The Soundtrack To My Life

Attention Whore, this post's for you.

I promised to bring you a really good post earlier tonight and since I'm done watching Grey's, here ya go!

Attention Whore is a blog I really like reading. She's Canadian. And seems really cool. And she's been nice enough to stop by here and I bow down in flattery as a new blogger. (If I could figure out how to do a link to her blog, I would, but try as I may, I can't figure this stuff out. It's like child-proof tops on aspirin.) Here's the best I can do: http://kimmermav.blogspot.com/

Anyway - today's post grabbed me by my musical balls (or ovaries) and I had to drop everything and participate. Music is where it's at, people. I can't exist without something playing in my head at all times. (to quiet the voices) Anyway, I'm sure it's quite scientific and totally accurate in determining one's past, present, and future. Precise as heck, in fact.

Here's what you do. Get your IPod and put it on shuffle. Write down the songs as they play. This is the soundtrack to your life. As an example, I am including my soundtrack. And it's creepy effin cool. (You could probably do this with a favorite radio station, if you are lacking in IPodery.)

Opening credits: "Money, That's What I Want" by Todd Rundgren. Ahh, Todd. Of course, you'd be my opening credit. But geez, my reader(s) is/are going to get the wrong idea about me, dude.

Waking up: "Curbside Prophet" by Jason Mraz. Hmmm.... "and I'm waiting for my rocket to come." Freudian much?

Falling in love: "Lessons in Love" by Level 42. 'Nuff said.

Fight song: "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey. Wow.

Breaking up: "Mammon" by Todd Rundgren. Bashing organized religion, Todd? I'm going to hell for sure now.

Making up: "My Place In The Line" by Jude Cole. Comforting. I like this.

Life's OK: "Instant Karma" by John Lennon. Hmm. Oh well - it makes me snap my fingers for some reason. I guess that's pretty much OK.

Mental breakdown: "All I Want Is Everything" by Jellyfish. Honest, I did not make this up. That's what came next. Sorta makes me want to take the fetal position though.

Driving: "Save a Prayer" by Duran Duran. Great song. Nice driving groove. Not sure if the words apply but Duran Duran? Yes. Yes.

Flashbacks: "In Repair" by John Mayer. Ahhhh. Now THAT'S prophetic.

Happy Dance: "Stay With Me" by Def Leppard (well, Rod Stewart once). I'm dancing all over again thinking about this one.

Regret: "I Just Want To Touch You" by Utopia. Wow. Sexual aggression. Man, I need to get into therapy.

Final battle: "Heaven" by Psychedelic Furs. The Furs? "Heaven"? That doesn't sound like a battle to me.

Death scene: "Daughters" by John Mayer. Whew, good thing I don't have a daughter. She'd probably be killing me right now.

Final credits: "Drive" by The New Cars (well, originally The Cars). "Who's gonna drive you home tonight?" Man, I hope it's someone with wings on their back and not dressed in red.

I'd love to hear about the soundtrack to your life. I shared, you share. DO IT!

Chicken Wings, Part Deux

In response to all those who can possibly give a schit about my love life, here is the update, as it were.

I actually had a good time the other night with Mr. Nice Guy. But that's where it ends. I am a firm believer in chemistry and basically he flunked that class. The experiment flopped. I think I gave it the old college try when I first met him and heard a voice in my head say: "You know, he IS the kind of guy you should be dating. Stable. Conservative in appearance. Polite. *deep breath* Oh all right, here's my number." And I tried. I honestly tried. I had two official dates with the guy since August and I just couldn't get my engine revved-up. Maybe it was my alternator? Starter? Oh hell - he just doesn't blow my skirt up - figuratively or literally.

So, no I didn't use the "going to the ladies' room to smoke some crack" line Tuesday night. At best I did excuse myself to the loo and gave myself a pep talk in the mirror, only to return to the table and put on my charming self. I so totally give up.

Fast forward to today - the last day of the month is my busiest business-wise. Mr. Nice Guy calls right in the middle of me trying to get a day's worth of last day business done in 1/2 a day so I could get the F outta there and practically sled home on the icy streets of Dallas. (oh yeah - Texas ice storm!) Anyway - before he could even finish saying "hi" I cut him off and said "Can't talk now. Sorry." I hung up and my boss came flying out of his office and scolded me. WTF? Yup, he scolded me for not just doing it right then and there.

"But, but, but you and Greg would be listening!"

"Mel, we know the story. Do you want me to break up with him for you?"

(GOLIGHTLY, I APPARENTLY HAVE MY OWN VERSION OF KATE!)

Holding back the giggles, I hung my head in shame and vowed to handle this tomorrow. Vowed. It's bad enough to have a friend break up with a guy for you, but to have your boss do it? Pity the fool.

SOOOOO - tomorrow, Friday, will be the day. I've got the day off and my to-do list has "cut the guy loose" at the top. No alcohol allowed. Not even an Advil.

Let me say right here: you readers are fantabuloso. What a sense of sorority. And I wasn't even in a sorority. Unless you count the fact that I went to a woman's college with only 700 women....so it was one big sorority, sorta. Oh well, you know what I mean. *getting verklempt*

Now - it's time for Grey's so the earth must stop rotating for an hour. Will be back with the coolest of the coolest posting ever. Promise.

*turing on telly and settling in with CruiserDog* Shhhhhhhhhh.

I Have Chicken Wings

Report on dumping Mr. Nice Guy:

Let's just say, I need that script, Golightly.

Bock. Bock. *flap flap*

*hanging drunken chicken head in shame*

Did You Ever Have One of These, Part Deux

I had lunch today with some co-workers (male, mid-40's) and I ran my pickle past them. Seeing my obvious stress regarding tonight's (hopefully subtle, but effective) dumping of Mr. Nice Guy - they offered some advice. Let me run it by you.

They agreed that I should stick with my current course - to appear as wild, crazy, bitchy, die-hard-rock-fan, drunk, and generally out-there as I can be. In other words, be myself.

But they added a touch to my plan that may be the deal-breaker (or winner from my POV). If he disagrees that I'm too wild for him, I should politely say something like "Maybe you're right. But will you please excuse me for just a moment, while I go smoke some crack in the ladies room?"

And they also added that perhaps I should ask him where I can find some clean urine for my drug test coming up, seeing as how all my friends are fresh out.

Ya think that'll work?

Will post an update later. *putting on my subtle bitch hat*

CruiserDog

Double post Monday! I meant to share this photo with you guys days ago, but I was in a tryptophan haze and totally forgot. Sowwy.

But is this the cutest little thing ever? This is CruiserDog. This is his usual pose. No, I'm lying. He's usually airing his privates, but this is a family blog!

Okay - get off the couch. You know you're not supposed to be up there! Go on! Off!

Did You Ever Have One of These?

I'm in a pickle. Not literally, but it sure is starting to give me a sour taste. And it's a dilly.

If you've read my blog, you've probably seen my posting about taking an internet dating test and finding out I am a Random Brutal Love Dreamer. (I'd have a hot link for you, but I'm too stupid to read the directions....) In a nutshell, I'm picky about my men. There's no one "type" for me, sort of like art. I may not know exactly what I like about a man, but I do know what I don't like about a man. Wussy, wimpy, overly nice, bubbly, blechy men.

And I've got one. And he's like a glob of Juicy Fruit stuck to my shoe: sticky sweet and will not leave me alone.

The fault lies with myself. Apparently, he thinks I'm pretty wonderful (and he's right) but he has somehow, perhaps subconsciouly, picked up that I'm not that into him. He would be right about that, too. He's even asked me if I want him to stop calling me, after I've turned him down for happy hour, movies, etc at least 4 times since we met. What was my answer, you may be asking. Well, lemme tell ya. "Oh my, of COURSE I want you to keep calling." WTF? I absolutely hate myself. Never, and I mean never, have I been given the ultimate "out" and didn't even pause to NOT take it. I'm sprouting chicken feathers this very moment.

Luckily the time between his calls is getting longer and longer, but that only lulls me into thinking he's gotten in touch with his own subconscious messages and then RRRRRRINNNGGGG. My teeth clinch, but for some reason I get that smile in my voice and find myself accepting a date with Mr. Nice Guy for tomorrow night. My eyes are so rolled back in my head that I can literally see my butt upside down and it's looking a little yellow.

When I say my prayers tonight (yes, I pray!), I will be asking for the strength and courage to kindly express the following: Hey, Mr. Nice Guy, I am not the woman for you. I am willful. I am cranky alot of the time, when nice guys are around. What? You haven't noticed? I am into going to concerts and you're not. I do not like country music and you do. You have no idea who Todd Rundgren is and that's just un-American in my eyes. I am into foreign accented boy-toys whilst I'm on vacation and you have never, nor ever will fit that profile. I have a potty mouth and it begins the moment I wake up in the A.M. I enjoy an occasional, make that frequent, bourbon and diet coke and I don't really care that it has aspartame and is killing me!

Bottom line: I'm a wild woman. A rebel. Hear me roar. And you will end up being walked upon and frankly, I don't like men as doormats. So - please please please figure out that I am not your type. Please. You do not want to mess with this. Please dump me, so I don't have to stomp you into a pulp.

Everyone out there in the blogosphere, wish me luck. I don't want to be the b*tch here, but I may have to pull that out of my bag. It wouldn't be pretty. At least we'll be in a public, but dark place so he shouldn't suffer too much humiliation. Shouldn't.

Now, don't you have work to do? Like putting away the good china from Thanksgiving? Shoo!

The Self-Indulgent Nutball Christmas Letter

Let me start with saying that I hope each and every one of you and your's had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. Mine was pretty much the usual - over to brother & sis-in-law's house for yummies, the slap in the face that says "you're not married, CruiserMel?" and 1/2 a bottle of red wine, by myself. Normally, imbibing half a bottle of wine wouldn't be a big deal, but at 1:00 in the afternoon, 'tis not so good for CruiserMel. Let's just say, once I got home and piled onto the sofa with CruiserDog, I couldn't reach the remote for the TV, so I was forced to watch the Cowboys absolutely trounce the Buccaneers. Okay, I like football, but I hate to witness a total beating, so this game didn't give me chills. Somehow I didn't particularly care. And since it would take energy to reach the remote.....ah, screw it.

I'm finally coming back to the land of the living (i.e. I've digested AND John Mayer's on Letterman tonight and let's just say I'm a-twitter) and I'm seeing all these Christmas commercials on TV, along with previews of the local news with people already lined up at the Best Buy or Sears or Bed Bath & Beyond or whatever to get the newest Barbie doll or Playstation crap and I'm finding myself involuntarily catapulted into Christmas mode.

I love those letters that some send out with Christmas cards that cover all the fun things people have done / accomplished in the past 12 months. Some don't care for these, but I actually love them. I've even been known to send one out of my own a time or two. It's been a couple of years since I did one, but I'm feeling the need to connect with my peeps in 2006.

Here's the problem: In the grand scheme of things, I've led a pretty dull life this year. I haven't cured cancer. I haven't gone to Egypt to dig up stuff. I haven't paid millions of dollars to fly on the space shuttle. I haven't even changed that bulb that lights up the driveway.

What I have done probably sounds very self-indulgent. And it is. (I've become my MasterCard company's best customer as I have spent countless dinero travelling the country to recapture my youth at concerts.) So my question is - how does one not sound self-indulgent and yet share some happy adventures with loved ones? And not sound like a complete nutball?

Heck, maybe I'll just make something up. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all! It's late - so go make a turkey sammich or revisit the Tums bottle. Doesn't matter - just quit hanging around here! Didn't you see the "No Loitering" sign?

Fatherly Advice

So, I'm eavesdropping at lunch the other day and I hear two 40-ish men talking about fatherhood. Actually, one of the men has a daughter just learning to drive.

Father #1: I'm actually glad to buy her a car. I'm so sick of us having to drag her around to all her sh*t. Now we can actually have a life of our own.

Father #2: Aren't you worried she'll wreck the car or something?

Father #1: Nah, she can wreck the car all she wants. As long as she doesn't kill herself or someone else.

Father #2: Really?

Father #1: Yup. I'm not worried. I spent the first 16 years of her life keeping her off the pole. Which she did. So she'll be fine on the road. Just as long as she keeps off the pole.

The pole. I nearly wet myself.

I guess my own dad would be proud. I kept off the pole.

Sasha Cohen?

WTF???????? Will the real Sasha Cohen please stand up?

The New Cars Rawk, Dood

This past weekend I was fortunate enough to see The New Cars for the third time. Though I've always loved The Cars' music, I had never seen them live back in the 80's. Dunno why. Just didn't. When Ric Ocasek declined to tour this year and it was announced that Todd Rundgren would be taking his place, I was the first to sign up. Two of my all-time faves joining together! Todd + Cars' music. Wait, make that three faves. Todd + Cars' music + Kasim Sulton to reinvigorate my over-40 hormones. Mmmmm, tasty. (For those uninitiated ones, Kas has been Todd's bass player since 1976, between gigs with Meat Loaf and others.)

I first saw TNC in Dallas in May. Then again in Chicago in June. Then I saw Kasim do a solo accoustic show in Philly in July, after TNC had to make a pit stop due to a bandmember's collarbone injury which left Kasim with time off for a few months. By the way, Kas does a fantastic solo show full of great music and tales from his storied career with Todd, Meat Loaf, Joan Jett, and too many to mention here. But can I also add that he's awesomely yummy? (I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin' that's all.)

When Elliot Easton's bones were all healed, The New Cars announced they were going back on the track, er road, and I was once again, first to sign up. I convinced E to tag along and we towed our life-long friend Merv, T, L, and M along up into the Pocono Mountains to see them last Friday.

Let me just say - YOWZA. Freakin' yowza. Un. Be. Lievable. It's only been 5 months since I last saw TNC, but I forgot just how great they sound. If you live near any of their stops, be sure to see this show. You will not be disappointed. Guar-on-teed.

Meanwhile - yes the weekend was full of frolic, laughter, gallons of bourbon, quotable quotes from junior high up to the present, Philly cheesesteak sammiches, cracked pepper potato chips, and a gorgeous sunset from E's deck. Did I mention that these over-40-year-olds stayed up three nights in a row until 4:30 and beyond? Did I mention that somehow I am living to tell about it? Not bad for old chicks, huh?

Oh my golly - I actually posted a picture! Wow. The whole world is now my oyster!

Now - why are you hanging around here? Go take a walk. Go clean the fridge. Don't you need to floss? I don't care - just go!

Aphid Poop

I try to make it my practice to not watch the local news on telly. It's not that I don't care what goes on in Dallas, but since 9/11 I've been a news junkie and frankly, our city council folks and their shenanigans (never thought I would have the occasion to write that word) don't blow my skirt up. So I've gone through bouts with compulsive cable news-watching over the past 5 years. LOVE me some FoxNews in the A.M. and I admit to having a slight crush on Anderson Cooper (CNN). Even Tucker Carlson looks kind of cute, in a bad girl/geeky guy way. But for some reason I found myself watching the 10:00 news last night.

I am soooooooo never watching that again.

Imagine my surprise when they teased that they had something I needed to know.....after the break.

Indeed, I did need to know. Apparently the nasty, gooey stuff on my car is not pecan tree sap. Uh-oh. This can't be good. Radioactive fallout? GEEZ WOMAN, TELL ME BEFORE I GO TRIM MY BANGS, BECAUSE I SWEAR I'LL DO IT!

No, it's not fallout. It's poop. Aphid friggin poop. According to the expert interviewed, aphids are the "pigs of the insect world." (yet another phrase I never thought I would write) These little boogers gorge themselves on the sugar in leaves so much so that they are constantly pooping to make room for more leaf sugar. It's sort of like they are bulimic bugs. Eeeewwww.

What's frightening is that this actually made the news. Dallas must be overrun with the little pigs. Now that's really a boggling thought.

Or maybe it was a slow news day. I'll stick to FoxNews next time I need a fix.

On a positive note, CruiserMel is off to the east coast this weekend for some fun and frolic with her life-long buds, E & Merv. It'll be a weekend of virtually zero sleep, non-stop girl-talk, lots of alcohol, and we're catching a show by Todd Rundgren and The New Cars. My insides are jumping with glee. Todd. Lovin' me some Todd. I could just eat him up til I poop on my own car!

Happy Weekend, y'all. Okay, be off with yourself! NOW.

Random Brutal Love Dreamer = Trollop

So, I'm reading another blog today - yes, I'm addicted, get over it. Said blog mentioned an online dating test and I figured, whatthehell, I've got a few minutes to kill and I can handle whatever said test can dish out, so I go to OkCupid and take the test.

First off - these people are serious! I've done a few of these tests in the past, but sakes alive if this isn't pretty personal! I swear, I was wanting to cover myself up as I got further into the test. But I perservered sensing I might actually learn a bit about CruiserMel. Did I ever!?!?

Yes, I've cheated on a boyfriend. (You would've, too, if you'd seen KiwiBoy.) Do I think it's alright to cheat? No. (Not usually - but you didn't see KiwiBoy.) Is it alright to flirt if in a committed relationship? Not just yes, but hell yes! (Well, I can, but he can't.) Ever had a one-night stand? Yes. (Well, could actually be one-week stands, as they usually occur on vacation and there's usually a foreign accent attached.) Is a one-night stand okay with you? Yes. (when on vacation and there is a foreign accent attached.) The test went on like this....but wouldn't let me interject the comments you see in parentheses. Though it isn't entirely fair - it does prove something: I'm a trollop. Officially.

BUT - I like the way they softened the explanation of my "type" to read "you're the rare, independent, self-sufficient kind of woman who does want love, but not from a weakling." This is after they've stated I like men to bleed. I am so ashamed. But kinda digging it, too - 'cause it's true. Heh. I'm apparently selective. Yeah, that's what my mother tells me.

Read what else I figured out about myself below. Really freaky. Better yet - go check it out yourself at okcupid.com I'd love to see someone else's results. Come on - share!

The Wild RoseRandom Brutal Love Dreamer (RBLDf) Colorful, but unpicked. You are The Wild Rose. Prone to bouts of cynicism, sarcasm, and thorns, you excite a certain kind of man. Hoping to gather you up, he flirts and winks and asks you out, ultimately professing his love. Then you make him bleed. Why? Because you're the rare, independent, self-sufficient kind of woman who does want love, but not from a weakling. You don't seem to take yourself too seriously, and that's refreshing. You aren't uptight; you don't over-plan. Romance-wise, sex isn't a top priority--a true relationship would be preferable. For your age, (excuse me?) you haven't had a lot of bonafide love experience, though, and this kind of gets to core of the issue. You're very selective. (damn right)
Your exact opposite:The Dirty Little SecretDeliberate Gentle Sex Master The problem is them, not you, right? You have lofty standards that few measure up to. You're out there all right, but not to be picked up by just anyone. "You're never truly single as long as you have yourself." ALWAYS AVOID: The Bachelor CONSIDER: The Vapor Trail.

If only I knew who "the vapor trail" guy is. Sounds a little gassy to me. Just great.

Okay readers - go take the test - and let me know if you think it's dead-on or out of the ballpark. What cha waiting for? Git!

They Pulled The Tile Floor Out From Under Me!

Change = Good
Easy and convenient? Not so much.

File this under This Can't Be Good, Can It?

My tried and true grocery store has buckled under pressure. I will always hold my Kroger store close to my heart, but they are on shaky ground right now. Lucky for them, I can't tolerate the other two closest stores.

It took me a good three years to get to know the exact layout of the Kroger. I could actually make out my grocery list by the geographical layout. Produce, meats, deli, pharmacy to the left. Dairy, beer, junk food, cokes to the right. Frozen pizza, canned veggies, T.P., greeting cards, etc were somewhere in between. I could literally do a whole week of shopping in 15 minutes if I had to do so. But I rarely did the "grocery sprint" because I love to shop at the Kroger. It's actually a pleasant experience for me. There's something about knocking items off a list that just feels good.

I entered the store last night after work for a few items. Oregano, Kleenex, Diet Cokes, pickles. Should've been a 7 minute trip at most.

WTF? I walked inside and had to actually look around for something that said "Kroger" to be sure I was where I intended. Yup - there's a label for Kroger soda. But something was way different. The big bad wolf had come in and blown down my Kroger, eaten my porridge and slept in my bed!

The floor was different. The aisles were scooted into weird formations. And who puts the pharmacy to the right instead of the left? There is an employee designated to help you choose which gourmet cheese to serve with your wine. Can you say olive bar? I could feel my temples throbbing. This was purely a reaction to the other two stores in the area going urban and upscale. Succumbing to peer pressure. Hmph.

To make matters worse, they didn't close the store for a couple of weeks to do the renovations. Nooooo, they have stayed open and seriously inconvenienced us by moving merchandise to the most illogical places possible. Wines by the health & diet foods. Whaaaaaa?

Bottom line is that a person who has worked 8 hours must now weave up and down every single aisle to find their items. And you know where this is headed. I'm tired, cranky, I need to piddle and there's the one item I absolutely do not need: Zapp's Sea Salt & Cracked Pepper potato chips. DAMMIT, why are they sold in such a small bag? I need at least 2 of these to make it worth the trip. And, oh yeah - Betty Crocker pasta salad mix. And, oh yeah - I really should pick up a new lipstick. And, oh yeah - soy milk. (I've already got a carton that doesn't expire for 3 more weeks, but that's beside the point.) And, oh yeah - cereal bars. And the pickle aisle? My goodness, you need a graduate degree to decipher the roughly 100 types and brands. Where are the just plain ole pickles?

By the time I was checking out, I had gone from 4 items needed to 17. And it took me 50 minutes.

Kroger - you're evil. I can barely wait to go back.

Candy-Grubbing Midgets

Those little greedy, dirty-pawed, candy-grubbing bahstahds! No, I'm not talking about my PMSing friends, so chill.

Halloween is sacred to CruiserMel. It is a day to reflect on all that is creepy, scarey, strobe-lit, spider-webby and downright horrorific. (hmm......is that a word?)

But noooooooooooooooo. Halloween 2006 will go down as one of those times where I will remember next time to be on a cruiseship somewhere at sea instead of being at home. That's right little creeps, the porchlight, luminarias, and even the blowup Dracula won't be "in" next year.

And who is to blame? Well, I could blame the scores of vehicles from the other side of town that would idle in front of my house whilst seemingly hundreds of children, some not even costumed, would pile out like clowns from a VW in the circus - only to reach their filthy paws into my candy and take it like it was free, uh.....candy. Not only were they spreading countless germy residue throughout the bowl of goodies, but some even had the noive to put stuff back, not even disguising their disgust at my choice of candy! Hey, I realize it's not all Baby Ruths and Butterfingers, but YOU try being the only house on the block willing to play along with this Halloween tradition!

The blame lies with moi. Yes, gentle reader(s? Hullo...), the blame is all mine. You see, I'm only 4 years into the homeownership game......two of the Halloweens during this time were spent at sea cavorting with various foreign crew members, but that's another story for another day. So that leaves me with Halloween Year #1 and Year #4.

Year #1, I had not even moved into the house - so decorations were sparse....but I did manage a string or two of orange lights to advertise that a cool person lived here. Disappointed, I had maybe 15 trick-or-treaters. That was fine. Older neighborhood - meaning, OLDER folks lived here. Over the years though, the tide is turning and by Year #4, there have been new families and singles moving in....so I thought it might have picked up and thus, I went all out with the decor, creepy music, costume, and a killer spirit of fun.

I had lunch today with 3 married men from my office who have had years of homeownership practice. When I told them about how these heathens would put their grubby hands in the bowl of candy.......

Guy #1: "Stop right there. You let them choose the candy?"

Me: "Uh...yeah."

Guy #2: "BIIIIIIGGGGG mistake."

Me: "I'm supposed to do the work for them?"

Guy #3: "Don't be silly - if you let kids choose, they'll always take the chocolate and leave you with the crappy stuff."

Me: "Yeah....that's about what's left.....the junk I bought at the dollar store." My head was hanging now.

Guy #1: "You did hold back the good stuff for your own neighborhood kids, right?"

Me: "And I'm supposed to know which ones are which HOW?"

Guy #1: "Your neighborhood kids aren't being let out of a pickup truck at the end of the block or talk with Mexican accents."

Me: "And what about the guy who came to my door, not in costume, about 6' tall, with a full goatee?"

All 3 Guys: *audible sigh and rolling of eyes*

I guess it really is all my fault. I guess I'll have to punish myself by eating the leftover candy and ripping out my fillings. Sugar Daddies. No wonder the kids put it back in the bowl.

Next year - I'll send ya a postcard from the Mexican Riviera, ya little bahstahds.

Hey, don't you have some other blog to go read? Well, go on!