There are several inspirations for this particular post. Here they are in list form:

1. Will suggested I do a post of the songs I would sing if I were the lead singer of a cover band. And while I love dealing in hypotheticals, I practically run my whole life around them, the cover band approach was a little too much of a stretch for me. But expect Will to do a guest post along those lines shortly.

2. I have a friend who blogs about the songs that describe his life at that moment. This same friend privately assigns songs to people he knows, which is something that I do as well. So there’s that.

3. I don’t blog about myself nearly enough. I am sorely lacking in the attention I need in order to have good self esteem. LOOK AT ME. PAY ATTENTION TO ME AND MY WITTY COMMENTARY ABOUT MYSELF.

That being said, I once more challenge you to do what I’m doing right here. This is a list of songs that I identify with. If I were a contestant on America’s Next Top Model, and Tyra asked me to define myself in ten songs, and Miss Jay asked me to defend my decisions, and Mr. Jay required the embedded videos in list format, this is what I would present them. This hypothetical situation is far more realistic than me fronting a cover band.

Songs Which Define Me, or That I Identify With, or That I Just Like a Lot Right Now

1. Dreaming by Blondie

I’d build a road in gold just to have some dreaming
Dreaming is free…

I love Debbie Harry. I don’t mean I like her a lot and she’s cool, I mean I LOVE her. Like, I’m not gay, but if I had the technology, I’d build a time machine and go back to 1978 to be not-gay in Debbie Harry’s presence. Look at her. She oozes sex. I’m not gay. So, about those lyrics…I don’t know what they mean. But I remember listening to Blondie back in my college days and hearing this song and saying to myself, ‘I’m a dreamer, too. Just like you, Blondie. We’re the same.’ You can tell we’re the same because I call her ‘Blondie’ and not ‘Debbie.’ I’m not gay.

2. Surrender by Cheap Trick

Mommy’s alright, Daddy’s alright, they just seem a little weird
Surrender, surrender, but don’t give yourself away

I’m pretty sure this song is about how your parents have sex, or about venereal diseases, or something else that you wouldn’t want your kids to sing along to. But I don’t care. To me, this song is about me and mine. As in the Harrisons. As in Will and I are probably the weirdest parents on the block, and our kids are just bizarre, but it’s alllll good. And I love the line, ‘don’t give yourself away.’ I think that could be my life motto. Be a great mom, but don’t give yourself away. Go do your job for the man, but don’t give yourself away. Fall in love and be good to your guy, but don’t give yourself away. Love God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit, but don’t give yourself away. That one probably hit a nerve. Moving on.

3. San Antonio Rose by Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys

Ahaaaaa

There’s a saying about Bob Wills and Texas, I won’t put it here because you probably don’t care, but the truth is that I don’t know too many Texans who are actually hip to Bob Wills. Which is a shame, because the ‘Ahaaaa’ guy is probably my favorite man in the world besides my own husband. This is one of the many songs that I associate with my home state. And one of the many that I drill into the tiny brains of my babies. After all, what’s the point of being born in Texas if you don’t get to revel in all the self-congratulatory patriotism that is embedded in Texan culture? Ahaaaaa.

4. Precious Memories - by anyone who sings it.

At this particular moment in my life, this song brings me to absolute tears. The song is supposed to be joyful, sentimental, but it isn’t for me. Not right now. It breaks me. It breaks me enough that we’ll go on now.

5. Rehab - Amy Winehouse

They’re tryin to make me go to rehab. I said no, no, no.

Question: What do Amy Winehouse and I have in common?
Answer: Not much, other than our mutual love of crack.

Crack jokes aside, I’m enamored with the little Cockney spitfire. She’s an enigma wrapped in a riddled burrito, topped with a dollop of puzzling sour cream. For one, the sound of her music is 100% Sixties girl group. And yet she writes about her addictions and sex and the made up word called f***ery. And the song featuring that particular sing is killa. Like Aretha could be singing it if the f***ery was replaced with ‘tomfoolery.’ So why did I stick this in here? Because I love her contradictions. Amy and I couldn’t hang, I’m sure, but I’m glad there are girls like Amy out there.

***Family members, don’t view the one below. You’ve been warned. ***

To be continued…