“Got Jesus on my necklace”

These are words you don’t necessarily want your daughter to spew out in public. It’s not that we’re not of the Christian faith, or that we want to conceal our beliefs from public viewing; but repeating the mantra of Ke$ha (who isn’t the ideal role-model we would have selected for HRH), is a little embarrassing. For starters, she has a character in her name. Not just any character, but one that made me correct people when she first hit the scene because I thought she went by “Casha”. It was an understandable mispronunciation. And just look at her… glitter on her eyes, stockings ripped all up the side, looking sick and sexy-fied. Oh no-o-o (We should go-o-o). [editorial comment: two hours after this was posted, Chris gasped and stated that he was appauled by the previous two sentences, as well as the title of this post. He didn't realize this was pulled straight from Ke$ha's lyrics. So, if you too are not in tune with today's music, please don't be offended. This blog just may not be for you. Yes, Chris, I'm talking to you. Hahahaha.]

Kensington, in a display of expressing herself, has turned into a karaoke diva. Give that girl a microphone and a smoky bar-like setting, and she will own the stage. Unfortunately, she has been banned from most of the clubs in Eastern PA and Northern New Jersey (they stated that since she once signed a contract with a recording company, she’s ineligible to participate in “amateur” competitions – stupid rules. If there is wiggle room on American Idol, there should be the same considerations here at our local cabarets). Given that she can’t utilize the nightclubs as an outlet to illustrate her talents, she has deemed her car seat in the backseat of my truck the next best suitable place. Her audience… me and daddy (and whoever is lucky enough to gain admission into the two open spaces next to her). It’s a very, let’s say, up-close and personal performance. We look at it as if we were given backstage passes to every performance. It’s nice to know those connected to the box office.

This talent first showcased itself about eighteen months ago when Kensington was first introduced to the Black Eye Peas and “Boom Boom Pow” while traveling to and from school. She’d become overly excited each time it played on my SiriusXM radio. But anytime a country song would play, she’d scream with repulsion (Chris loves playing with my channels, so often when I start the car I get the pleasure of listening to his selections – Country and Christian - both I change as soon as I can). I’m don’t blame her… we have similar musical taste.

It moved from one song, to the themed songs of “The Backyardans,” “Blues Clues,” and “The Fresh Beat Band;” each she would hum along and bounce her head back and forth… now she’s included her signature move - stomp, stomp, stomp, quarter-spin, fall and repeat. Now she has expanded her participation beyond humming, and lengthened her repertoire to Top 40. Ill-fated as it is, Ke$ha and “We R Who We R” have been on the list for some time now. A few months ago, she would sing back-up… only spouting the last word in each sentence (which, because of Ke$ha’s own limited vocabulary were “dumb,” “numb,” and “young.” I swear that woman is a modern day Sylvia Plath). Now, she’s taking center stage and demands, at times, audience participation (which to me is just intolerable. When I pay good money to see someone in concert [Beyonce], don’t tell me “This is my favorite part of the concert, this is where you sing to ME” and point the microphone to the audience and expect us to belt out “to the left, to the left, everything you own in the box to the left”. Sorry. That was a tangent. I know. But it really does bother me. It’s bad enough I have Drunken Dianna next to me and I have to hear her sing along while I want to be “in the moment” with my bodacious Bee, and now I have 17,998 other inebriated people trying to camouflage a tune [Baby you dropped them keys, Hurry up before your taxi leaves].

Okay. I’m Back. Sorry Dianna, whoever you are. I didn’t mean to call you a bad singer. I was just using you as an example. We’ve all been next to a “Dianna”, and you just happened to be at the right concert at the wrong time.

Kensington now sings along to Bruno Mars, Rihanna, Neon Trees and her pappa’s personal favorite, Pink. Granted, her use of our language isn’t as extensive as, oh, lets say a 3 year old, but she tries. So, Chris and I look past the times when we too are bopping along to Mumford & Sons’ “Little Lion Man”, and it sounds like… I hate to say it… Dianna is riding along with us in the back seat.

Regretfully, Kensington signed the above mentioned contract with her record agency under protest by her management team (a little Bieber-esk if you ask me), and thus is unable to produce or perform in any videos that can be posted on this blog. We’ve tried to capture her on using several means… camcorder, video camera and even my blackberry. While she may love the camera to get her picture taken, she knows when we’re shooting video and refuses to belt out another tune. That’s what I call a Diva, with a capitol “D”. Sorry Dianna, I'm not talking about you again.