Tuesday, June 12, 2018

Something About Something

Last week, someone that I love and admire a whole lot mentioned that I hadn't blogged lately, and that she missed reading my stuff.


The reason I haven't been talking (blogging), is that I have been DOING.

I have been soooo frickin' busy doing "stuff", that I have literally not had any time to log onto this page and write.

I finally decided what my "Magnum Opus" was going to be about...or WHOM, I should say.  I decided it was time to give Old Jimbo his moment in the sun, even if it is fictional AF.

I have been desperately living, running around all over town dropping off, picking up, watching, playing, cooking, cleaning, and frantically trying to memorialize my best friend in print -- the way he should be remembered.

Which leaves me little time for this, my mental jerk-off (sorry, guys, but it is) place.

So, here is what has been going on...

Numerous friends getting married -- which means buying gifts, buying dresses with unflattering hems; buying, buying, buying.

Numerous friends getting divorced -- which means buying and making freezer meals, buying cards and "pamper yourself" gifts; buying, buying, buying.

Numerous friends launching Direct Marketing businesses, which means spending money on face masks, spending money on supplements; spending, spending, spending.

Numerous friends having babies, which means spending money at chain stores I would otherwise never set foot in, spending money on diapers and clothes and lotions, unguents, and wipes; spending, spending, spending.

Meanwhile, it is already FUCKING JUNE, which means the year is halfway over (already?!?!? WTF!!!), and I have missed my "I promise I will have a boyfriend by Summer" date, which I pledged to friends, family, and my Little Sis (who is both and a whole lot more!), so I would stop being the 3rd, 5th, 7th, wheel at events, and no longer be caught shamelessly making out with the keg in the background of everyone's "Insta" pics at events.

Sorry about that...

I'm actually not, though, which is where I toss out an "Insta-ready" hashtag -- #SorryNotSorry

I really meant to get a permanent BF this year...HONESTLY!

You can ask Little Sis, I even recklessly swore that THIS summer would be different, and that I would definitely not be the odd person out at every 'family' event, where everyone is coupled up and holding hands, fondly watching the kids play and speaking some crazy insider couplespeak while I surreptitiously pounded an IPA and a Marlboro Light behind the fence on the pretense of walking the dog...

I failed, though.

Sorry, Little Sis.

Here's what happened....

I literally MEANT to get in a relationship this year.  Honestly, I did.

In spite of what you may have heard from...oh, EVERYONE THAT KNOWS ME, I am not an "Ice Queen", "Ice Princess", or even "Afraid Of My Feelings".

I am simply careful.



I have a child that is...well, difficult would be an understatement.....check THIS.

The fact is, she had a wonderful father that she was BFFs with -- a father that did everything for her,a father that made her the center of his universe, a father that constantly conspired against my non-materialistic, no soda, no food-coloring, no Red Dye # 5 ways with her allllllllll the time, and made her feel like the most special person in the world.  Which she is, obvs, tied with EJ, SMS, CL, ERH, HGEH, and WJEH.

He died very suddenly.  So quickly, that it was like someone ripping a rug from under her feet.

She isn't over it, none of us are.

So, as much as I would dearly LOVE to be getting regular shagging from someone that I like, respect, and --YES -- love (I AM capable of it, I swear!), I refuse to settle.

I literally can't.

Because I have a little lady that is looking at me, trying to find her place in the world without the person that was her center...

I suppose I could settle for someone that is fun in the sack, someone I have no common interests with, someone that doesn't know how to dig in the dirt, or milk a goat, or scrape chicken shit off his feet every single day, because chickens and farm eggs are the best thing ever.  Someone that doesn't understand that I HAVE to drop everything and run to my friend's house because her sitter cancelled, or her dog got run over, or her boyfriend is a misogynist asshole, or her dishwasher isn't working and I know I can fix it.

I suppose I could settle for someone I can discuss politics, the economy, socialism, fascism, Harry Potter, Batman, Stephen King, South Park, football, baseball, hockey, (but NEVER basketball -- unless we are talking King James), AND The Kardashians, but not be even remotely physically attracted to.

I suppose I could settle....

But, I won't.

It's not like I think I am a prize, BTW.

I am. like, 22 pounds overweight.  I have a double chin that has 2 fluffy stepchildren. Also, my spare tire, love handle, etc, is almost one the verge of outpacing my (glorious -no joke, LOOK at them) boobs.

I have a neck that -- while it hasn't descended into a full-on turkey-wattle-- looks like someone used a wire as a ligature, leaving a giant crease.

My nails are short, broken, and frequently junky-looking, due to my frequent bouts of gardening.

I keep forgetting to dye my hair, which means my Bride of Frankenstein streak pops out at least twice a year.

All of that adds up to this --- here it is, FUCKING JUNE of 2018 and I am still single, in spite of my promises to the contrary.

I don't have a husband, fiancee, boyfriend, FWB, or even a maintenance pal...

And I am totally okay with that.

So you must be as well.

UNLESS you are:

A)  A farmer with goats, chickens, a YOOGE garden, and a propensity for wrinkly fat chicks with greying hair,




Monday, March 5, 2018

Slacking Off, Catching Up, and Trying Not to Grow Up or Grow Old!

I totally suck at this 500 words a day (WAD) thing.

I LOOOOVE our group, and I am constantly inspired and impressed by all of the amazing soulful writing these totally rad humans produce.

Then I get on and start blathering about dildos and Jason Momoa and I feel like a vapid moron, so I cast about for something to write on the next post -- something deep and profound -- but, as it turns out, I am neither deep nor profound (also don't think I am a vapid moron, but that could just be wishful thinking).

So I find other things to do that make it so I am too 'busy' to post, and I, cringingly, jump on our group's page and read all the awesome things that make me want to write, all the while waiting for our brave and fearless leader (KH) to catch me commenting and being, like, "MARY, YOU CAN'T PLAY WITH US, YOU AREN'T DOING THE WORK).

Anyway, I have decided I am going to jump back into WAD with, like, 1000 words today and 1000 words tomorrow and then stay caught up at my day-behind status.  And that isn't an oxymoron or even fake news, there -- being a day behind (instead of 3) will make me caught up...to myself. Because neuroses, guys!!

Lately, I have been obsessively thinking about personalities.  My friends all have super diverse personalities, and lately I have been gravitating away from certain personality types and toward others.  Like, certain traits that I found amusing or stimulating or hilarious are now annoying and embarrassing, and vulgar.  And traits that I thought were dull or maybe a little intimidating are now intriguing and fun.

I wonder if it's a sign that I am finally mature?  Like, at 42.5 years, did I suddenly grow up? 

If so, well, it's about fucking time!

Honestly, I don't think I have ever felt like an adult in my life outside of work.  Which is very bizarre, because 8-10 hours of the day I am calm, competent, organized, efficient, and commanding.  As soon as I shrug off my (heinous) uniform, I immediately feel like the awkward teenager that annoys everyone at the family Christmas Dinner.  I get home and am, like, WHHYYYYY do I have to cook?  I'm tired, my feet hurt (probs shouldn't be wearing heels over 3 inches to work, but whatever), and my daughter is the pickiest eater alive, and there are 3 different sushi places, one ramen grill, and a Round Table Pizza within 5 minutes of here, sooooooo. 

Also, laundry.  I don't want to do my laundry....like ever.  Actually, scratch that.  Have no prob doing the laundry, but can someone please come over and fold it and put it away for me???  (Ask your moms, please, I will even pay!) Pleeeaaaassseee???  (also, if you could unload my dishwasher that would be great as well.  Very much enjoy scrubbing dishes clean and loading them up and pushing buttons to make the washer go, but have some kind of mental block about unloading them, so your assistance would be appreciated!)

Also, any time I type a word that has "ass" in it (see above sentence), I always snigger to myself 'har, har, just wrote ass!'

........just realized that it should come as no surprise to me, anyone that knows me, or anyone that reads this just WHY I am a total spinster!..... *sigh*

So.....yeah....guessing maturity is not the culprit for my persnickety ways, and maybe - just possibly - it could be something else....like MENOPAUSE (mental-pause!)?? 

Haha, I feel like I should apologize for this....vaginal dryness.  Kill me now!  :-D


That honestly is not one of the life passages I am looking forward to. 

Retirement?  Sign me UP! 

Completely grey (well, silver actually!) hair?  Yessssss!!  No more dyeing, and I can put fun colors in it without bleaching it to the consistency of sagebrush!

Flowy pants with elastic waistbands and shoes that have 'comfort soles' in the description?  HOORAY!!

Hot flashes, irritability, memory loss, fatigue and diminished sex drive???? Step the fuck off, pal, cos I am NOT EVEN INTERESTED!!

Hopefully it is neither maturity nor menopause and maybe just a sign that I am looking for more out of my relationships than superficial fun.  Maybe I am at the point where I am starting to value substance over style, and I will end up with richer, deeper, more meaningful friendships.

ORRRRRRR, perhaps my reclusive ways have caused me to become boring so I am drawn to boring people.

I'm actually okay with that too, surprisingly.  Or not surprisingly to those of you that find me incredibly dull. There is something to be said for not always being loud and out there and switched on.
Except that I kind of want a boyfriend(more on that tomorrow).....and I am not attractive enough to be boring. My personality is usually what tricks people into thinking I am a 7 and not the 4 I actually am, so if I decided to become as boring as I often feel like being, I am pretty sure I will be single forever, which I am totally ok with.....except when I am not. Like today. And last week, last month, and pretty much all of this year. Since I don't actually know anyone that is compatible BF material, and I definitely would like to be coupled up by the summer (more on that tomorrow), I have to meet some unsuspecting dude and do my Jedi Mind Tricks on him so he overlooks the myriad flaws in my face, body, and personality, and get him to decide I am, like, The One or some shit like that.

All of that probably sounds incredibly needy and probably a touch mercenary, but I swear it's not like that. Seriously. DUDE.

I mean, I guess it could be. I could be in a massive state – like Texas-sized – of denial, how would I even know that if I was? Does anyone in denial ever really know?

But I don't think I am.

Tell you tomorrow.

Here's your apology.  You're welcome.

Friday, March 2, 2018

Day 1. Shooting my WAD at the Sex Toy Party

First post of the year.
Back on the 500 Words A Day bus (hence the title).
This one messed with my OCD.  
500 Words A Day for 30 days, would end on March 30, which is not the last day of the month.
If you want it to end when the month does, you have to start on Day 2, which is not right either.....*sigh*

My submission is below:

Why would I pay money to make my ass look like my grandma's couch???

It feels like all of my friends are in direct marketing businesses.
Various forms of melting air fresheners.

I find the leggings hideous. Like, eye-searingly awful.

I don't wear lipstick. Lipstick feels too waxy and it ends up on my teeth and since people are dumb, I usually don't find out until I have run a thousand errands and talked to that hot guy I am too embarrassed to flirt with and that chick I hate at the mall and your mom.

I like air fresheners. I like nice smells in my house, but I am clumsy and I always smack into them and send the wax flying. Do you know how hard it is to get blue or purple wax out of tan carpet?

Dildos, vibrators, etc are all fine and dandy, but the parties always feel fake and forced to me. My friends, who are usually chill and talk about coffee and kids and existential crises and bills and shit like that are suddenly sexy minxes who introduce themselves and their vaginas alliteratively (that a word?) with stuff like, “Hi, my name is Jen and my vagina is Juicy”, or “Hi, my name is Chris and my vagina is Cute.” 
I can't even.

I hate everyone and all interactions outside of my safe circle, so these parties are agony.


I am always “on” when I am in social situations.
I get to a party or gathering or whatever, and immediately ramp up the charm and humor until I feel comfortable enough to not sit in the corner by the snacks and try to find an adjective to describe my lady bits that doesn't make me vomit.
I decided on modest.
Which she isn't, but I am not gonna tell any of these suddenly saucy sirens any more about my vagina than I have to.

Inevitably, at the end of these various makeup, waxy smells, dildo, clothes, jewellery, whatever parties, the hostess and her mentor pull me aside and insist I am PERFECT for this kind of thing and need to spend $64000 on a start up kit so I can be part of the TEAM and make enough money to quit my day job (which I happen to be very fond of, so no) and go to conventions and seminars and conferences, OH MY!

Instead, I just spend $200 on sex toys or wax that smells like lavender or the ocean, take a brochure and slink out the door (hitting the snack table on the way).

The problem is that all of these people are now all over social media advertising their wares and their parties and I want to be supportive and help my girls out and buy all their stuff and help them be free of The Man, but I don't want to be broke in a houseful of dildos and ugly leggings with lipstick on my teeth, ironing wax out of my carpet.

Maybe I just need new friends. Or none.

This is just here to make up for the ugly leggings at the top.  You're welcome.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

Prompt From GrownUpTantrums.. What’s One Thing That’s Happened to You That Has Made You a Stronger Person?

Ahem.  THIS is what strong looks like.  (drool)

Ummmm.... how about LIFE?

Is there one, single event that has made me a 'stronger person'?


I am strong because I have HAD to be.

In my life, there are always kids that need saving, bills that need paying, and people that need to be propped up.


Not one single event, but a lifetime of red flags, warning signs, and straight up NEED.
When I was 17, still in high school, I gave birth to the most fierce, fantastic, fabulous woman that walks the earth...ELJ.  She is, literally, better than anyone you know -- besides her grandma, SJ.

When I was 25, it became clear that my baby sister (who is also my best friend on the planet) needed to get out of her house and into mine.  I drove 9 1/2 hours to California, packed her and her possessions into my car, and drove her back to Washington, where I have subjected her to 17 years of my neuroses...

When I was 30, my precious niece was dropped off at my house -- amid some MAJOR DRAMA --  so I could raise her into adulthood, even though I wasn't actually an adult myself.  I did the best I could and , although I CLEARLY passed on some of my awful traits on to her, she isn't a high school dropout, a teen mom, or an entitlement-sucking layabout, so I guess I did ok.

When I was 31, I brought my precious Roo into the world.....still not sure how to handle her, or the fact of her existence.  I am in WAY over my head with this one!!

When I was 41, it became clear that -- if I did not grab my niece out of her "home" -- she would end up a high-school dropout and, possibly, a 'teen mom', or some other statistic.  I moved her into my home, gave her my bedroom so that I now sleep on a couch and keep my clothes in totes in the coat closet.  I bit the bullet and just did that.  She drives me crazy on a daily basis, but what else can I do, but just bear it?

Am I stronger because of these things??

Don't know...

All I know is that life has served me pounds and pounds of lemons, and I have endeavoured to make lemonade, year after year after year.  But now -- just now -- I feel like chucking the lemonade and making whatever makes ME happy...

I am, physically, the most freakishly strong person I know.

Am I 'STRONG(er)', though??

Not really feeling like I am at this point, but I think that everything I have been through, all of the kids I have tried to raise (even though I screwed up by making them cynical, iconoclastic, skeptics of EVERYTHING), all of the people I have bailed out whenever I could, all of the times I have subverted my personal goals to keep the peace, and all of the times I have just said YES, when I wanted to say NO, have seasoned me to the point where I feel strong enough to say that I am DONE.

I am sooo ready to move on and live my life for me....just me (and my girls).  I never thought that was ok before, but just lately, I feel like it is.

Is that strength or selfishness?

I don't know about that, all I know is that -- just now --- I feel strong enough to say that I am ready to be Freakishly Strong -- not physically -- but emotionally....  To the point that I am only doing what serves me and my girls, and the rest of you can fuck right off....

Khloe Kardashian says "Strong Looks Better Naked", and I must agree..get naked, Dude, GET NAKED (pleaseandthankyou).

Friday, November 17, 2017

16 - It's All About The Gravy, Baby!!

I need to lose 5 pounds this week, so I don't have to lose ten pounds next week
Hashtag FML


Day 16 - Something you are excited about.

It's November, so DUH!!

Turkey Day!!

I love Thanksgiving, it is my favorite holiday ever.  Especially as there is no 'Thanksgiving Candy' or 'Thanksgiving Gifts' I am required to buy for my entitled little brat of a child.  Winning!

Any holiday that is all about food wins in my book, but Thanksgiving is the mack daddy of them all.  Or maybe it's the daddy mack?  I don't even care, Thanksgiving is the gravy on the mashed potatoes of my life.

This Thanksgiving is going to be super fun.  We are doing it at my sister's house, and the day(s) will go something like this -- all interspersed with baby snuggles from my favorite tiny humans:

Arrive Wednesday evening, bake pies, assemble sides that can be assembled ahead of time, and prep turkey.

Thursday am, Starbucks and smoothies for breakfast, turkey in the oven.

The rest of the morning/early afternoon will be spent cooking side dishes, decorating, and watching all 10 of the Thanksgiving episodes of FRIENDS in order.

Borrow sister's maternity pants (she had a baby on August 31), and set table.

Eat mammoth feast, using copious amounts of gravy, until I am dazed and too full to stand up and walk away from the table.
Clear away feast, making packets of leftovers for other family members, but setting the majority of the stuff away for Thanksgiving Soup (also preparing and hiding 3 full plates for me to plow through after everyone goes to sleep and I watch a Christmas movie).

Bribe entitled child to help me shuffle and roll to the couch.

Watch Festive Holiday Programming until everyone goes to sleep.

Consume 3 plates of food while watching, and fall asleep with the smell of turkey gravy and shame wafting off of me.

I use this meme a lot, but it's MEEEEEEE!

Friday am, up early, Starbucks and Thornton's Treeland, where we will spend roughly eleven years slogging through the mud, wrangling babies and dealing with my irritated (no wifi @ Thornton's), entitled child, while my picky sister and her equally discerning 11 year old daughter debate the merits and flaws of ALLLLL 645 trees on the farm.  Find tree, toss it in the truck and hit the Hockinson Cafe for breakfast, return to sister's house.  Spend 2 hours crawling around on the floor adjusting and re-adjusting the screws in the tree-holder while my brother-in-law pushes the top  back and forth until my picky sister is satisfied that it is 100% perfect - probably while fending off my bossy niece who doesn't talk a lot, but has to be involved in every activity in her house will probably be crawling around under the tree with me yelling "No" and trying to shove toys up my nose.

Make and consume Thanksgiving Soup, pack up my Thanksgiving AND Thanksgiving Soup leftovers, snuggle babies goodbye, go home (stopping to buy a jar of turkey gravy en route), and collapse.

Yes, yes I do!

Probably sounds hectic and crazy, but it's our Thanksgiving tradition, and I am so grateful for it.

And for gravy.

And this guy.

Yum!  Muffins!

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Ahem - 3 Days Later...

So, Miss Veronica at GrownupTanrums and I are struggling through a 30 Day Blog Challenge.

We have both missed days and then caught up, but we are still slogging through.

At the outset, we promised and predicted social media shaming and shit talking.

But, we both have lives and are doing the best we can.  Which is, literally, all you can expect from anyone, EVER.

I actually thought I was 2 days behind, but realized, from checking my stats (HELLLLOOOO, Germany, you have out-paced Russia on blog reads, Tausend Dank!!) I am THREE DAYS BEHIND!!  

So, here we go:

I loved them growing up...as adults - all of us - not so much!

Day 13:  A Book You Like, A Book You Don't.
A Book I Like - To Kill A Mockingbird.  Harper Lee's Magnum Opus. 
Scout, Jem, Atticus, Dill, Boo, Aunt Alexandra, Uncle Jack, CALPURINA.
This book, which was pretty much required reading for the youth of America for decades is AMAZING.  Beautiful, funny, heartbreaking, romantic..FAIR.
I grew up in the whitest county in California.  I did not know any POC when I read it, but I had a heart and a brain and read the newspapers.
This book made me angry at the assumption that a POC was wrong simply because of the color of their skin -- be it black or Albino white.
This book made me relish my countrified childhood.
I loved Dill, that 'pocket Merlin', because my head was too full of fancy as well.

I loved that book.  I still love it.
I read it every fall, because the penultimate conflicts happen in late summer and after a Halloween (Harvest) carnival.

 Book I Don't - To Set A Watchman, the sequel to Harper Lee's Magnum Opus.
Or the prequel..I don't care.
It was boring.
It was awful.
And Atticus was a fucking closet racist....
I never finished it, even though I started it about 48,000 times.
I probably will never finish it, and I don't even care.
No Jem, no Cal, no Hero Atticus.  Even Scout lost her flavor....gone was the girl brawling in the play yard and fighting boys,
I hate sequels and re-makes.
I loathe that every generation tries to re-do or re-make what came before.


Dirty Dancing, Havana Nights??  Barf.
Ben Asshat as Batman -- STFU!!!
Clash of The Titans without that clockwork owl and Claymation Calibos?  Go.  Away.
New humans, please create your own art, movies, and music and leave the classics alone.

Day 14: Something You Struggle With.
About 3 out of every 7 days I wake up anywhere from 1:30-3:30 and cannot go back to sleep.
Which sucks.
Lack of sleep is a killer.  Literally.
I am too tired to link any of the studies, but trust me, they are real.
I have hallucinated when I have been awake for more than 48 hours.
If I stay awake for over 24 hours, I have a remarked tendency to cry at ...oh, everything.
When I can't sleep, I look up conspiracy theories on the Internet --

did you know Stephen King killed John Lennon??  No?  GTS!!

Did you know Katy Perry is actually John-Benet Ramsay (or Ramsey, too lazy to GTS)

Did you know the earth is flat or  9/11 was done by the Jews, the Russians, or the ...um whoever??  Anyone but radical goat-fucking Islamists, though....because that is TOO EASY!  

Everything has a back-story that includes collusion, the Rockefeller's, the Rothschild's, and those damn lizard people that seeded the earth with humans like we plant potatoes in Idaho.

I can never drift into sleep after spiking my consciousness with this ridiculous crap.
I literally pass out 5 minutes before my alarm goes off, and then wake up in a gritty-eyed, thin-sour-sweaty-haze.  It sucks.
I am never very productive at work, post-insomnia.
I am never a very good mom to my not-a-morning-person-child, post-insomnia.
I am never patient, tolerant, kind, or pleasant on the post-insomnia days.

I have TRIED.

Melatonin, Epsom-Salt baths, warm milk (haha, KIDDING, I am not a baby goat, so BARF!!), Sleepytime Tea, positive visualization, booze...nothing helps.
I sincerely hope this doesn't go on much longer, but since this has been a thing for me since I can consciously remember, I can only hope I get another fallow period (I have had multiple, lasting YEARS), where I sleep through the night, sometime soon...because the last 18 months have been kicking my ass.
And I am tired (of it).
So tired.

Day 15: Something You Are Currently Worrying About.
Fucking Everything.
If I even began to list what worries me today, I would end up in an asylum, so I am going to try to keep this lighthearted and not at all connected to the things that actually cause me to wake up in a sweat (see above).

I worry that I know who all the dudes in One Direction are, and that I actually have a favorite.
Up until about a month ago, I only know 1 single OD song, because it was about my beloved JR (KJ), whose boyfriend would play it for her every time she showed up at one of his gigs (at least that's how I saw it).
A couple of months ago, after I realized I was an inadvertent Justin Bieber fan, I found a new jam...
It was not a Bieber song, but it was by a dude from OD and I LOVED it.  I thought it was by the cute, blond one....but it wasn't.  So I had to GTS and try to get them all sorted out, because I was super confused about who was singing what and I didn't have a scorecard.  When I got it all sorted, I decided it was all Quavo's fault, as he sings in the Bieber song I like, and the song that is not-by-Niall-Horan-but-thought-it-was.

I know he is, like 19, but CAN YOU BLAME ME???  

Fucking Quavo. (although, I must admit, he is the shit!)

Anyway, I fell asleep at 6 this morning, having re-set all of my alarms to 6:30 and had a very weird jumbly dream in which my sis was knocked up AGAIN (my perfect little sis, not the other one), I was eating porcelain coffee cups and spitting them on the ground, even though I had no shoes on, and eventually, wound up at a holiday bazaar in which OD showed up and I tried to take a selfie next to my 'favorite', but ended up to Harry Styles' secret lover instead (that's another conspiracy theory, BTW!).
I am 42 and have no business having a favorite (former) OD member, or even knowing their names....but I do.  (barf)

I worry that somewhere, somehow, someone thought Blake Fucking Shelton is the Sexiest Man Alive.


Blake Shelton???

That Mofo has LITERALLY sported a mullet this century.

As in...sometime AFTER 1987, sometime AFTER they stopped making Pontiac Thunderbirds, sometime AFTER it stopped being okay for dudes to wear T-shirts where they cut the sleeves off in a huge loop from waist to shoulder, that dude was 'business in the front and party in the back' and meant it!!!
With absolutely no irony.

Excuse me, People Magazine, but have you met Jason Momoa???

Sexiest Man Alive.  Because that is a BRAID, not a MULLET.  Also, because he is JASON MOMOA.  And you are not, Blake Shelton!


Obviously not.  

That headline this morning was a sign that 2017 has officially flushed itself down the toilet.

Which is fine.
But I am too tired to hold my breath for 6 weeks.

So, ya'll better get your shit in order right quick.

Cheers, and now I am caught up with no sign of Ryan Gosling.

Because. Jason. Fucking. Momoa.

Sunday, November 12, 2017

Day 12 - Songs You Listen To When You Are Happy/Sad/Angry

Music is my jam.

I have to have music playing all the time, everywhere.

In the car, at home, at work.  I literally "cannot even" without music.

I have shit taste in music, you guys.

For the last 6 months, my 2 favorite songs have been by boy-band-type dudes.

I love Britney, Xtina, BSB, and NSync, and will 'carpool karaoke' every time they come on the radio.

I have to listen to Eminem or Korn when I clean my house.

When I am gardening or painting walls, or otherwise puttering, I HAVE to listen to The Beatles.

When I have insomnia, Matt Rainey and The Dippin' Sauce helps me chill.

However, when I am super sad, super mad, super stressed, the only thing that helps is Duran Duran's 'Big Thing'.  The whole album (besides 'All She Wants is') or Depeche Mode's Music For The Masses -- I am sooo a child of the 80s!!

First of all, Simon Le Bon should have been my husband.  Even more so than Ryan Gosling. 

I have had a fangirl crush since...oh, about 1984, which makes him my longest relationship....lol

Duran Duran was the first concert I ever went to, and although it was not the most intense (Ozzy), most insane (Good Charlotte), or the most incredible (Boys II Men, New Kids on The Bock, and Paula Abdul), it was my first, and I will never forget it.

I have spent years freaking out over every new release (Wild Boys nearly unhinged me), buying magazines, T-shirts, etc.


They broke up - sob - and formed different bands;  Power Station, Arcadia, and then re-formed with new people.

Big Thing was their first post-breakup album, and it is the only one I still have the cassette of (well, I have Arcadia's So Red The Rose, but it's not D2), the CD of, and the one I listen to all the time when I am feeling too many feels.

'Do You Believe In Shame' is my favorite song from that album, and I listened to it about 40,000 times last fall/winter, because it reminded me of my friend Jimbo.  The lyric "I believe the little part of you inside of me will never die"...well, that was everything.  For whatever reason, 'Too Late Marlene' just makes me feel better - no idea why.  I listen to "The Edge of America" every time I drive to the coast, and I am not being ironic.

Music For The Masses belongs entirely to my high school friendship with Sara Sanders.  'Never Let Me Down Again' was the first song she would always play when I got in her Suzuki Samurai.  "I'm taking a ride with my best friend" is the opening lyric, and she would always laugh and fling that giant curtain of beautiful brown hair over her shoulder and say, 'That's us, right?'
And it was.

'Behind The Wheel' was the same....she was the driver, behind the wheel, and I was her happy passenger, willing to follow her anywhere.
Except for the night I didn't.
I stayed home, and she left.  Forever.

So, there you have it.

In addition to having mostly shit taste in music, I am horrifically morbid.

Also, I hate Beyonce's music.  And her voice. 
Loathe it.

Just had to throw that out there.

Something About Something

Last week, someone that I love and admire a whole lot mentioned that I hadn't blogged lately, and that she missed reading my stuff. *B...