A Spoonful of Mayer

It’s a phenomenon I thought I’d explained like this: exhaustion and intravenous drugs. “Too much downtime” and “Desire To Return To Running Man Robot-ing” were also plausible answers. Whatever the cause, here is the effect:

I get super-peppy-pop-songs stuck in my head… when I’m sick. Oddly, healthy days are spent reciting overly emotional lyrics to whiny hippy-girl-alt-rock-folk-experimental tunes that could turn some sunshine suicidal.

Last year as I lay constricted by IV tubes and electronic monitors to a hospital bed, I couldn’t shake the fist-pumping beats of “Sexy And I Know It”. Pneumonia having dampened my glorious vocals, I was forced to express the music in me through a series edgy shoulder jerks and rapid toe circles. “Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Wiggle Yeah,” I impressed myself with a sassy head roll to a song only I could hear. It took about a week for doctors to calm it down and realize these were no alarming early twitches of a seizure disorder. If I could’ve talked I could’ve told them: “It’s just my musicality, y’all.” {boom boo pow dow ow, uh, I work out}. There was rhyme but little reason I would grasp on to such upbeat, sexy lyrics exactly as I began coughing so hard I peed my pants. But still, snotty and wheezing and still, I couldn’t shake the physical and musical funk.

As I healed the song dried up. I was left to wonder why such a dance club masterpiece would get stuck in my brain at such a woefully un-danceable time.

This week, as a dull headache throbbed (unce-unce-boom-pop-unce) I felt the rhythm flowing freely as snot from a neti-potted nose.  With season’s change, the onset of cooler winds came with a head cold. This flu-ish funk’s funk of choice? “Your Body Is A Wonderland” by John Mayer. I’ll hear the loop of background music for a week or so, as joints ache and sniffles turn into snotty typhoons. Once I was thoroughly ill- the kind of sick that makes you want to sneak a peek at the Kleenex post-blow like a mucus-peeping perv, the kind of sick that makes you panic for a minute when you cough ferociously, confuse a raw throat for that dreaded Ring of Fire, and wait for the producers of I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant (Until I Coughed Up A Full Term Fetus)  to call for an interview- then, I cannot shake the lyrics of a song about a girl with a rockin’ bod and presumably an acceptably cute face.

Because OF COURSE you wrote this song about me.

“Discover me discovering you”… Trust. You don’t want none.

“Swimming a deep sea of blankets”… I gots the fever somethin’ FIERCE.

“Your body is a wonderland/ Your body is a wonder”… Like one of those scary rides though, right? Like the one that starts of pretty fun, then makes you barf and pee your pants a little? Then, yes? Yes, sir. I am.

“Pair of candy lips and your bubblegum tongue”… Finally. Something we can agree on. My lips are, indeed, the color of a glorious candy apple, chapped red from cold air and frequent snot swiping. Texture? Hmm, soft as a baby’s brillo pad. The bubblegum tongue thing, well, I ran out of the hard stuff. I’ve been triple-dosing myself with flavored Baby Tylenol all morning.

“I’ll use my hands”… You better wash ‘em digits.

Is this [ projectile sneeze] the sexual napalm [wheezy cough] you speak of [ mucus burp], sir?

     So I find myself trying to pose like the seductive video vixen of John Mayer’s dreams while cleaning the crust out of my watery eyes. It is a curious predicament, this overwhelming urge to get downright dance-y only when my body is trying to die. It is the mystery of  giggling… even though no one told a joke… and you’re kind of at a funeral. It is the inconvenient urge to pee when you are warned there are no rest stops for another 100 miles. It is singing sexy songs when you are sorely lacking in the hotness.

The best I can conclude is that I particularly love sick jokes when I am, in fact, sick. Laughter is good medicine, but laughter laced with irony mixed with pop guitar, well, it is the best.

Other illness/music re-mixes I am looking forward to:

Stomach Flu/ “Pound The Alarm” by Nicki Minaj: Sexy and hotter, let’s shut it down Cracker and water, can’t keep them downnnnn

Chicken Pox/ “My Humps” by Black Eyed Peas: You love my lady lumps  Please scratch my itchy bumps

Migraine/ “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” from Kylie Minogue: I just can’t get you out of my head/ Boy your loving is all I think about  Blury vision I sure could do without.

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14 thoughts on “A Spoonful of Mayer

  1. You should get the rights to the songs that play on your internal radio station and make a compilation album. You’d sell a million of ‘em.

  2. Omigosh, I have never seen a cuter woman clinging to her IV stand.

    I hope you are feeling better.

    I, too, have the musicality bug.

    Unfortunately, I generally screw up the words.

    Thank you for showing me that this doesn’t matter one bit. ;-)

  3. My husband has forbidden me (that’s right, forbidden me) to sing the lyrics to “It’s a Hard Knock Life” when the chips are down. (The irony? He’s the one who actually knows more than that first line, which he memorized during spontaneous Broadway dance parties with with his little sister when they were kids.)

    Let us never underestimate the power of music. :)

  4. My song of choice when I’m sick? Elton John’s “Vomit Man.” “Spewing all the food I ever ate” is both relatable and catchy!

  5. Thanks for the laughs. It’s funny how songs get stuck in our heads – at least you had the humor to play around with it and make it fun (and managing to not get medicated for seizures when it was just hospital bed grooving.)

    Go ahead. Check that kleenex….we won’t say anything :)

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