Guess who, after spending the majority of her day doing laundry & vacuuming tufts of dog hair the size of tumbleweeds, decides it would be a swell idea to wash her car at 8 pm?
Yep. ME!
Cuz that's how I roll.
(And no.....I was not drunk.)
Guess who wakes up on a Saturday morning; knowing that half her day is already blown with baseball, but still says Yes when asked this question by her husband: Hey, you wanna tear out all the carpet in the basement today?
Um.....that'd be me.
Seven hours later we have: absolutely NO flooring surface in the basement save the original 4x4 white linoleum tiles that are so frail from being glued to the cement foundation for the last 40 years, a mild sneeze will send the nearest tile airborne! On the upside, our handiwork left us with freshly scrubbed walls & windows and I managed to wash and re-hang the drapes.
Did I mention we have no flooring?
Cuz that's how we roll!
And in case there was any doubt in your mind: Guess who starts her Sunday off with a trip to the dump?
Holla! M-E!
We'd packed our truck bed with carpet & padding the night before, but for good measure we added the two HUGE arborvitae bushes that Mark had cut down last week. Once beautiful and gracefully flanking our driveway, these poor bastards never recovered from the last ice storm and were quickly put out of their misery courtesy of Poulan. With our bevy of garbage securely tied down; we were off!
To the dump.
Looking a lot like the Clampetts.
Cuz that's how we roll.
Hindsight is 20/20. Here's what I know:
1) While this weekend was highly productive, I am confident it would have been more enjoyable if I'd been drinking. Of course, then it probably wouldn't have been so productive........
Vicious circle......!
2) Perhaps one should have new flooring in the wings before tearing out one's old flooring......?
Note to self.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
A Worthy Opponent
Oh Snap!
And snarrrrrrrrrky to boot!
And the bottom line is: Whether it was a question or a statement; rhetorical or not. My Plus One is funny!
Well played, D...........welllllllll played.
(And yes. In my head, not only am I The Snarky Brunette, I am Queen Snarkilicious and seriously? It goes without saying that everyone should be bowing down to me!)
(I should also be wearing a crown covered in twink-ly & spark-ly jewels. )
insert my Mother & Sister rolling their eyes and and saying in Jew-y unison: Could you be more full of yourself........? Oy!
(Yes. I really could be....................)
And snarrrrrrrrrky to boot!
And the bottom line is: Whether it was a question or a statement; rhetorical or not. My Plus One is funny!
Well played, D...........welllllllll played.
(And yes. In my head, not only am I The Snarky Brunette, I am Queen Snarkilicious and seriously? It goes without saying that everyone should be bowing down to me!)
(I should also be wearing a crown covered in twink-ly & spark-ly jewels. )
insert my Mother & Sister rolling their eyes and and saying in Jew-y unison: Could you be more full of yourself........? Oy!
(Yes. I really could be....................)
Sunday, April 18, 2010
All about "V".....
V is for Victory!
We won our first Little League game. As Coaches, Mark & I strive to make the season FUN for the kids; teach the fundamentals of the game & emphasize the practice of good sportsmanship both on and off the field.
(And in the quiet comfort of our garage, while unloading our baseball gear, you would never find the two of us doing the "chest bump" and yelling: That team can SUCK IT!")
V is for Validation.
Or as I like to call it: Ask and you shall receive! The question: Where's Dana? The Answer: Havin' way more fun than just sittin' around reading my blog........DOH!
But see.....? Now I know. And not only do I know where she's been; I know she's still around AND she's still out there.....with me, The Snarky Brunette.
(And the fact that she ended her comment with a snarky jab at my Sister- that just proves she gets ME. And it's always about me!)
V is for Vindication.
This is the sweetest V of all given my Sister threw my ass under the bus without having all the facts first; followed by me sending her an even snarkier text than my last post (!) where I may or may not have told her she was dead to me if she didn't go back and re-read my post since it was clear from her comment SHE DIDN'T GET IT! Her immediate response was: blah blah blah, I'm a dork.
Because I am her older Sister, I felt I should take the high road and so I immediately forgave her with this loving reply: YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, YOU ARE!
And finally, V is for Vengeance.
Or rather, it could be.
If it wasn't for Kristin telling me to walk away............
Two thoughts immediately come to mind:
1. Killjoy.
2. Practicing good Sportsmanship both on & off the field will do nothing but serve you well in all areas of your life.
postscript: love you more than words, KB!
We won our first Little League game. As Coaches, Mark & I strive to make the season FUN for the kids; teach the fundamentals of the game & emphasize the practice of good sportsmanship both on and off the field.
(And in the quiet comfort of our garage, while unloading our baseball gear, you would never find the two of us doing the "chest bump" and yelling: That team can SUCK IT!")
V is for Validation.
Or as I like to call it: Ask and you shall receive! The question: Where's Dana? The Answer: Havin' way more fun than just sittin' around reading my blog........DOH!
But see.....? Now I know. And not only do I know where she's been; I know she's still around AND she's still out there.....with me, The Snarky Brunette.
(And the fact that she ended her comment with a snarky jab at my Sister- that just proves she gets ME. And it's always about me!)
V is for Vindication.
This is the sweetest V of all given my Sister threw my ass under the bus without having all the facts first; followed by me sending her an even snarkier text than my last post (!) where I may or may not have told her she was dead to me if she didn't go back and re-read my post since it was clear from her comment SHE DIDN'T GET IT! Her immediate response was: blah blah blah, I'm a dork.
Because I am her older Sister, I felt I should take the high road and so I immediately forgave her with this loving reply: YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, YOU ARE!
And finally, V is for Vengeance.
Or rather, it could be.
If it wasn't for Kristin telling me to walk away............
Two thoughts immediately come to mind:
1. Killjoy.
2. Practicing good Sportsmanship both on & off the field will do nothing but serve you well in all areas of your life.
postscript: love you more than words, KB!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Drink to Unwind......or just drink!
Strap in, People.
I've had a shitty day; my buzz is wearing off and I have no filter.
First up: Dana.....Where TF are you?
(For those of you who don't remember {Shame......}, Dana is my Plus One. The inspiration for my post "Sally Field". My first stranger comment.)
You've been MIA for months, and frankly, my ego can't take it! I'm opening myself up to potential ridicule (What if she doesn't like me anymore? And what if she responds to this and tells everyone else how much she doesn't like me....? Shit.), but I gotta know.
What are the odds Dana's fallen and she can't get up? And it has nothing to do with me?
Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft! Who the fk am I kidding.....everything has to do with me!
Alright......next!
KB sent me the latest trailer for Sex & the City 2. Gotta say- didn't really love the first trailer. All about the Girls traipsing around the fkn desert. Who gives a shit? The show (and movie!) is called Sex AND THE CITY! But this new trailer......... that's what I'm talking about! Spoon feed me the continuing saga of 4 female relationships; toss in a few vignettes of Mr. Big (Oooooooooh, Baby. I do loves me some Mister BIG!) and suddenly the desert doesn't concern me so much.
EXCEPT AIDEN IS BACK!
I hate Aiden! (Shut up, Lynda. Seriously. Shut. UP!) Furniture making; in touch with your male feelings proclaiming; all for the love of a good woman professing; overall wearing; dog loving WEENIE! I've got two words for Aiden: Nut. Up.
(And, your name is gay. And not in the way that I admire or want to be a part of!)
Which, of course, means my ass will be planted in a theater seat, Opening Day; sporting my sexiest heels and holding the hand of Lynda. And in my perfect world, KB would be there too. Holding my other hand. Squealing right along side me!
And speaking of squealing......ok, it's more like wailing- I'm being held hostage by American Idol. Marky loves this show. And he is currently in control of the remote......and I'm apparently to fkn lazy to remove myself from the room.
I hate this show. I hate all reality shows. But this show in particular, Hate. It. Why? Usually (Carrie Underwood & Kelly Clarkson would be the exceptions), the winner has no business being called an Idol. Case in point: Fantasia.
Or, Ruben Studdard.
(Where's this fkn guy?)
Or, last season's winner......... who I remember nothing about other than he was white, married and played the guitar.
It's not about talent, but popularity. And misguided votes. And stupid ass teenagers with unlimited texting plans; who have no parental supervision and nothing better to do than text
1 800 IDOL a gazillion times in one evening.
And yet here I am. In front of the TV, critiquing the Idol hopefuls and getting all sorts of wound up over the judging. Shameful.
(I blame Mark. And the cocktails I've consumed this evening!)
And speaking of cocktails- I've been such a Good Girl these past 2 weeks.....what with my NOT drinking during the work week. Funny how the combination of a shitty day, hormones being completely whacked out (Thank You, Seasonique!) and no sense of self control can just, Poof! Throw all your hard work right out the window!
The downside would be obvious: now I gotta start all over again.
(Good thing I'm not in AA, I'd totally have to give my chip back!)
The upside would be: Booze always makes for better writing.
(Or maybe that's just the booze talking?)
Whatever.
At this point: sober living blows.
And finally, I'm beginning to question my skills as a parent. Case in point: my son, Sam. He's 7. He loves me, his dog and his weiner. In that order.
He's also really into music. He loves all genres; from Classical to Grunge. Pop to Classic Rock. He feels it; just as I do. It moves him. And, apparently, the lyrics are not lost on him either. As I'm heading downstairs, and past Sam's room; getting ready to leave for work, I hear AC/DC's "Girls Got Rhythm" coming from his room. I call out: Dude. Momma's leaving! He pokes his head out and says: Bye, Momma! I say: Best AC/DC song ever, Sam. At this moment, my son exits his room and comes to stand directly in front of me, wearing nothing but his Transformer butt huggers. With his hands on his hips and his eyebrow raised (just like his Dad!), he says out of the side of his mouth: No it's not. So I say: What are you talking about? YES. It is. And Samuel says while grabbing his crotch: Got You By The Balls, Mom! That's the best AC/DC song!
And my Mother questions my drinking..................
I've had a shitty day; my buzz is wearing off and I have no filter.
First up: Dana.....Where TF are you?
(For those of you who don't remember {Shame......}, Dana is my Plus One. The inspiration for my post "Sally Field". My first stranger comment.)
You've been MIA for months, and frankly, my ego can't take it! I'm opening myself up to potential ridicule (What if she doesn't like me anymore? And what if she responds to this and tells everyone else how much she doesn't like me....? Shit.), but I gotta know.
What are the odds Dana's fallen and she can't get up? And it has nothing to do with me?
Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft! Who the fk am I kidding.....everything has to do with me!
Alright......next!
KB sent me the latest trailer for Sex & the City 2. Gotta say- didn't really love the first trailer. All about the Girls traipsing around the fkn desert. Who gives a shit? The show (and movie!) is called Sex AND THE CITY! But this new trailer......... that's what I'm talking about! Spoon feed me the continuing saga of 4 female relationships; toss in a few vignettes of Mr. Big (Oooooooooh, Baby. I do loves me some Mister BIG!) and suddenly the desert doesn't concern me so much.
EXCEPT AIDEN IS BACK!
I hate Aiden! (Shut up, Lynda. Seriously. Shut. UP!) Furniture making; in touch with your male feelings proclaiming; all for the love of a good woman professing; overall wearing; dog loving WEENIE! I've got two words for Aiden: Nut. Up.
(And, your name is gay. And not in the way that I admire or want to be a part of!)
Which, of course, means my ass will be planted in a theater seat, Opening Day; sporting my sexiest heels and holding the hand of Lynda. And in my perfect world, KB would be there too. Holding my other hand. Squealing right along side me!
And speaking of squealing......ok, it's more like wailing- I'm being held hostage by American Idol. Marky loves this show. And he is currently in control of the remote......and I'm apparently to fkn lazy to remove myself from the room.
I hate this show. I hate all reality shows. But this show in particular, Hate. It. Why? Usually (Carrie Underwood & Kelly Clarkson would be the exceptions), the winner has no business being called an Idol. Case in point: Fantasia.
Or, Ruben Studdard.
(Where's this fkn guy?)
Or, last season's winner......... who I remember nothing about other than he was white, married and played the guitar.
It's not about talent, but popularity. And misguided votes. And stupid ass teenagers with unlimited texting plans; who have no parental supervision and nothing better to do than text
1 800 IDOL a gazillion times in one evening.
And yet here I am. In front of the TV, critiquing the Idol hopefuls and getting all sorts of wound up over the judging. Shameful.
(I blame Mark. And the cocktails I've consumed this evening!)
And speaking of cocktails- I've been such a Good Girl these past 2 weeks.....what with my NOT drinking during the work week. Funny how the combination of a shitty day, hormones being completely whacked out (Thank You, Seasonique!) and no sense of self control can just, Poof! Throw all your hard work right out the window!
The downside would be obvious: now I gotta start all over again.
(Good thing I'm not in AA, I'd totally have to give my chip back!)
The upside would be: Booze always makes for better writing.
(Or maybe that's just the booze talking?)
Whatever.
At this point: sober living blows.
And finally, I'm beginning to question my skills as a parent. Case in point: my son, Sam. He's 7. He loves me, his dog and his weiner. In that order.
He's also really into music. He loves all genres; from Classical to Grunge. Pop to Classic Rock. He feels it; just as I do. It moves him. And, apparently, the lyrics are not lost on him either. As I'm heading downstairs, and past Sam's room; getting ready to leave for work, I hear AC/DC's "Girls Got Rhythm" coming from his room. I call out: Dude. Momma's leaving! He pokes his head out and says: Bye, Momma! I say: Best AC/DC song ever, Sam. At this moment, my son exits his room and comes to stand directly in front of me, wearing nothing but his Transformer butt huggers. With his hands on his hips and his eyebrow raised (just like his Dad!), he says out of the side of his mouth: No it's not. So I say: What are you talking about? YES. It is. And Samuel says while grabbing his crotch: Got You By The Balls, Mom! That's the best AC/DC song!
And my Mother questions my drinking..................
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Keep Your Unders & Your Self, to Yourself
Just so we're clear:
Michael Buble~ is worth every penny.
And then some!
For a guy who wears a suit, owns a huge voice and is accompanied by an orchestra, he embodies the word Showman. From the moment the curtain dropped and he began the opening note of Cry Me a River, to the final song that closed his show (A Song for You)- he was a non-stop dynamo! All over the stage: singing, dancing, cracking jokes, engaging his audience members with small talk and making the near capacity crowd feel like we were part of an intimate show.
(Which, of course, just proves what a Master Entertainer he is because, Hello? He was singing to me. And only ME!)
(Ok, fine! Aaaaaaaand Lynda.)
Who, by the way, was positively adorable. Sitting in her chair, swaying to the music- she'd periodically burst into squeals of excitement if Michael happened to be addressing our side of the Garden. She would clap her hands and her face would light up with pure joy. She was the picture of serenity. Enjoying the moment.
And then there was me.
SCREAMING at the top of my lungs, either Michael's name or just in appreciation for whatever song he would sing next. SINGING (read: yelling) the words to EVERY song that was sung. CLAPPING my hands together so hard and for so long that by the time the show as over they were numb. And (I'm sure this was Lynda's favorite part) GRIPPING Lynda's arm and SCREAMING: OMG! I LOVE THIS SONG! at about every third song that was sung!
Picture of "Serenity"?
Helllllllll, no!
Picture of "That Chick is Having a Great Time!"?
Whooop , Whoop!!
I'll spare you my entire Michael Buble~ Review. And I'll refrain from posting his entire set list (this is taking some major effort on my part........You're Welcome!). But I will say this: his opening act Naturally 7 was amazing. Seven extremely gifted, African American artists who not only sing beautifully, but create the sound of music (as in the musical instruments) with their mouths. If Mike wasn't such a Master Entertainer, his opening act would have blew him outta the water! They were that good. You.Tube them, People.
You're Welcome. Again!
Finally, as my parting gift to you, I'll let you in on a few things Lynda & I learned from our MB experience:
1. Next time, we are getting seats on the floor! Two reasons. One-you have no chance of laying hands on Michael if you're in Level 2 seating, and Two- Mike encourages everyone to stand up, sing and DANCE but only those that are on the floor really do it. Why? Cuz those of us in the stands get told to sit down by the assholes seated behind us. Note to Assholes: You're at a live concert. If your lame ass is unaffected by the energy in the room, you should have stayed home!
2. If you're lucky enough to actually lay hands on Michael, don't actually lay on Michael. One chick in the Floor Section learned this lesson the hard way. The very hard way, when her ass was literally plucked from the back of Michael Buble~ and tossed aside like a rag doll into a row of empty chairs, courtesy of the GYNORMOUS bodyguard who was always 2 steps behind Mike. (Another reason MB is a Master Entertainer- his voice never wavered; and even though he is a class act, Mike has the ability to bring the excitement of The Springer Show for us all to enjoy!)
3. Michael is an engaged man. To a beautiful Argentinian actress whose name is about a 1/2 mile long and therefore, I will not be typing it. In her culture, when two people become engaged both the man & the woman wear rings. I know this because Mike shared this piece of trivia with us all last night; showed off his ring and succinctly dashed the hopes of all the Hoochies in the House who came to the show convinced they'd make it backstage and make it with Michael Buble~. (From the pink sparkly tops paired with zebra print stilettos emblazoned with a "coordinating" pink stitching; to the numerous "little black dress" numbers that were nothing more than recycled prom dresses, circa 1992.......Ladies. Your visual displays of both boobies and clothing were shameful!)
4. If you were a Hooch and didn't quite understand what Mike was telling you with the whole "I'm engaged, here look at my ring" exchange, lets hope you learned your lesson when you tossed your large, black, strapless bra onto the stage only to watch Michael punt it ten rows back and make a face that read: There's one in every crowd. (For the record, Lynda & I were highly entertained by this and it only solidified that I'd made the right choice in keeping my unders to myself!)
5. If there was a gay man in the house, he was nowhere near Level 2, Section 218! The Snarky Brunette was surrounded by a large number of Geriatric Couples; many, many That Poor Bastard was drug here Kickin' & Screamin' Couples; a few That Guy brought his Girl in the Hopes of Getting Laid tonight Couples; and the rest of the crowd was made up of alot of Girls Night Out.
...........Sigh.......... I'm never gonna find myself a 'Mo to love!
The best part of the show came at the end. In the closing refrain of A Song for You, the curtain was raised to cover the orchestra and the house lights began to come up. It was then that the spotlight found Michael at center stage, about two feet from the microphone. He'd taken his ear pieces off and unplugged his amplifier so that when he began to sing, it was a cappella and only the bigness of his natural voice was being used to carry his voice across the Garden. EVERYONE fell silent. EVERYONE was still, to hear him croon: We were alone, and I was singing this song for you...... Singing my song, I'm singing my song for you.
Fade to black and EVERYONE went bat shit crazy! The lights came back up to find Michael blowing kisses to the crowd, bowing to the center and each side of the stage; pointing to the rafters and waving goodbye to everyone. When he exited the stage, Lynda turned to look at me and found me with huge tears in my eyes. She burst into laughter, her HUGE smile making me smile in return and she said: Sister.......there is no one else who I would want to share this moment with.
Seeing my Bestest, dearest Dearest so happy- the joy radiating from her beautiful face. It was priceless. Damn.......Mike was good. But that. That was the best part of the show.
Michael Buble~ is worth every penny.
And then some!
For a guy who wears a suit, owns a huge voice and is accompanied by an orchestra, he embodies the word Showman. From the moment the curtain dropped and he began the opening note of Cry Me a River, to the final song that closed his show (A Song for You)- he was a non-stop dynamo! All over the stage: singing, dancing, cracking jokes, engaging his audience members with small talk and making the near capacity crowd feel like we were part of an intimate show.
(Which, of course, just proves what a Master Entertainer he is because, Hello? He was singing to me. And only ME!)
(Ok, fine! Aaaaaaaand Lynda.)
Who, by the way, was positively adorable. Sitting in her chair, swaying to the music- she'd periodically burst into squeals of excitement if Michael happened to be addressing our side of the Garden. She would clap her hands and her face would light up with pure joy. She was the picture of serenity. Enjoying the moment.
And then there was me.
SCREAMING at the top of my lungs, either Michael's name or just in appreciation for whatever song he would sing next. SINGING (read: yelling) the words to EVERY song that was sung. CLAPPING my hands together so hard and for so long that by the time the show as over they were numb. And (I'm sure this was Lynda's favorite part) GRIPPING Lynda's arm and SCREAMING: OMG! I LOVE THIS SONG! at about every third song that was sung!
Picture of "Serenity"?
Helllllllll, no!
Picture of "That Chick is Having a Great Time!"?
Whooop , Whoop!!
I'll spare you my entire Michael Buble~ Review. And I'll refrain from posting his entire set list (this is taking some major effort on my part........You're Welcome!). But I will say this: his opening act Naturally 7 was amazing. Seven extremely gifted, African American artists who not only sing beautifully, but create the sound of music (as in the musical instruments) with their mouths. If Mike wasn't such a Master Entertainer, his opening act would have blew him outta the water! They were that good. You.Tube them, People.
You're Welcome. Again!
Finally, as my parting gift to you, I'll let you in on a few things Lynda & I learned from our MB experience:
1. Next time, we are getting seats on the floor! Two reasons. One-you have no chance of laying hands on Michael if you're in Level 2 seating, and Two- Mike encourages everyone to stand up, sing and DANCE but only those that are on the floor really do it. Why? Cuz those of us in the stands get told to sit down by the assholes seated behind us. Note to Assholes: You're at a live concert. If your lame ass is unaffected by the energy in the room, you should have stayed home!
2. If you're lucky enough to actually lay hands on Michael, don't actually lay on Michael. One chick in the Floor Section learned this lesson the hard way. The very hard way, when her ass was literally plucked from the back of Michael Buble~ and tossed aside like a rag doll into a row of empty chairs, courtesy of the GYNORMOUS bodyguard who was always 2 steps behind Mike. (Another reason MB is a Master Entertainer- his voice never wavered; and even though he is a class act, Mike has the ability to bring the excitement of The Springer Show for us all to enjoy!)
3. Michael is an engaged man. To a beautiful Argentinian actress whose name is about a 1/2 mile long and therefore, I will not be typing it. In her culture, when two people become engaged both the man & the woman wear rings. I know this because Mike shared this piece of trivia with us all last night; showed off his ring and succinctly dashed the hopes of all the Hoochies in the House who came to the show convinced they'd make it backstage and make it with Michael Buble~. (From the pink sparkly tops paired with zebra print stilettos emblazoned with a "coordinating" pink stitching; to the numerous "little black dress" numbers that were nothing more than recycled prom dresses, circa 1992.......Ladies. Your visual displays of both boobies and clothing were shameful!)
4. If you were a Hooch and didn't quite understand what Mike was telling you with the whole "I'm engaged, here look at my ring" exchange, lets hope you learned your lesson when you tossed your large, black, strapless bra onto the stage only to watch Michael punt it ten rows back and make a face that read: There's one in every crowd. (For the record, Lynda & I were highly entertained by this and it only solidified that I'd made the right choice in keeping my unders to myself!)
5. If there was a gay man in the house, he was nowhere near Level 2, Section 218! The Snarky Brunette was surrounded by a large number of Geriatric Couples; many, many That Poor Bastard was drug here Kickin' & Screamin' Couples; a few That Guy brought his Girl in the Hopes of Getting Laid tonight Couples; and the rest of the crowd was made up of alot of Girls Night Out.
...........Sigh.......... I'm never gonna find myself a 'Mo to love!
The best part of the show came at the end. In the closing refrain of A Song for You, the curtain was raised to cover the orchestra and the house lights began to come up. It was then that the spotlight found Michael at center stage, about two feet from the microphone. He'd taken his ear pieces off and unplugged his amplifier so that when he began to sing, it was a cappella and only the bigness of his natural voice was being used to carry his voice across the Garden. EVERYONE fell silent. EVERYONE was still, to hear him croon: We were alone, and I was singing this song for you...... Singing my song, I'm singing my song for you.
Fade to black and EVERYONE went bat shit crazy! The lights came back up to find Michael blowing kisses to the crowd, bowing to the center and each side of the stage; pointing to the rafters and waving goodbye to everyone. When he exited the stage, Lynda turned to look at me and found me with huge tears in my eyes. She burst into laughter, her HUGE smile making me smile in return and she said: Sister.......there is no one else who I would want to share this moment with.
Seeing my Bestest, dearest Dearest so happy- the joy radiating from her beautiful face. It was priceless. Damn.......Mike was good. But that. That was the best part of the show.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Jockey-ing for Position
By this time tomorrow I am confident I will be hoarse.
Why?
Because I'll have been screaming the name "Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiichaellllllllllllllllllllllllllll" over and over and over.
Why?
CUZ IT'S THE MICHAEL BUBLE~ CONCERT, BITCHES!
I had given serious thought to tossin' my undies in Mike's direction.......but I keep getting hung up on one thing: I fear the panic that might set in, given I'm in Level 2, of my "Queen" sized unders floating through the air. What if the shadow cast from their bigness was mistaken for an alien ship or something? The horror..................!
So.........I'm pretty sure I'll be keeping my undies to myself, and expressing my love for Michael with other gestures. Such as screaming his name at the top of my lungs; singing every song he sings right along with him (only I'll be the one who is completely off key and utterly tone deaf!); and on occasion I will turn to whatever perfect stranger is within ear shot and inform them that "He's singing this song TO ME!".
Someone told me today that only "gay men and women" would be attending this concert.....like that would be a disappointment to me. Pffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft!
Two words: Gay. Men.
Just when I thought this concert couldn't get any better, I was hit with the possibility of being surrounded by GAY MEN!
How awesome would it be to come home with both my underwear AND a gay boyfriend?
Why?
Because I'll have been screaming the name "Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiichaellllllllllllllllllllllllllll" over and over and over.
Why?
CUZ IT'S THE MICHAEL BUBLE~ CONCERT, BITCHES!
I had given serious thought to tossin' my undies in Mike's direction.......but I keep getting hung up on one thing: I fear the panic that might set in, given I'm in Level 2, of my "Queen" sized unders floating through the air. What if the shadow cast from their bigness was mistaken for an alien ship or something? The horror..................!
So.........I'm pretty sure I'll be keeping my undies to myself, and expressing my love for Michael with other gestures. Such as screaming his name at the top of my lungs; singing every song he sings right along with him (only I'll be the one who is completely off key and utterly tone deaf!); and on occasion I will turn to whatever perfect stranger is within ear shot and inform them that "He's singing this song TO ME!".
Someone told me today that only "gay men and women" would be attending this concert.....like that would be a disappointment to me. Pffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft!
Two words: Gay. Men.
Just when I thought this concert couldn't get any better, I was hit with the possibility of being surrounded by GAY MEN!
How awesome would it be to come home with both my underwear AND a gay boyfriend?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)