Um…Wow, so I guess I got told by the Lovers Of Vincent D’Onofrio, didn’t I? Think of it this way, ladies, I am now less competition. I spent about 20 minutes scratching my head and trying to figure out how these people found me, until the realization that I a) must have spelled his name right b) google is a powerful search engine, smacked me right up the side of my face. I feel like I deserve a cookie or something for spelling something right, eh Manny?
Normally google searches (which is the only reason I have a stat counter installed, because the search terms crack my ass up) just lead people looking for “why does pregnancy suck” and “being pregnant asshole” with the occasional “vodka pregnancy” (and I have to say that confidential to those searchers who found me by typing in “mommy wants some sausage” and “dumbest bitch in bathroom remodel,” you are my new personal heros) to me, and I always wonder if they found what they were looking for.
I certainly hope that I don’t disappoint my random visitors.
(I am completely looking forward to the day that I have a blog troll, you know, the kind of person who hates me so viciously that he/she leaves me nasty comments telling me how much I suck donkey ass. I can’t say that I court controversy here on my blog as an unspoken rule, because I generally don’t talk about religion or politics, because any pathetic amount of keyword tapping on my part wouldn’t do justice to those people who write about these things for real, with evidence and research and smart people stuff. But when I have a troll, I will know that I am doing proper justice to a blog. Does that make me weird?)
You know the scene, you pull up to a stoplight and the car next to you has their windows down and some insanely ridiculous song is bumping loudly. If you’re a voyeur such as myself, you contort your body into neck-craning positions to determine who is listening to that awful music. And if you’re me, AND you’re lucky, you’ll find that it’s a hilarious study in contradictions: the 70 year old woman listening to NWA, the 18 year old wanna-be thug-a-lug listening to Yanni, the uptight-looking businessman listening to Britney. Then you spend the rest of your day gloating over someone looking dumber than you in a public setting (Yes, I am very, very mature).
This always makes me a bit shy to bump MY music too loudly for fear that someone next to ME at a stoplight will find my my musical selections uproariously funny. Some of the stuff in my disc changer is fairly standard for me: Justin Timberlake, The Ubiquitious Britney CD, Amy Winehouse, along with a rotating variety of far more shameful selections. I will boldly proclaim to you, Internet, two of the songs that I will play at top volume, BUT ONLY IF THE WINDOWS ARE ROLLED UP AND I HAPPEN TO BE (hahahaha!) ALONE IN THE CAR.
1) Elton John’s “The Way You Look Tonight”. It’s one of the all time sweetest love songs that I shamefully adore. The lyrics are adorably sweet and meaningful (so unlike myself), but the corn-ball factor is far too high for me to listen to without some shame. It’s one of those songs that I may have considered for our requisite First Dance but hadn’t made it’s acquaintance at the time in my life when I had to think about such stuff. Instead we danced to “What A Wonderful World,” which was decidedly not “The YMCA” that I had shamelessly petitioned for. Damn The Daver and his emo sensibilities!
(You cannot tell me that wouldn’t have been funny. And yes, thankyouverymuch, I HAVE seen that video of the newlyweds dancing to “Baby Got Back” which was an idea that was stolen from me, and vetoed by my husband. Why YES, I am wearing my Bitter Pants this morning! Do they make my butt look fat?)
2) Rod Stewart’s “Forever Young.” Now, the one arena in my whole life that I am marginally sappy about is my children, I admit it here and I am not ashamed of this. This song makes me feel all gooey inside (but in a good way) when I listen to it, but I am completely and utterly aware of how dumb it is, especially when you know how HIS kids turned out (*ahem, KIM STEWART, ahem*). I rock out to it, for sure, but I do it responsibly and while no one is watching me.
So tell your Aunt Becky what makes you turn up the volume WHILE rolling up the windows and checking to make sure no one who knows you can see you quietly rockin’ out to this lame song (s).