As you, my mother and most likely the 416 friends on my Facebook probably know, I am going to watch Jason Mraz perform at Stadium Negara this evening. Since I’ll be standing at a (hopefully) close distance to the stage, Reta suggested that I make banners for Jason Mraz. Knowing how utterly lazy I am (coupled with a strange desire to maintain the last shreds of my dignity), I am not likely to sit down doodling away at giant cardboards with a marker pen. Besides, I have the artistic talent of Bigfoot.
Nevertheless Reta got me thinking: if I were indeed to make cardboard banners to be madly waved about at the concert (no doubt designated to entice the man into spotting my banner = spotting me = hopelessly + irrevocably fall in love with me = whisk me away to his home = get married = an idyllic lifetime of sex, money and great songs… good thinking there, me and the rest of the world!), what would my banner say? What words do I have worthy of a poet, whose music and lyrics make my heart soar with inexplicable joy, whose quirky wit and humour shine through his work and photographs, whose loop sided smile brings me back to my Mark Owen days*?
Here’s my short list:
- I WANT TO BE YOUR RAW DIET
- YOU ROCK MY UTERUS
- PLEASE SNORE NEXT TO ME
- DONATE TO THE CREATION OF MY FIRST-BORN?
- THEY CALL ME MRS. MRAZ. I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER
- OM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM
I think you get the idea. I’ll spare you from the rest of my sordid list.
Well then. What would you say to him?
* Great example of one’s past coming back to haunt her. My only advice – be very selective of whom you wish to be a fan of.