Two-Hit Wonders?

We all know about one-hit wonders, those recording artists who record one good - or not so good, but memorable/popular - song and then are never heard from again. (Macarena, anyone?) But at least one local radio station does Two-Fer Tuesdays. So last night, as I'm driving toward my crash-pad for the night in Katy, I hear a two-fer from Blue Oyster Cult. "Burning for You" and "Don't Fear the Reaper." And of course, as random meaningless things do, it got me to thinking. After all, are there any other BOC songs that ever made it big, at least in a fairly mainstream way? No, of course not. So I tried to think of other two-hit wonders. The Romantics ("What I Like About You" and "Talking In Your Sleep")... Falco ("Der Kommisar" and "Rock Me Amadeus," though he did have other songs I know and like)... Damn Yankees ("High Enough" and "Come Again," though the band was WAY underrated; check out "Piledriver" if you get a chance)... Hard to think of very man though. It seems like most artists are one-hit, or one-album, wonders. Very rarely do you run across bands with two hits, no more, no less.

Of course, I welcome any and all input on this, and now that I've put it out there I can imagine I'll have half a dozen responses reminding me of bands I'd forgotten.

At least I hope I do; this darn blog doesn't indicate how many times a post is viewed, so I don't even know how often it's read, much less by how many people, or whom.

Impulse

Last night I read a post on a friend’s blog, asking us ladies how we felt about receiving flowers from a man… If we liked it; if there were specific occasions we preferred, or even expected, flowers; at what point in a relationship was it not “too early” to give them, etc. It got me to thinking. You see, every now and then, I buy myself a little bouquet of my favorite flowers, just as a little pick-me-up (if no one else is gonna spoil me, I will at least spoil myself). One time, several years back, when I worked in a grocery store, a customer approached me one day with a small bouquet of these same flowers. He said he had been working up the nerve to talk to me for a long time, saw me buying these same flowers one time, and decided that I deserved to have them given to me instead of buying them myself. I wound up going on one date with him, and we had a decent enough time but nothing ever came of it. Yet here I am, years later, with such a fond memory of that little bouquet.

(BTW, if you’ll notice, I’ve very carefully refrained from naming the flowers… All I’ll say about that is that they’re not roses, and that the man who brings these to me will capture my heart…)

So today I was talking to a friend of mine, about another friend of mine… I think I may be facilitating a love connection. LOL Anyway… she was thinking about doing something sweet to surprise him, and I’m encouraging her as best I can. She didn’t want to seem to forward or aggressive, but at the same time thought it might be nice for him. My advice to her was that, as long as no one gets hurt in the process, this kind of little impulsive move is never a mistake. No matter what happens in the future, whether it goes anywhere or not… he will remember, and cherish, what she did for him.

Hopeless romantics, here we go again…

The One That Got Away

Well since I’ve finally admitted to myself that it’s deader than dead, it’s time to tell the (very sanitized) story of The One That Got Away. While it’s tempting to give out his full name, which might mean it would show up on a Google search and he might eventually find this blog, I’ll pass on that. We said all we had to say, most of it a long, long time ago, some of it more recently and no less painfully. Still, I’ll give you his first name, which to this day gives me a little shiver. Bret.

Bret wasn’t my first big crush; that happened in kindergarten with a boy named Jimmy. Bret wasn’t my first big fall-head-over-heels romantic feelings either. Bret wasn’t even my first boyfriend. But he was what I can honestly say was my first big love affair. He was older, and he was my idol. I was in youth theater when I was a teenager, and when I was fourteen and he was nineteen, Bret left our little group to make it big in Hollywood. At the time I had a huge crush on him, and he thought I was a real sweet kid. That’s as it should be; anything different woulda been kinda creepy. But. He came back when I was seventeen. Seventeen, much more confident, much more of a touchy-feely-huggy person… out of my braces, into contacts, and (though I didn’t realize it until later) fairly shapely as well. I was one of the few people in the group still left from his glory days, since I had been the baby of that bunch, and so our friendship renewed quickly. As did my secret crush, which of course I was sure he would never return. Well, several months later, I spent a Saturday morning at his house, with the intention of lecturing him on the big mistake he was making by being involved with his girlfriend at the time. I was saved the trouble of giving that lecture, however, when his ex-girlfriend called him while I was there and did it for me. Basically all I had to say was, “Yeah. What she said.” But then he wanted to know why I felt that way, and somewhere in the middle of telling him why she was so bad for him, I got a little emotional, my voice was escalating, and I told him that I loved him and didn’t want to see him hurt. Now, that’s not as dramatic a revelation as it sounds, because among our group we were as free with declarations of love as we were with hugs; I could easily pretend that I just meant the same friendly/sisterly love we bandied about on a regular basis. But I opened my arms to him for a big hug.

To this day, I will swear that he’s the one who kissed me, while he will swear that I kissed him. Whoever started it, we wound up first on the floor, then in his bedroom. We didn’t make love, not that day, not ever. We did, however, carry on a heated affair (I’m only sort of ashamed to admit, behind his girlfriend’s back) for a few months. First it was my fear and inexperience that kept us from crossing that line (though we crossed others – oh, did we ever!), then it was his realization that in a few months I would be moving to Texas and moving on with my future… a future he couldn’t see himself in, though I certainly saw him there quite easily. We said an awkward goodbye and that was it. Over the next few years we saw each other only once. Most of the details were hashed out over several letters, first angry and sarcastic as word of my newfound wild ways leaked back to him, then heartbreakingly honest as he and I finally revealed to each other everything that we had been thinking and feeling since the day he had walked back through the rehearsal room doors. It was star-crossed love at its best, and its worst. The last time I had spoken to him was when I was pregnant with my oldest. He called me up, we had a slightly awkward conversation, punctuated by my laughter as he sang a song to me, with the words slightly changed… “I try not to think about what might have been… ‘cause you’re knocked up…”

Over the years I sent the occasional letter and picture of the kids. I should have left it at that after the last letter I had written him was returned as undeliverable, “not at this address,” but I didn’t. Through a long convoluted process and a little bit of luck – good, bad, I’m not sure – I found him again last year. We exchanged letters and phone calls, flirting all the while, and I wound up taking a trip back home, ostensibly for a family reunion, but really to see him. And it all fell apart. I think the reason he gave me wasn’t the real reason, but that’s neither here nor there. That last little bit of fantasy-hope that I had been holding out all these years, that someday we’d be together again and this time we’d make it right… that hope is all but gone. Not lost completely, never lost completely, because the love I have for him is honest and true, and I believe he has the same kind of love for me as well… but I have a funny feeling if we do get another chance… well… it’s gonna be another 13 years before we get to it.