If my brain had a tattoo, it would say “meh.”  No capitals, only a period, and in Times New Roman.

 

I have been in a ruttttt.  Whenever I sit down to write, I get this sudden urge to just take a nap.  Since I only really have time to write at night, this usually results in bedtime, and no writing.

 

Three or so weeks of crying “writer’s block!” should be enough, right?  It’s time for some action.  A group of my blogger friends and I have started a little prompt group to help dig ourselves out of the rut that that jerk February threw us all into.  Anyway, here’s the first prompt:

 

If you were part of a band or musical act, what would the name of your band be? Why? What kind of music would you play?

 

I’ve been lip synching in my mirror for a long time, and I always had one recurring image in my head when I did so.

 

Me.  Heading up a girly pop-punk band.

 

I know it’s not the most sophisticated fantasy to have, but ever since college, I’ve wanted to dance around singing angsty-but-catchy pop-punk music in front of a bunch of angsty-but-hopeful pop-punk kids.  I’ve also had a band name in my head, too.

 

We’d call ourselves Spade & Archer, after Humphrey Bogart’s detective agency in the Maltese Falcon.  I’d dye my hair red . . . like, the fake red that all of the redheaded female cartoon characters have gracing their animated scalps.  I’d wear jeans (not skinny jeans, just regular ones) and a button up shirt with one of those skinny black ties.

 

Also, in my imaginary rock-star world, my boobs would not look horrible in a button-up shirt.

 

Since our band would be named after a Bogey movie, we’d also probably wear fedoras.  Under my fedora would be a mane of kick-ass, bright red hair.  Long or short?  I don’t know.  I’d also try to find my old green-tinted contact lenses from high school.  Actually, that would be gross… I’d have to get new ones.

 

I would either be playing guitar or drums.  Probably guitar because this is my fantasy, and I’m probably going to have to be front and center.  Humble aspirations?  Not when it’s imaginary band-time in my brain.

 

I’ve had this scenario in my head for, like, ever, but it’s even more vivid right now.  I’m going through a pretty serious bout of “real world bleeeerrrrrgggghhhh”.  In high school, it was, “I FEEL SO MUCH ABOUT PROM BECAUSE IT’S IMPORANT AHHHHHHH” and in college it was, “I HAVE ALL THESE EMOTIONS AND FEELINGS ABOUT THESE THINGS THAT I’M READING AND MEMORIZING AND GUYS THERE’S A DRAG SHOW AT THE ROMAN TONIGHT LET’S GOOOOOOO!”

And now it’s all, “HEY, GAS BILL WHY ARE YOU SO EXPENSIVE I SWEAR YOU WEREN’T THIS EXPENSIVE LAST WINTER.”

Pop-punk music, for me, is a whole lot of feeling about a whole lot of things that don’t involve hugely-huge life decisions.  Decisions like, “What kind of school should I send my kid to when he turns five,” and “What kind of car payments can we afford to make?”

I’m not saying there isn’t any depth or real-world stuff in this music, but, for the most part, I hear it and think of the days when my biggest concern was usually getting on the private/internet phone line before my dad could get on to check his email.

 

I think, really, what all of this rambling means is that March is here.  March is when the weather flip-flops, the time changes, severe weather season looms in front of me, and my brain turns into the slush that lines the sides of the street and keeps melting, freezing, melting, freezing, melting, freezing. . . and I just have to turn up the music if I want to see April.

 

I need some rain boots for my brain, I think.  Can I find those on Amazon?