretty Princess Night, "Fuck 40!"

Thank you to everyone who has helped me to get here.  Thank you to everyone I've ever met or known, who took a moment to impact my life and my path, even if I didn't know or like how it was happening.  I wouldn't be in this place, in this Me, without your having touched me in some way. 

Now go find yourself a yummy delicious cupcake and make a wish—for you, for me, for world peace.  Whatever you choose, wish for it in your heart like you were a little kid again, and never, ever let go of how that feels.

You can be a kick-ass bruiser and be feminine.

It's happened again.  I've fallen in love.

Let me back up.  A couple of weekends ago, I went with my friend, Leigh, to see Pandora Boxx at The Jungle in Atlanta.  For those of you who don't know, Pandora Boxx was a contestant on RuPaul's Drag Race 2.  (Remember: I love drag.  It's the epitome of Glittery Girl, even though all that glitters is not Girl!)  She was performing along with some great Atlanta drag talent as part of a fundraiser for Jerusalem House, a local shelter for people living with HIV and AIDS. 

I was a fan of Pandora's, and it was an experience that would've made me cry if I'd missed it.  Leigh and I did actually cry a little bit, hearing the stories of people impact by AIDS and HIV.  It was a really wonderful event.  All of the ladies were spectacular.  Pandora was so funny that I almost wet my pants several times that night.

The first song she did started stunningly beautiful:

All of my life, I've never fit.

But I won't complain, and I won't quit.

I am enormous, get used to it. 

Everyone tells me I'm too much.

Maybe it's just you're not enough for me.

Can't you see,

That I'm the kind of woman I'm supposed to be?

I leaned over to Leigh and whispered, "I think I just found my new theme song!"  Then the chorus:

My vagina is eight miles wide!

Absolutely everyone can come inside.

If you're ever frightened, just run and hide.

My vagina is eight miles wide.

I couldn't breathe, I was laughing so hard.  A drag queen performing to such a song is beyond ironic, of course.  I came home and promptly found and downloaded the song, performed by Storm Large.

 

I didn't know who the hell she was, but I learned pretty quickly that she'd been a contender on Rock Star:Supernova.  I'd watched the first season, Rock Star:INXS, but am not a fan of Tommy Lee, so Supernova didn't interest me at all.  I'm sorry now that I missed it, just because of Storm. 

I bought her two albums, Crazy Enough (which includes "Eight Miles Wide") and Ladylike, Side One—a little birthday present to myself.  I can't get enough! 

These songs are personal and honest.  They are sexually and emotionally frank, in the vein of Liz Phair and Poe and Pink (who I'm often surprised to find I secretly love).  They're also in a great vocal range that I can nail beautifully in my natural contralto.  These songs are melodic and sarcastic and painfully funny at times.  It's all Storm, all the time, right now, especially in my car, where I've always said would be the best place to record my debut album. 

I'm very picky about female singers.  Generally I find them to be insipid and vapid, or else they try so damn hard to be hard that they just annoy the shit out of me.  But this... this is good.  Storm Large is a woman who is unafraid to be a woman and drop an f-bomb or forty in your lap. 

Apparently there's a third, older record that I'll have to order.  I'm doing it today.  And I'm waiting patiently to see when she'll be performing close enough to me that I can catch her show.  Maybe I'll even get lucky and buy her a drink and share stories of being glittery Amazons, tell her how her music has touched a nerve with me and how I'm sharing it with you.

Until that time, I'll be the one in my car, windows down and sunglasses on, singing about my "super vigantastically mystical feminine Goddess core", right in tune with the lovely Storm.