Infidelity

It's time to tell the truth.  Even if it hurts.

I've been cheating on my boyfriend.

And loving mostly every minute of it.

I'm always with my boyfriend in the car, at work and in the kitchen.  We really click when we're together, seeing how music tames the savage beast.

Over the past few weeks though, the beast is getting mixed messages and hardly any soothing at all.  You see, I hang out with my boyfriend because he woos me with the music I grew up with, a.k.a. My Parents Music.

When my boyfriend sings Suite - Judy Blue Eyes to me and backs it up with Mr. Brownstone we have a HUGE problem.  Don't get me wrong, I love both songs dearly.  DEARLY.  And differently, oh so very differently.

I went to my 20 year high school reunion in October.  I do NOT need a daily or even an hourly reminder that MY MUSIC is now 20+ years old.  And WHAT THE HELL boyfriend!!??  What happened to your Classic Rock genre?  Now you just say rock.

I've heard some rather questionable choices/voices come out of you, in particular you incessant need to play Chickenfoot.  Sammy Hagar grates on my LAST nerve.  If I hear ARRIBA ARRIBA One. More. Time. I'm going to go crazy!!

So I ran a few feet back the dial into my 80's easy listening comfort zone.  And those bass turds are playing Christmas music until the rest of the year.  It's ok, it's perfect for the office, I don't have to feel guilty about my radio choice and hide my shameful boyfriend love.  WOW - I'm amazed at how many cheesy Christmas tunes have been recorded.  I'm also thankful they play the old time standards, that keeps me from having to commit space on my mp3 player to my Time Life Christmas Classics CD.

I am most thankful to the sweet baby Jesus that I continue to work in this office, A L O N E.  Because this man and this song makes me believe I can sing every song that comes out of the radio.  I believe I am singing just as pretty as this:

but most likely, I'm pretty sure I sound like this:

Hipping and Hopping

I really love Alicia Keys.  I don't know what the hell Jay Z is chapping on about but after this performance at the VMA's I bought the single.  (The live version is WAY better.)

To Rock, Or Not To Rock....that is the question!!

My boyfriend gave me tickets to see Kid Rock and Lenard Skynnard this Friday evening in Raleigh. Sure, I had to call him 800 times to be caller number 7 but it was so worth scoring FREE TICKETS!!

I was enjoying morning coffee this morning when I was reminded that I have this situation to deal with on Saturday.

Oh. Shit.

Do I want to play Etsy with my mother Friday morning, then drag Junior back to her house about 30 minutes after we get done to drive to my boyfriend's house to pick up our tickets, then travel another 2 hours to Raleigh to tailgate, attend the concert, drive back home, sleep for 10 minutes then try to be a productive event staff member? No, not really.

I really, REALLY want to see Kid Rock again. I've never seen Skynnard so that's kind of tugging at me as well. I DO want to raise hell without children on a Friday night. I DO want to be a functioning person on Saturday. Why do I smell cake and why do I know I'm not getting any?

I think I'm going to have to call my boyfriend and have him put the tickets back in the prize pool. I don't want the Husband to be all sad because we won't have Awesome Adult Adventure Time so I will bribe him with a trip to Outback. We'll still have to travel, but only about 20 miles AND I have a $50 gift card. It's kind of the same deal, just more local. If I sing really loudly during the car ride, it will be just like going to the concert, right?

This one time...at band camp

The last (and only) time I saw Kid Rock was about 7 years ago (damn! time flies!!) and it also fell on Motorcycle Event Day. But at least it was someone else's event so I didn't have to worry about working/helping out. I was dating a guy from out of town so we hit the event then traveled on down the road to the show.

As we made up time zooming down the interstate a car pulled along beside us and just kind of rode in the lane for a bit. I looked over and gave a polite wave and they busted out with the crazy. Waving frantically like they'd won the lotto, I looked again and they waved a mini bottle of Jim Beam at me so I stuck out my hand. Teddy scooted over to the inside of the lane, they passed me the bottle and I shot it right there on the spot. GOOD TIMES!!

Then after the concert was over, we returned to the bike and someone had stolen my helmet and my camera. BAD TIMES!!

The End.

Role Model: FAIL!

"I want to thank God for somehow … I know he perfect. So I'mma thank him for everything. I'mma thank him for making me drop out of school. I'mma thank him for making me run the streets. I'mma thank him for making me sell crack. I'mma thank him for making me have shoot-outs. I'mma thank him for allowing me to watch my partners die in my arms, So I'd be fearful enough for my life and paranoid enough to go out and cop machine guns and silencers so I catch a fed case and I have to put up $3 million for my bond so I have to spend seven months of my life in my house, so I have to spend a year of my life in prison just so I be validated enough to get out there and touch the youth because they know that I done been through it, and if I say it, it means something. You know what I'm saying?"

- Rapper T.I. told revelers at the Hip Hop Inaugural Ball in D.C.

This dummy spouting this trash is why I'm so glad the borrowed one is with us.  He can blast that garbage coming out of the bedroom all day long...JUST DON'T YOU EVER, EVER EMULATE THIS DUDE.  At least the Husband and I are around to ride his ass like a monkey and say NO! NO!  BAD RAPPER.  

And don't even start the "I'm not a role model" talk.  The instant you play or sing that first note, take a part in a play, score a point, sleep with someone who can get you stuff - trust me, SOMEONE is watching you.  And wanting to be Just.  Like.  You.

Mr. T.I., nobody made you drop out of school.  Your parents/immediate family just didn't ride your ass like a monkey and MAKE YOU FINISH.  "Imma" suggest you go back and take a grammar lesson or twelve.

Nobody made you run the streets.  Your parents/immediate family just didn't ride your ass like a monkey and MAKE YOU COME HOME AT A DECENT HOUR AND BE ACCOUNTABLE FOR WHO YOU WERE RUNNING WITH.

Nobody made you sell crack.  You were too proud of your drop-out self to flip burgers at McDonald's and EARN money.  You didn't want The Man to ride your ass like a monkey.  You poisoned your own community to make instant money.  And lots of it.  Way to support your community!

Nobody made you participate in shoot-outs.  Slinging dope and running the streets as you pleased got you into some dark places.  Dark places have dark rules and darker consequences.  That would be why your partners died in your arms.  Thanks for showing enough care for your community to at least hold them while they died.

Of course, a cache of machine guns AND silencers are the best way to protect yourself.  Don't worry with security systems, security staff (real ones, not your strapped homies) and knowing how the law can protect you.  Especially now that you're rich and famous.  Real world rules don't apply to the rich and famous.

And you poor, poor dear.  You've spent most of last year locked up inside your house.  I'm sure your master bedroom has more square footage than my WHOLE ENTIRE HOUSE.  There's probably a stripper pole installed in your in-house bar/party area.  You must own at least one of every game system known to man, pool table, maybe a nice basketball court - my point is your house is no jail.  You were condemned to spend seven months in your own funhouse.  Life's a real bitch dude.  They should have made your home sentence to be in a shithole in the projects.

You still have to serve your one year in jail.  Federal prision, where you will serve at least 85% of your time so you'll likely be there 10 months.  I hope your warden and guards set you up somehow and you have to serve your full year IN PRISON.  There's no stripper pole in prison - unless your cellmate is BUBBA.  And I am SO HOPING your prision is just like OZ.  While you would be lucky that someone like Adebisi makes you his bitch, I'm hoping for something a little on the stronger side:  Vern Schillinger.  He'll make your butthole burn and set your brain on fire at the same time.

And Mr. T.I. said all of this while attending an even to celebrate the first black president's inauguration.  

I need some asprin before I bust a cap in someone's ass.

I'm annoyed.

My cell phone finally died. The diagnosis at the cellphone store was "water damage" because the little pads on the battery and inside the phone had turned bright pink. I know that water and technology don't always mix but I am fairly certain I'm smart enough to recognize water damaging my phone.

Previously, I dropped the phone off the balcony at the office. Not on purpose - I just fumbled when I was putting the phone back in my holster. Really, pinkie swear. The drop caused the phone to power off and it did come right back on and did work. This happened summer '07.

It is now fall '08 and I had water damage. Whatever.

After riding the corporate roller coaster of procuring a new cell phone I was finally given a comb to fix my hair and permission to get a new phone. Of course, because technology moves so fast, I could not just get another phone just like the security blanket I had. I loved the LG with it's loud tones - perfect for the alarm settings that I used EVERY day for just about anything. Bye bye Monopoly game, thanks for releasing me from your slavery-like grip and making me once again productive to The Man. (Or maybe not, there's always the inter webs to keep me in mind-warping slacker-shape.)

I got the Samsung Muse as a replacement. It's a nice phone. It's pretty. It's blue. If you put a mini SD card in it, you can use it as an MP3 player as well. It has that blue tooth Star Trek-y option available. It also has a nice camera for photos and videos. Voice recordings are available too.

Let's talk about the camera for a minute. While I was reading the manual I noticed in the camera section they specifically mention the phone's shiny, mirror-like exterior and that while taking a self-portrait I should make sure my reflection is between the two speaker holes. 'Cause I got nothing better to do but take pics of myself to keep my My Space page current. So this Muse allows me to keep the pervs entertained BUT I CAN'T PLAY MONOPOLY ANY MORE.

Something else annoying about this new phone...very specifically on the back of the phone where it should naturally cradle in your hand as you talk, is a sticker and it says:

---Internal Antenna Area---
For best performance, Do NOT touch this area when using your phone.

WHAT!!?? I'm not supposed to touch the phone where I'm supposed to hold it? Are you serious? Who makes these phones? Monkeys?

Suicidal Cicada

So I'm traveling down the big highway after work, on my way to pick up Junebug.

• Windows down
• Music blaring
• Driving speed limit

I go to pass a slow car that is driving in the FAST lane (JERK!!) and as I'm passing said car, I hear a loud noise like that car kicked up a rock onto my car (bigger JERK!!). I look sternly at slow driver and keep going.

• Windows down
• Music blaring
• Driving speed limit

As I sing (or yell, I was listening to Metallica) and drive I notice I have a STOWAWAY!

There laying on my dashboard just on the left side of the driver's area is a cicada laying on its back, legs up in the air.

And I notice the legs start moving. The highway is busy, it's just past 5:00 and the idiots are loose. Do the speed limit and you will get run over. It's a scary place in the afternoon - mornings too! So I'm watching these legs twitch around and that's when I notice...the cicada is missing it's butt. Hmmm....that is very interesting.


That's what the sound was when I passed the slow car. I ran into a big fat flying cicada. Now the bug is in its death throw right here on my dashboard. See those wings? Yep, if you can move your legs you can most likely move your wings. Remember, I'm running with the fast pack at Talladega, I don't need a freaking BUG to fly up into my face and send us all crashing about and back to the garage for some quarter panel work and a new set of tires.


I conveniently have a balled up piece of trash paper in the console. I scoop up the bug and dump him out of the window. I regret this decision immediately. He would have been a nice trophy to keep. For a while, not ever. (coughdadcough)


So hooray! That bug drama is over. Let's get back to:

• Windows down
• Music blaring
• Driving the speed limit

The wind knocks my curl into my eye so I reach up to push my hair out of my face. I feel my hair is wet. Why is my hair wet? I glance into the mirror to discover

I HAVE CICADA ASS IN MY HAIR!!!

Here's another picture of a cicada. The red circle indicates cicada ass. This is what was IN MY FREAKING HAIR.

I would estimate that I had about a tablespoon of cicada ass in my hair. It was whiteish yellow and disgusting as hell. I began to speed to get where I was going ASAP. I thought about stopping by my parent's house but I wasn't sure they'd be there. I knew I needed backup to get all the ass out of my hair.

I get to the sitter's and run to the bathroom. "Becky! I need your help NOW! Please!!" So Becky made sure all the ass was out of my hair and I washed my hands like I'd just been holding hands with Radium.

I've written about being attacked by killer bugs from outerspace before. And would you like to take a guess at who is headlining the local blues & jazz festival? Go ahead...just guess!

That's right - the gruesome twosome - Johnny and Edgar Winter. Writers and performers of Frankenstein with their creepy synthesizers.

So maybe the cicada was not suicidal after all. He was a kamikaze cicada doing the Winters' dirty work!

Oh no, you didn't!!

This is my favorite commercial right now:

I catch myself singing it almost NON STOP and the problem has not eased a bit over the past few weeks and might not ever go away because they're giving away the WHOLE SONG they wrote as well. And I will unashamedly admit it's in rotation on my MP3 player. Sigh. Who's the sucka now? ME.

I will probably continue to nervously sing it as this thing keeps bouncing around.

This is NOT the side of the storm I want to be on. There's a few reasons I don't want to live in Oklahoma anymore and tornadoes are one of them. The northeast quadrant of a hurricane is usually the nastiest with the most potential of spawning tornadoes. At least it's supposed to be a fast moving storm once it makes landfall.

As everyone knows, the tv broadcasters are switching to digital signals. I live in a test area so instead of waiting until 2009, we're getting switched over September 9th. September 9th is conveniently (NOT!) scheduled in the middle of peak hurricane season and in the last days of our impending Ike doom. THANKS FCC!! This makes my small hurricane tv completely useless. I've been trusting all of those "If you have cable you have nothing to worry about." commercials. Like a dumbass. DUMBASS!!! It didn't dawn on me until last night when I was gathering up flashlights and batteries that I will not be able to experience the joy of watching our local weatherman spit and sputter his way thru LIVE! hurricane coverage.

The good in all of this is that we finally busted out the weather radio that Lee Anne gave me a few years ago. And I never bothered to open before. It's quite lovely to know that even though she's gone, she continued to look out for me like an awesome auntie does!

Terminally Bored

So we're upgrading our server or something in the home office and of course, nothing works but email. Thanks for the 10 second warning home office, it sure is good to know when things will be down for 4 hours and I can plan my work schedule accordingly. I've done all the manual things to be done so what does that leave me to do?

Nothing.

Except play on the internets.

At least there is a Woot! Off today. My MP3 player is having jack issues - as opposed to jill issues - so I did Woot! me a refurb Sansa 4GB media player. In about 7 to 10 days I'll be able to jam AND look at 1.8" photos or goofy videos anytime, anywhere.

Wish You Were Here and those bugs were NOT chasing me!

I was trolling the Woot! boards over coffee this morning. They're having a "change an album cover to amuse us" contest. (http://www.woot.com/Forums/ViewPost.aspx?PostID=2301691)

I always remembered the Pink Floyed Wish You Were Here cover. (No dad, I NEVER EVER played your records but I did look and admire them often.) I always used to think, why is this guy on fire? And who wants to shake hands WITH a guy on fire? So I loved this cover, note the fireman standing off to the side. Cracked me up!

See original albumb cover here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wish_You_Were_Here_(album)

This from the kid who used to think giant outerspace beetles were going to fall out of the sky EVERY SINGLE TIME I heard the song Frankenstein and it came to that break in the song where it goes: WOO woo woo woo woo. Wiki says the noise is a synthesizer. Yeah - a synthesizer full of giant outerspace beetles!

That's 30 some odd years my parents' music has been torturing me! I look to the sky WITHOUT FAIL when that song comes on. Clearly I do enjoy the jam but I'm certainly keeping one eye up there...because you never know! It didn't help that those Winter boys are way creepy looking too.