Mom

A Day with Clay

I’ve been on a long hiatus from this blog since, well…around last Valentine’s Day. Only ONE thing, or rather one PERSON could bring me back: Clay Aiken.

Let me explain.

When I was a little girl, I loved Clay Aiken. I’d sprint from the school bus to my front door every afternoon, get inside, plop myself in front of the computer, and open an email draft. *cracks knuckles, cracks neck* let’s begin.

To: Clay Aiken

CC: Clay Aiken

BCC: Clay Aiken?

(Keep in mind I had no clue how to even use email at the time.)

No worries, this will definitely get to him.

What should I tell Clay Aiken today? I wondered, thinking through my whole day down to every conversation had.

Should I tell him about my new gel pens?

Will he care about the new Beanie Baby my grandma got for me?

I should definitely tell him about what I learned in class today.

I typed, with one finger, a listicle of random things I thought Clay Aiken should probably know about my day, every day…before listicles were even cool (or a thing).

But no matter what specifics I wrote that day, I always ended it the same way:

Can we get ice cream?

No response.

One December 1st,  2000-something (one day after CLAY’S birthday),while listening to his album “Merry Christmas with Love,” I decided to draft my final email to Clay Aiken, with Clay Aiken both CC’d and BCC’d (for good measure):

Today is my birthday. Can we get ice cream?

From there on out I spent my time on the computer not emailing Clay Aiken, but playing Sims instead, or Googling pictures of “pretty flowers” when my brother asked to use the computer. GOD, CAN’T YOU SEE I’M BUSY JOEY?

It’s disappointing that he didn’t respond. But in fairness, it turns out you need to send emails to an email address and not just the person’s first and last name. Who knew? Not me.

The other day I decided to give it another shot. Why not? I’m a damn adult now so this time, I took to Twitter:

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Still, no response. But what if he did respond? What would we do? Oh my word, think of the possibilities!

How would I spend my day with Clay Aiken? American Idol’s Number 1 Number 2, the politician, TV personality, the activist, and voice of an angel we all know today.

Naturally, we’d get ice cream.

BUT FIRST:

Our day would start at 12pm, sharp. Just late enough to sleep in and be well-rested for the day ahead, while still giving us enough time to seize the afternoon and evening.

We lunch. We maybe go back and forth about where to eat, considering street trucks and cafes we walk by. We decide on salads, dressing on the side. #chic. Our orders come. They’re good, but I’m questioning my choice of protein. Was chicken a bad choice? Clay reassures me. We laugh.

We go window shopping, thinking about gifts for loved ones while gazing into the beautifully decorated shops. In Rockefeller Center, we stare up at the giant tree. We take a pic. I set it as my Twitter avatar.

Should we ice skate? I tell Clay I’m not very good, but he tells me “c’mon! I won’t let you fall.”

He lies. I fall. I chip a tooth on the back of his blade on my way down. I cry a little bit because it was awkward, obviously. I mean, I just chipped my tooth on Clay Aiken’s ice skate! HELLO!! EMBARRASSING!!! But we laugh. We take a new picture with big smiles, displaying my broken front tooth. You can kind of tell I was crying in the pic, but I set it as my new, NEW Twitter Avatar anyway. Again, LAUGHTER ENSUES.

We see the Rockette’s later that night. It’s Christmas time, dammit! Whenever I even HEAR the Radio City Christmas Spectacular jingle, I imagine Clay singing it! HOW CAN YOU NOT? Clay, can you please do a cover? The World needs to hear your rendition.

I’ve never even seen the Rockette’s before so I can’t even guess how that part would go. Would we love it? I bet it’s magical. Are there parts to sing along? I want to sing along with Clay Aiken.

After the show, we talk a little bit about his UNICEF ambassadorship, his run for Congress, North Carolina in general, whether or not he knows Kelly Clarkson, what size Simon Cowell’s t-shirts are, his album Measure of a Man, and our favorite animals.

Finally, we get ice cream. I get mint chocolate chip. He gets butter pecan or something like that; he seems like a butter pecan guy, doesn’t he?

After our long conversation about how I KNEW he would be a butter pecan guy, the night ends just how I always imagined: a high-five.

Now back to reality.

It’s got to be over 12 years since I sent my last email to Clay Aiken on that December 1st.

So today, I write this blog post (Merry Christmas with Love playing in the background) and I ask one FINAL time, hoping the internet is on my side:

Dear Clay,

It’s my birthday. Can we get ice cream?

Victoria, Blog On Fleek

 

 

 

Let Me Kiss Your Baby

Big, bright eyes with long eyelashes. Those giggles. The funny faces they make when you give them a lemon slice? Classic.

Guys, it’s official: I have baby fever.

I JUST LOVE BABIES!! I am the self-proclaimed baby whisperer. Give me a baby and that baby will love me, or your money back. Granted no one is paying me, but still.

I wave to babies in line at the store. I play peek-a-boo with babies on the bus. I smile at babies when they’re eating in restaurants, chocolate all over their little chubby cheeks. I should just run for president so I can kiss babies on the campaign trail. I know, it’s weird. I’M WEIRD! But I can’t stop!

I’m at a point in my life where I can’t afford to go to a 3D movie, let alone pay for the expenses and time needed to care for a small human. So having a baby of my own is completely out of the question.

But then I got to thinking: what if I never have a baby? Would that be the worst thing? What if I’m just Crazy Aunt Vicky all my life? I think I would be okay with that!

Think about it: all the fun of a parent with none of the responsibility! I can play with the baby and kiss the baby but when said baby makes a boom boom in the pants, I can pass that stinky little guy to its rightful owner.

Let me set the scene. It’s Christmas Eve. Crazy Aunt Vicky rolls into the party wearing a floor length red silk slip, meant to go under a dress but I’m wearing it on its own, and with no bra on. Let’s assume my nips are hard too, for the sake of the story. I say my hellos by giving everyone some big ole no-bra, squishy titty hugs before heading to the bar cart. I see a beautiful green bottle peeking behind two other bottles. The light shines reflects off the green glass and into my soul. Tanqueray, we meet again. What trouble will we find ourselves in this time?

I pour a gin and tonic. Mostly gin, very little tonic. A lemon slice to garnish—classy shit for a classy lady. I down it—takes me 5 seconds, tops. I pour another to hold as I walk around. I’m going room to room, drink in hand, saying inappropriate things, nips still hard (let’s assume). Two drinks down, three, four, then five. I’m on my sixth gin and tonic and things are getting reckless. I find myself dancing on a table singing Don’t Stop Believing but eventually get pulled down. I set down my glass next to me. I hear someone across the room say something about hating dogs so I get a little defensive. I stand up quickly to say something like “dogsss’re greeat okey?” I move my arm and it knocks my own drink onto my slip. I blame the person sitting next to me, asking why they’d throw their drink on me. This eventually starts a fight and I get thrown out of the party, maybe even get arrested. Hell, I can do whatever the heck I want! I only have myself to worry about.

Could I do this if I had a kid? HECK NO! Kids keep you accountable for your irresponsible actions, with their judgmental looks and their constant demand for attention, financial stability, and food!

On second thought, maybe I will consider having children of my own. Maybe I’ll need to be accountable! If I keep it going at this rate, this scary scenario might actually become reality. And I can’t have that! I’ve seen Orange Is the New Black! I don’t think I could handle prison!

Alright so maybe I’ll have children, but I’ll stand by what I said before—definitely not any time soon.

So until then….

 

Blog On Fleek