Like a Virgin

My memory of the first time I heard her is very clear.  I was 14 years old and was on vacation with my sister and our parents in Acapulco, Mexico.  I could not be bothered to do any touristy activities as I was at the height of pubescent angst and self-glorification so I parked myself on a lounge chair on the beach, lathered up with Hawaiian Tropic oil (with no SPF, thank you very much) and plugged into my totally radical Sony Walkman.  My musical library at the time consisted of Duran Duran, The Police, Huey Lewis and the News and The Gogo's.

My sister was parked on the lounge next to me.  She was equally as unenthusiastic about the thought of tromping through ruins and sight seeing as I was.  So there we sat.  And baked.

As if out of no where she tapped me on the arm and sent me flailing into orbit, swatting at what I was certain was a Mexican grande-sized bee.  I managed to collect myself and was then transfixed by my sister's unapologetic stare.

"Here." she said.  "Listen to this.  She's new.  Everyone at Northwestern is listening to her."

She handed me a cassette tape (it's a real thing, youngsters...look it up) with a black and white photo of a semi-dirty looking and rebellious girl on the cover.  Her name was Madonna.  Or was that the name of the band?  I didn't know.  Surely that wasn't her real name?  Weird.  But, okay.  I'm in.

"Listen to this song, 'Borderline'.  It's pretty good."

So, I obediently popped in the tape.  And listened.  My pulse quickened and my view was instantly tunneled.  What IS THIS?  You could actually see my brows rise over the top of my white plastic wayfarer sunglasses.  I think I may have even felt a little faint.

Good???  Good you say?  No.  No no no.  It was literally life changing.

Little did my uberconservative sister realize that she had just offered unto this world one of the very first Madonna-wanna-be's.  Well, at least I'd like to think so. 

Over the course of the next 28 years I spent many an hour studying, watching, listening to and imitating the Material Girl.  Much to my mother's dismay.

When I was 16, I managed to "trick" my mom into letting me get a kinky perm.  Mom was a bit of a perm connoisseur so it was like music to her ears when I said I wanted one.  Her enthusiasm went down in flames when I unveiled my newly disheveled and highly coveted look to her.  She told me I looked like a tramp, which was, in turn, music to my ears.  That was, after all, what I had sought.  Not the tramp part.  The look.  I've told you all before, I am not a whore.  I am a whore wanna-be.

So.  In a matter of days, 19 to be exact, I will for the very first time in my enduring career as a fan/worshipper of the iconic Boy Toy, bare witness to the very Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone herself.  In concert.  I will lose my Madonna virginity. 

Even as I say this, I am, in fact, breathless.  Twitterpated.  I....I....I can't believe it.  After all of these years, I will see her, from the FLOOR, mind you!  I make absolutely no promises about my state of mind or my behavior that evening.  As for my 2 girlfriends who will be accompanying me, I say only this: I am so sorry.  For whatever it is that I do, or say.  All I ask is for a bit of patience.  And understanding. 

A Xanax may be in order.

This is definitely one of those life events that you always say you're going to do, but, sometimes just don't get around to it.  I am getting around to it.  And, I am thrilled to say the least!

So, I will leave you with this....what am I going to wear???

The Goddess Revenge

When you think about it, break ups really are a silly thing. It should be so much easier. Two people who once shared good company with one another should be able to part ways amicably and say "thanks so much for everything...had a really great time...but, it's  time to call it". No hurt feelings. No animosity. It SHOULD be so easy.

No such luck.  Typically one party is left in a heap wondering "what the hell just happened to me?". And, then, stage #2 in the stages of grief arrives....anger.

Oh, yes. Anger. What to do with this?  My advice?  Channel your inner goddesses.

Naturally the first goddess to step up to the plate in such tumultuous times would be Athena, Goddess of War.  She senses your pissedoffness and is ready to take aim. "What shall we do first?" the deity would beckon. "Bust his windows? Take a Louisville slugger to both headlights? Or just set his car on fire?"  Your heart quickens as you envision yourself as Angela Bassett walking in slow-mo towards the camera with billowing smoke and flames shooting up from behind you. Ohhhh, it's so tempting. You just want that idiot to hurt a fraction of how you hurt. But, you and Athena both know that destruction of his property will only make you feel better momentarily. And, besides, I think setting someone's car on fire might be a felony. Totally not worth it.

So, Athena concedes to Eirenne, the Greek Goddess who symbolized peace. Funny, you never really hear too much about her, do you? Oh well.

Eirenne will help you find your inner goddess peace. Yes, peacefulness is the next best solution. "Release your anger unto the Universe" she'd implore. You two would practice meditation and deep breathing. "Positive thinking will help you purge your spirit of the evil that has taken over. Set yourself free, my child."

Record scratch.

Okay, Erienne. Wrong girl. Sorry, honey. Next?!

Ahhh. The Mighty Aphrodite. The Olympian Goddess of Love and Beauty. You're feeling it now.

Yes, Aphrodite has the right idea. "Time to focus on your inner and outer beauty. Time to be selfish. Because, my child, there is no sweeter revenge than looking and feeling your personal best. It symbolizes that you have moved on. And it will make you more attractive to other men because they will sense your confidence."  Well, she ought to know. Her strength was the ability to make men fall in love with her. I like her already.

Aphrodite would run trails with you, spin on the bike next to you, shake her head at you when you "accidentally" reach into your son's bag of Doritos and carefully help you orchestrate each and every outfit you put on. She'd even jump up and down and cheer gleefully when you slip into a pair of jeans you haven't been able to wear in years.

And, then, before you know it, Nike, Goddess of Victory steps in, slaps you on the rear and runs the victory lap with you.  You made it, sister!  You are in the maintenance phase of post break up recovery.  Back to the you you loved long before you loved the idiot.  Just try not to lose sight of her next time around, okay?

Yes, eventually the dust does settle and you finally feel yourself return to some semblance of normalcy. You're about where you were, oh, say, almost a year ago. Only this time, you're a lot smarter, more peaceful and definitely hotter, thanks in large part to your goddesses.

I guess the silliest part of a break up is that we allow another person to take such a personal toll.  But, it's all a part of the game I guess.  So, if it's necessary to seek out the help of some mythological gals to get you through it, then so be it.

Fortunately for me, my goddesses are real!  True story.