Think about music you would hear in a grocery store circa the early 1980s. Instrumental, upbeat, sort of non-hippie seventies easy listening style muzak. I fucking love it. I didn't appreciate it so much when I was being pushed around in the grocery cart...neither when I was teeny tiny up front with the metal part smacking me in my business when my mom would make a sudden stop due to a great deal on Rice-a-Roni NOR when I was slightly bigger and in the basket part WITH the groceries, full aware of the fact that I was most likely too big to be in the cart and perfectly capable of walking down the 10 aisles that lead to the ice-cream.
That music makes me want to bust out some of my moves. That muzak. Once, at the Agora Ballroom, they played a mix right before the Reverend Horton Heat came on of songs that sounded straight out of the grocery store of my Parma, OH youth, but somewhat cooler and Austin Powers-ish. Brodie Davis, Jr. and I danced to like three songs in a row as people cleared the floor either to make room for our awesome display or because they were horribly embarrassed by our lack of skill and/or pride. But we danced until our our ribs hurt and our lungs felt cold because we are so horribly out of shape due to a debauchery-filled, sloth-like, glutton-esque lifestyle. It was one of the best moments of my life.
The general concensus is that Phee-Bizzle will move out of The Maxi Pad after a month. This concerns me on multiple levels, some superficial and some reasonable. Why can't people put on their cheerleading uniforms instead of their gravedigger clothes? Quit burying our dreams!
For about ten miliseconds today, I thought I might like a boyfriend. Then I remembered what the beginning of a relationship is like. First, you're on your best behavior and you wear your mega-slutty knickers and tight pants, and it's all sex, sex, snacks, sex, and you keep all your bad habits hidden away so he thinks you must come from outer space because you're so damn rad. Then out comes reality...he feels comfortable enough to be gassy and you have your period and you poop and he finds out you like Huey Lewis and the News and you have to meet each other's insane families and you hate each other's friends and you wonder, "What the fudge happened to that sex we had where I called you Betty and you called me Ted and we had the ability to move the bed into the middle of the room?".
I don't think I'm ready for that kind of a let down. If I had that going on, then certain moments might not bring me so much joy...like when I walked backwards and put my ass right into a guys hand, prompting him to then touch my leg. The whole thing took about 2.3 seconds and sounds way sexier than it was, but it gave me a nice full body buzz. Those moments are gone when you start peeing with the door open. No thanks, Tom Hanks! I think I can deal with the swingin' bachelorette lifestyle for a bit longer.
Why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer?
Because it feels sooooo good when I stop.
1 comment:
The general concensus is that Phee-Bizzle will move out of The Maxi Pad after a month.
poooo on the general consensus, i say. i mean - what the crap would make me leave a sunporch-having bedroom, cowboy curtains, snazzy lawn furniture, your amazing coffee table, and above all YOUUU?!?!? the general consensus can go suck a dick.
For about ten miliseconds today, I thought I might like a boyfriend.
no no no. i'm glad you came to your senses. boyfriends are too much work, not to mention just entirely too time consuming. to quote reality bites (and no, not the "we're going to eat gas" line)... "I want first kisses, I want passion the whole way through." that's what it's all about, dude.
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