Sunday, September 04, 2005
My theme song
It has recently come to my attention that there are certain times in my life when I have a theme song.
It first started with my first serious boyfriend, a Brit named Simon I had met while vacationing with friends in Jamaica. We found ourselves constantly listening to Jacques Brel, specifically Ne Me Quitte Pas (Don't leave me). I had previously been introduced to Jacques and his master piece in a highschool french class and fell in love with his passion, so the song already had meaning for me. Ne Me Quitte Pas soon came to be a symbolic song for my relationship with Simon. Inbetween his travels to Peru, my living in New York and then moving to France, him living in England, we were often saying goodbye. At the end of one of his visits to Paris, we had said our goodbyes at the airport. I was walking down the stairs to the train station while he was moving up the escalator to his boarding gate. He turns to look for me, hoping to catch one last glimpse before he goes. I see him straining to find me, an almost frantic look in his eyes, but he never did. Tears well up at such a heartbreaking view of my lover, searching for me in vain, when I descend onto the platform to catch my train and Jacques Brel's Ne Me Quitte Pas starts to play over the loud speakers. You've got to be kidding me. Who is writing my life?
A new theme song occured towards the end of my first year living in Paris. I had finally settled in, a true international socialite, with funky international ex-pat friends, a thriving new sex life as a bartender, living on warm bagettes, cheese and cheap wine. Whenever I would walk the streets of Paris the song from Sweet Charity would come into my head:
"If they could see me now, that little gang of mine, I'm eating fancy food and drinking fancy wine, what a step up holy cow, they'll never believe it, if my friends could see me now"
Flash forward a year, I've gone back to finish my senior year at Ithaca, went through a terrible relationship, depression, therapy and finally I am back in Paris. This time trying to do my best to survive on my own. Crashing at my friend Ammo's appartment, not finding any work. I had just dealt with a terrible interview where the woman questioned whether I was really French and told me my computer skills were crap. Coming out of the terrible interview I go into a Bar to ask for work. I get a flash of myself over a year ago singing Sweet Charity, and a new song comes into my head: Kris Kristofferson's Beat the Devil. "With a stomach full of empty and a pocket full of dreams, I left my pride and stepped inside a bar".
Soon after I have my own apartment, and a real 9 to 5 job. And then I met Stephane. Enter theme song #3
At the beginning Stephane was a bit of a tough nut to crack. As arrogant as this will sound, I've never had to "work" at getting a man, until I met this little sweet natured French scientist who not only had "commitment" issues, but had also started to win my heart. 3 months went on of back and forth highschool style dating. Why hasn't he called, it's been 2 days, why hasn't he called it's been 4 days, why hasn't he called it's been 2 WEEKS kind of a thing. I had to deal with terrible phrases like "It's not that I don't want to be with you, I just don't want to be with anybody right now". I couldn't believe I actually had to actively pursue a man, I was practically wooing him. Normally men just fell into my lap. Not necessarily great catches, but still, I never had to lift a finger.
And so, in my frustration I developped a theme song: The Tide is High. After putting my friend's baby to sleep I would sink into a long relaxing bubble bath and tearfully sing "I'm gonna be your number one. I'm not the kind of girl who gives up just like thaaayat, oh no oh oh ohhh" . But now the Boy is Mine. If it's not worth working for....
So now as I am embarking on a new life in England, still no job and no cat, I am awaiting my next theme song. Something to march in time to on the cobbled streets of the land of Robin Hood to my next fabulous career move.