The Dogs Upstairs... and ABBA inside my head

My upstairs neighbors must not be home, because their dogs are fighting. They are fighting so loudly that they woke me up from my doze. Which was a good thing... I fell asleep on the floor with my head leaning up against my laptop. I probably would not have been comfortable there all night. I like dogs, in moderation, and when they are well behaved. Not when owners stick three fairly young ones into a one bedroom apartment, and only occasionally visit them. These dogs have gone ferral.

Ever since I read the beginnings of Edgy Killer Bunny's Alphabiography, Books Are King: a is for I have had ABBA's song "Take a Chance on Me" in my head... all day, while I have been trying to concentrate on numbers. I must say, it was much more fun to concentrate on ABBA than numbers.

I, like Edgy, was raised by ABBA listening parents, although I think my mother was more of the ABBA fan. (Usually, my father took the lead in our music upbringing, which is why I enjoy bagpipe music, and Rush, the group, not the Limbaugh... anyway, on with the story) I remember long car rides, sitting in the back seat, with the song "Take a Chance on Me" playing, because that was my favorite ABBA song as a child. My child's mind thought the song was about a train and I interpreted the background singing... "cha-cha-cha-chance" as "cha-cha-chug... cha-cha-chug." (I think that I was in college before I sat down and carefully listened to all the words and realized that they weren't mimicking a train in the background.)

This reminicing brought back a funny memory, and I wonder if my mom remembers it. In Oregon we are not allowed to pump our own gasoline. Don't ask why, it's a long political discussion... Anyway, I remember a drive up to Seattle to see my uncles' at their college, and both me and my brother were in car-seats so I must have been three maybe four, the next brother hadn't been born yet, so I wasn't yet five. Anyway, we stopped to get gas somewhere not in Oregon so Mom had to pump the gas, which she wasn't used to doing, and ABBA was playing on the radio, at least it was playing in my memory of the memory. I watched her spill the gas on the window, and all down the side of the car. I smelled gas for the rest of the way to my uncles' and I threw up from the fumes when we reached my uncles' apartment. Mom hadn't brought any other clothing for me, (probably because at that point she thought she had got past the need to bring extra outfits for me) so I got the never-before-priviledge to wear one of my uncle's t-shirts like a dress-- with no underwear- while I waited for my clothes to be washed. While I waited for my clothes, and the adults talked, I danced around the room to the music in my head and felt like a little heathen child borne of the freedom of not wearing underwear.

Chiquitita
try once more
like you did before
sing a new song
Chiquitita

For the longest time I associated getting sick with being in a car, from the smell of gas, and from the smell of rubber glue, which I thought smelled like gas, but not with ABBA, not ABBA ever. I associate ABBA with wearing no clothes except my uncle's t-shirt, and feeling rebellious because I was walking around in public with my bare bum rubbing against only one layer of clothing.

...And it's back again... "If you change your mind, I'm the first in line... cha-cha-cha-chance on me...."