Thursday, 11 September 2014

I was a monkey. I was asked to dance. I did as I was told. I may have overdone it.

So I've been living in my new place now for almost two weeks... that's a little bit ridiculous to think of but also incredibly cool. What's awesome about it is not only that I crawl out of bed a mere half hour before I have to be at work, but that I've had a chance to chat with the two awesome people I now live with. They are pretty cool.

Last night, one of my housemates mentioned that they were going to see Wicked in the West End today. I got very excited about this, being a woman who spent a large amount of her early 20s memorising each song off by heart... I'm not kidding. If you asked me to, I could perform the entire musical for you. Elphaba rocks my world. When he mentioned that he hadn't really heard much about the musical, I naturally brought out my album for him, which happened to be one of the only 3 CDs I hadn't thrown away in the move because, well, it's Wicked... I wanted a cleanse, I didn't want to be stupid. I promptly then began to play 'The Wizard and I' as I had deduced that it would be an excellent first example of the music genius that was this show.

Unfortunately, a mixture of both being overcome by the music and realising that our kitchen was amazing for acoustics, I found myself unable to not join in. I started by just acting it out whilst miming, not wanting to ruin his experience, but before I realised it, sound was escaping my voice and I was channelling the Elphaba within... I know I haven't really discussed this side of me all that much before, but it is something that is at the very core of me... deep, deep, deep down. I wasn't kidding when I said that I was Rachel from Glee when I was at school. The only reason why I stopped was because I had no intention of being either broke trying to get work or getting work and being famous, thus going down the inevitable downward spiral along the lines of Britney and Lindsay, which I highly suspected would have happened in that situation.

As a result, I suppressed the inner diva and went a different direction. However, every so often that diva likes to break out. Sometimes, I just can't help myself. It's usually only 2-3 times a year, or if there is a karaoke bar and alcohol anywhere in sight. Last night, it was thanks to a particularly heart breaking story about a misunderstood green woman who just wants to be loved...

Anywho, I got caught up and my housemate didn't object to this outburst, in fact, he asked for more. Now, there was a time when a person asking me to break out into song was like music to my ears... especially if they sang their request (get what I did there?), however I've mellowed a lot since my teenage years and so assumed that, should I be placed in that 'centre of attention' situation again, I would either graciously decline or reluctantly agree for one... this is not how this night ended. I have moved in with a singing enabler and last night, my inner Rachel broke out. I was suddenly eight years old again, insisting that my parents come and watch my 3 hour performances of a mesh of singing, acting and dancing, all the while using some particularly inventive props to aid said dancing, such as trolls, my little ponies, baby no tears, and tinsel on a stick. Yeeaaah, I was that kid and that teenager.

I didn't have my trolls, dolls or tinsel this time round, something that I think we can all agree was for the best, but after I was asked to sing my fourth song, that need to perform did begin to rear its ugly head. I'm ashamed to say, I got a little drunk on the attention and before I knew it, I was whipping out performances I had previously recorded, both audio and video... It was like I had kicked Heroin 10 years ago and last night I was given one big massive dosage.

We got through the entire works of Wicked, a particularly emotive performance of All That Jazz, At Last by Etta James, the classic (non Will Smith version) Summertime, Royals by Lorde, and ending on Frozen's Let It Go... I haven't sung that much in such quick succession since I was 16 and performed in a school concert whereby I had managed to convince my music teacher to let me do two solos, two duets, have a solo verse in one of the choir songs, and do a mime/dance number to S Club 7's Bring it all back. When I say I was an addict, I meant it.

Guys, it was glorious but I worry for my future diva side. If I continue down this path, I know I won't be able to stop. Soon, I'll be walking down the street asking strangers if they want to hear me sing, or taking people's hands and spinning in for a ballroom pose, and all of this is starting to happen just as Strictly Come Dancing is starting up its new series. Sure, my singing was cute and whimsical last night, but if I don't reign it in, I think I may have found the thing that will force my housemates to ask me to leave... waking up in the middle of the night jonesing for just one more song to get me through till daylight, disappearing off to seedy bars hoping and praying that one of them has a karaoke bar I could use just the once, which would just end in me the next morning passed out on a pee ridden floor from a music induced coma, the microphone cord wrapped around my neck whilst I quietly choke on the water I had been gargling before hand to make sure my vocal chords were clear... devastating.


... Or, you know, that could have just been a one off and tonight I'll simply go home and continue my marathon of Big Bang Theory as if nothing had ever happened... it's 50:50.

Peace out my lovelies.

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