My Vicky Life

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Posts tagged with "Bob Marley"

Sep 7

30 day music challenge

Day 2: A song you like with a number in the title.

A tie between Three Little Birds by Bob Marley and 11 a.m. by Incubus. Honorable mentions include One Step Up by Bruce Springsteen (the only song I’m listing with “one” in the title, because there are way too many), Four Sticks and Ten Years Gone by Led Zeppelin, Sun/C79 by Cat Stevens, Just the Two of Us by Bill Withers & Grover Washington Jr., 4 + 20 by Stephen Stills, Four Strong Winds by Neil Young, Freedom at 21 by Jack White, 3’s & 7’s by Queens of the Stone Age, Dead Road 7 by The Kills, and, okay, two more “one” songs: In One Ear by Cage the Elephant, and Bob Dylan’s One More Cup of Coffee by The White Stripes. For something new, let’s throw in 45 by Gaslight Anthem, and can I get a bonus point for One More Night by Maroon 5, since the band’s name has a number in it too?

The Ballad of Kiwi, part 3
At my age, I ought to know by now that you can’t live your life by song lyrics. Nevertheless, my 2012 new year’s resolution was to take the advice of my favorite band (Incubus) and “undo myself.” Three months later, I’ve come undone alright, but not in the way I’d hoped. Actually, unhinged is a more accurate word.
The full lyric is, “undo yourself and see a second sun ascend,” which I interpreted (perhaps mistakenly) as, “do something you wouldn’t ordinarily do, and be amazed by the result.” So my first act in the “undoing myself” project was to adopt a kitten, and for one brief shining moment (the first three weeks or so), I was definitely amazed. She turned out to be the sweetest kitten in the world, and everything was beautiful. Then, suddenly, despite my best efforts, my house became infested with fleas, and even though the guy who came out to spray the little buggers told me that “on a scale of one to ten, your house isn’t even a one,” I quite literally lost my mind. At some point between the second and third week of fumigation (yes, it takes at least that long), I felt my brain snap, and I’ve become so obsessive-compulsive that if you’ve ever seen the TV show Monk, you know exactly what I mean. When I’m out of the house, I’m fine, but my entire life at home now consists of vacuuming, mopping, laundering things that are already perfectly clean, separating things from other things so that they don’t become “contaminated,” washing my hands about a thousand times a day, and squinting down at little black specks on the floor and trying to decide if they’re fleas or just coffee grounds. Needless to say, I spend a lot of time at work, or at Starbucks, and not nearly enough time paying attention to my poor little kitten - in spite of the fact that the fleas are now gone. But you see, it’s not just the flea, it’s the entire cycle of the flea. I don’t want to gross anyone out by describing it in detail, but take my word for it - it’s gross. When I mentioned my insanity to my cat’s veterinarian, he said, “Oh, you’ve been online - don’t ever go online!” True, a little information can be a dangerous thing, but I can’t help it - I’m a librarian - research is what I do.
So yesterday, reluctantly, I made the 3 ½ hour trip up to Orlando to bring my kitten to some friends who offered to take care of her until I can get my head back together. I have serious doubts, though, that I’ll ever again be a fit pet-parent. Even though I’m fairly confident that I can beat the OCD, the simple fact is, you can’t un-ring the bell. There’s no Lacuna, Inc. that will erase from my memory all that I now know, and will always fear, about fleas. And the worst part is, in the grand scheme of life, it’s all so ridiculous.
But maybe it’s also all for the best. Kiwi now has two other cats to play with, a big house to roam around in, and pet-parents who aren’t psychos. A couple of days ago I was in the pet store buying her some new toys, thinking about how much I was going to miss her, feeling like a total failure, and trying to figure out how something so wonderful could go so hideously wrong so fucking fast. You can’t live your life by song lyrics, right? But just then, on the radio, came Bob Marley's Three Little Birds. "Don’t worry about a thing, ‘cause every little thing is gonna be alright." Of course I started weeping, right there in the middle of Petco, and I decided that everything would be alright, especially since I’ve got such awesome friends.
Today, though, my house is a little less than a home, because Kiwi is gone, and I’m still plagued by the phantom flea menace. So, against my better judgment (since music is what got me into this mess in the first place), I’m seeking solace in the “Incubus All Day" idea that someone posted earlier today, and in remembering that I’m going to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers next week. Yep, I’m actually looking forward to seeing someone named Flea.

The Ballad of Kiwi, part 3

At my age, I ought to know by now that you can’t live your life by song lyrics. Nevertheless, my 2012 new year’s resolution was to take the advice of my favorite band (Incubus) and “undo myself.” Three months later, I’ve come undone alright, but not in the way I’d hoped. Actually, unhinged is a more accurate word.

The full lyric is, undo yourself and see a second sun ascend,” which I interpreted (perhaps mistakenly) as, “do something you wouldn’t ordinarily do, and be amazed by the result.” So my first act in the “undoing myself” project was to adopt a kitten, and for one brief shining moment (the first three weeks or so), I was definitely amazed. She turned out to be the sweetest kitten in the world, and everything was beautiful. Then, suddenly, despite my best efforts, my house became infested with fleas, and even though the guy who came out to spray the little buggers told me that “on a scale of one to ten, your house isn’t even a one,” I quite literally lost my mind. At some point between the second and third week of fumigation (yes, it takes at least that long), I felt my brain snap, and I’ve become so obsessive-compulsive that if you’ve ever seen the TV show Monk, you know exactly what I mean. When I’m out of the house, I’m fine, but my entire life at home now consists of vacuuming, mopping, laundering things that are already perfectly clean, separating things from other things so that they don’t become “contaminated,” washing my hands about a thousand times a day, and squinting down at little black specks on the floor and trying to decide if they’re fleas or just coffee grounds. Needless to say, I spend a lot of time at work, or at Starbucks, and not nearly enough time paying attention to my poor little kitten - in spite of the fact that the fleas are now gone. But you see, it’s not just the flea, it’s the entire cycle of the flea. I don’t want to gross anyone out by describing it in detail, but take my word for it - it’s gross. When I mentioned my insanity to my cat’s veterinarian, he said, “Oh, you’ve been online - don’t ever go online!” True, a little information can be a dangerous thing, but I can’t help it - I’m a librarian - research is what I do.

So yesterday, reluctantly, I made the 3 ½ hour trip up to Orlando to bring my kitten to some friends who offered to take care of her until I can get my head back together. I have serious doubts, though, that I’ll ever again be a fit pet-parent. Even though I’m fairly confident that I can beat the OCD, the simple fact is, you can’t un-ring the bell. There’s no Lacuna, Inc. that will erase from my memory all that I now know, and will always fear, about fleas. And the worst part is, in the grand scheme of life, it’s all so ridiculous.

But maybe it’s also all for the best. Kiwi now has two other cats to play with, a big house to roam around in, and pet-parents who aren’t psychos. A couple of days ago I was in the pet store buying her some new toys, thinking about how much I was going to miss her, feeling like a total failure, and trying to figure out how something so wonderful could go so hideously wrong so fucking fast. You can’t live your life by song lyrics, right? But just then, on the radio, came Bob Marley's Three Little Birds. "Don’t worry about a thing, ‘cause every little thing is gonna be alright." Of course I started weeping, right there in the middle of Petco, and I decided that everything would be alright, especially since I’ve got such awesome friends.

Today, though, my house is a little less than a home, because Kiwi is gone, and I’m still plagued by the phantom flea menace. So, against my better judgment (since music is what got me into this mess in the first place), I’m seeking solace in the “Incubus All Day" idea that someone posted earlier today, and in remembering that I’m going to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers next week. Yep, I’m actually looking forward to seeing someone named Flea.

Feb 6

Bob Marley - Three Little Birds

Feb 6
Every little thing gonna be all right.

Every little thing gonna be all right.