Today, I am Velma Kelly

Earlier today I had The Cell Block Tango (Chicago) stuck in my head. Not one to get musical theater songs stuck in my head (I used to), I took note. Humming along to the orchestration in my head I thought, "Yep, it must be Valentine's Day." Humming about killing lovers, sounds about right.

Tonight I can't get a line out of my head from a different song from the same musical: "No, I'm no one's wife, but oh, I love my life and all that jazz." Again, oddly appropriate for Valentine's Day. This time my reaction was, "I'm scary single."

Which leads me to the conclusion that I am Velma Kelly, at least today anyway. (I should say here I have never killed anyone and don't plan on killing anyone. At the very least I won't kill anyone for sleeping with my sister but that's mostly because I'm an only child.)

In the musical Chicago, or at least my memory and interpretation of it is thus: There are two leading ladies, Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly. Roxie has been sucked into the world of jazz, into the underbelly of prohibition Chicago. She gets tossed around, like Dorothy in the tornado to Oz, by men who find her disposable-- her husband who thinks she'll be satisfied holed up in a tiny apartment in Chicago, an "agent" who promises to fulfill Roxie's dream of being on stage but really just wants her body (and ends up dead for it), and her lawyer who thinks her case will only gain for him everything he already has: money and fame. Roxie spends most of her time pretending not to be the victim she really is.

Velma Kelly, on the other hand, spends most of her time pretending to be the victim she knows she's not. Velma Kelly knows better. She's been in "the business" for long enough that she knows what's what. Not that she doesn't feign innocence. While everyone sheepishly (or not) admits to killing their lover she always maintains that she did not kill anyone. She was framed or this is all a mistake. But of all the people in the world, Velma knows she is the last one to be seen as a victim. She pretends to save her skin, but just as she is the last person to be victimized by a man or by the legal system or by the world, she is also the last person to get hurt by it. She doesn't let things sear her like Roxie. While Roxie lets her dumb husband and her manipulative lawyer upset her, Velma Kelly keeps a cool and elegant emotional distance from the bad things in her life.

Today I am Velma Kelly. I am single. And whilst some more Roxie-ish humans may let that get them down-- whether or not they admit to it-- I am calmly and collectedly going about my business. I am too busy rocking the world to worry about the men who, try as they might (or might not), cannot hold be back.

No, I'm no one's wife, but oh, I love my life... and all that....

Here is what the last 10 minutes were in my head...

Sitting in bed.

I think I'll finish writing my paper, do some reading for another class, and go to bed. Boom. God, I'm good.

Oh, Facebook. People seem to really like my latest status: "Valentine's Day in two weeks and to celebrate I'm going to hide under my bed til all the pink things go away. Unless I get asked out in which case, I WANT ALL THE PINK THINGS...."

Hmmm... No one has texted me for a while.

Oh a snap chat!

Okay, okay paper time. Pulling up the document. Add title. Boom. Excellente.

Can't concentrate with drunk bitches walking down the street outside my window screaming.

Oh good, they're gone.

They've been replaced by a mysterious tapping from the apartment next to me....

I know she's not having sex, I've been living here for 6 months, she's never had sex.

She must being doing something else, like sometimes my roommate does jumping jacks, she must be doing jumping jacks.

Writing paper, writing paper, writing paper.

It's not sex, it's too quiet to be sex. You're not telling me-- oh God.

That is the moan of a man- a man- who just finished. Oh my God, why am I subjected to that right now.

Jesus Lord, she's giggling right now.

Oh, no, don't talk, please don't talk.

Yeah, giggle and talk about the first sex you've had since I've moved in.

Just in time for Valentine's day, you sly dog.

Yeah, you guys are just having a ball laughing and... Kiera. Stop.

Wait. Blog this and then go write your God damn essay that is due tomorrow.

This is their business and just because you had to listen to it, blogging about it is probably bad form.

Can I make a facebook status about it? "Neighbor having sex. Wait never mind, he came"?

Feels weirder. You're right. Blogging it is.

Welp, here we are.