The bitch is back
Beautiful Loser by Bob Seger
He wants to dream like a young man
With the wisdom of an old man.
He wants his home and security,
He wants to live like a sailor at sea.
Beautiful loser, where you gonna fall?
You realize you just can’t have it all.
He’s your oldest and your best friend,
If you need him, he’ll be there again.
He’s always willing to be second best,
A perfect lodger, a perfect guest.
Beautiful loser, read it on the wall
And realize, you just can’t have it all....
you can’t have it all,
you can’t have it all,
Oh, oh, ... can’t have it all.
He’ll never make any enemies,
He won’t complain if he’s caught in a freeze.
He’ll always ask, he’ll always say please.
Beautiful loser, never take it all’
cause it’s easier, faster when you fall,
You just don’t need it all
Oh, oh, ... you just don’t need it all.
I've always loved this song, and I've unfortunately identified far too strongly with its subject character. It's hitting far too close to home for my comfort tonight.
I don't want to be a beautiful loser, that nice girl who's always willing to be Ethel, not Lucy. That person who's just short of everything because she's always overreaching. I'm sick of it.
I want to be a cranky virago. I just want to tell everyone to clean up their own messes and don't expect me to fix what they broke. I want to pick a fight with the baddest bully on the block even if it means I come out bloody.
I don't know if I'm sick of the beauty or sick of the loserhood. I want a Long Island Tea...several of them...enough of them to unleash the wicked side of my tongue and make people wonder what bug got under my skin.
I want to turn The Doors' Roadhouse Blues up to full volume and sing along. (Kiss my butt if you don't like my voice. I don't care that I'm off key.)
Keep your eyes on the road,
your hands upon the wheel
Keep your eyes on the road,
your hands upon the wheel
Yeah, we're goin' to the Roadhouse
Gonna have a real good time.
I want to be Bette Davis in All About Eve. "Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night." Especially if I do get those Long Island Teas.
Will I do it? Probably not. However, I think I've finally come to realize that I don't have to provide enough tact, diplomacy and general kindness and decency to balance out for all the shit weasels around me.
Damn, the nearest liquor store is two towns away from here, and I'm out of tequila and triple sec. The Long Island Tea will have to wait, but plainly, bluntly speaking my mind won't.
I dare anyone to complain about the CD volume tonight.
anger
He wants to dream like a young man
With the wisdom of an old man.
He wants his home and security,
He wants to live like a sailor at sea.
Beautiful loser, where you gonna fall?
You realize you just can’t have it all.
He’s your oldest and your best friend,
If you need him, he’ll be there again.
He’s always willing to be second best,
A perfect lodger, a perfect guest.
Beautiful loser, read it on the wall
And realize, you just can’t have it all....
you can’t have it all,
you can’t have it all,
Oh, oh, ... can’t have it all.
He’ll never make any enemies,
He won’t complain if he’s caught in a freeze.
He’ll always ask, he’ll always say please.
Beautiful loser, never take it all’
cause it’s easier, faster when you fall,
You just don’t need it all
Oh, oh, ... you just don’t need it all.
I've always loved this song, and I've unfortunately identified far too strongly with its subject character. It's hitting far too close to home for my comfort tonight.
I don't want to be a beautiful loser, that nice girl who's always willing to be Ethel, not Lucy. That person who's just short of everything because she's always overreaching. I'm sick of it.
I want to be a cranky virago. I just want to tell everyone to clean up their own messes and don't expect me to fix what they broke. I want to pick a fight with the baddest bully on the block even if it means I come out bloody.
I don't know if I'm sick of the beauty or sick of the loserhood. I want a Long Island Tea...several of them...enough of them to unleash the wicked side of my tongue and make people wonder what bug got under my skin.
I want to turn The Doors' Roadhouse Blues up to full volume and sing along. (Kiss my butt if you don't like my voice. I don't care that I'm off key.)
Keep your eyes on the road,
your hands upon the wheel
Keep your eyes on the road,
your hands upon the wheel
Yeah, we're goin' to the Roadhouse
Gonna have a real good time.
I want to be Bette Davis in All About Eve. "Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night." Especially if I do get those Long Island Teas.
Will I do it? Probably not. However, I think I've finally come to realize that I don't have to provide enough tact, diplomacy and general kindness and decency to balance out for all the shit weasels around me.
Damn, the nearest liquor store is two towns away from here, and I'm out of tequila and triple sec. The Long Island Tea will have to wait, but plainly, bluntly speaking my mind won't.
I dare anyone to complain about the CD volume tonight.
anger
posted by Cynthia at
9:07 PM
4 Comments:
Cynthia, maybe we can't be all that in real life. But in our fiction we can. :-)
(From someone not half as brave as Pearl). Love to you.
You. Go. Girl.
(And for heavens' sake, lock yourself in a room once in a while, turn up the volume and just dance. You can sing all you want and cuss til your hoarse. It feels awful damn good, girlfriend.)
;)
P.S. I'm the writer who has turned from fiction to nonfiction.
You and I need to get in a car, drive somewhere totally dangerous and get shit-faced.
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