I Got Tagged, Just Sayin'

I got tagged by my sweetie over at Just Sayin. Since my brain is mush following the holiday weekend, I will comply.

The Rules of this tag:
1. Link to your tagger and post these rules.
2. List eight (8) random facts about yourself.
3. Tag eight people at the end of your post and list their names (linking to them).
4. Let them know they’ve been tagged by leaving them a comment on their blogs.

So here ya have it:

A. I have to alternate shampoos/conditioners everyday. Seriously, I cannot use the same brand two days in a row. To be honest, I prefer to wait 4 or 5 days before repeating. There's hardly room for me in my shower.

B. I think the Cingular / AT&T wireless commercials are brilliant.

C. I sang backup with my friend KP for some bands in the Dallas area back when I was hot. No, hotter than hot. Matter of fact, our name was The Scorchin' Babes.

D. I'm addicted to Sudafed. I freak out if I see that my supply is getting low. And while I'm on the sudafed topic, let me rant a little. Dear Crackheads: Because you guys have gotten caught using the ingredients in my beloved Suda (yeah, we're on a first-name basis) to make your rotten stinkin' drugs, I now have to sign over my first born at the pharmacy everytime I have a stuffy nose. I don't like feeling like a CruiserCriminal. So, stop it, okay?

E. "Will & Grace" and "The Dick Van Dyke" shows are the very best situation comedies to ever grace (heh) the airwaves. There are some other shows that come/came close, but those two will forever be in my heart as my faves.

F. I'm a lousy housekeeper, unless I know a guest is coming over. Then I become the housekeeper from hell. And I am one fast mo-fo, too.

G. Naps on the weekend are God's gift.

H. My house has become over-run with chameleons lately. I'm not sure where they've come from, but someone's having babies in there. They're actually kinda cute. Someone told me they eat bugs. Cool with me. I hate bugs. But stay out of my bed and my towels. I saw you hiding in my towel the other morning and it kinda creeped me out. You can have the rest of the house. Deal?

Okay, I know some people don't like getting tagged, so I'll leave it all up to you. If you want to proclaim that you have been tagged, just let me know. If you aren't interested, that's cool, too.

The Airline Pilot

Ever had a couple of hours to kill? I did. And here's what I found. I can't stop laughing, nor can I see through the tears in my eyes. Enjoy!

In Case You Thought Rockstars Are Losers

I admit it. I had another post up for about 6 hours today, well during the night. I took that sucker down, because 1.) it wasn't remotely funny, 2.) it was negative and me no likey the negative.

So here is the replacement post, but 1.) it's not remotely funny, 2.) it's not negative cuz me no likey the negative.

It was brought to my attention the following news story and I thought it was cool. Read it here. If you don't want to read it, basically it says that Brian May, guitarist for Queen put his educational needs on hold when Queen hit it big back in the 70's. I guess he got bored one day and decided to tie up some loose ends and finished his PhD in Astrophysics. Mmmkay. Still, how groovy is that? I mean, that's hard!!!

Now, I for one have considered (for a few brief moments) going to graduate business school or switching it up entirely and going to paralegal school or maybe even art school. But I figured I am way out of practice with the studying game, at my advanced age of .... oh wait, you're not getting me to go there, but let's just say that I've been out of college for a while. I feel so totally wimpy now. Go Brian!

And this just entered my head the other day. Remember when I went up to Cleveland and saw a Meat Loaf concert and that one girl I'd met got mugged before the show? Well, I never finished the story. Apparently, after the show, she was hanging around out back, trying to get an autograph or photo or whatnot. She was telling someone about the mugging and Meat Loaf overheard her talking. Do you know what he did? He had one of his security dudes walk her to her car. That big guy must have one big heart. Awwwwwwwww.

That's about it. My blogging well is a little on the dry side today. I've got some good stuff planned this week, so I'm hoping to have something interesting to report.

Meanwhile, y'all have a great week, you hear?

Daytime Television Sucks

Ugh. What a day.

When my alarm went off, I woke up with one of those blaring headaches. Those ones that escape description. All you know is that something hurts like a mutha and you just want to reach into your cranium and pull a chunk of pain out through your ear. Nothing was going to help except for a big dose of Excedrin, some hot tea and hitting the bed with CruiserDog for a few more hours of shut-eye.

When I awoke around 4:00 this afternoon I felt loads better. I moved into the den to see what might be on daytime television.

What a disappointment! I figured out I don't think I'd make a good kept woman. Daytime television sucks. Hard.

I'm no Oprah girl. I have to be in the mood for Lifetime network. Even VH-1 didn't grab my attention. I've got the super duper grande package of channels, but couldn't find anything. Anything!

I picked through my DVD collection and pulled out a little gem I had not seen in awhile and popped it in the player. I should've watched it earlier today. It might be good medicine.

So with little adieu, I give you, Spinal Tap.

Does Anyone Use the Term "Bad" As A Good Thing Anymore?

To all my Dallas-Fort Worth readers (and beyond, if you're interested):

Once upon a time, I knew a boy named Dan. He was barely knee-high to a boll weevil at the time. His dad works with CruiserMel.

Well, the years have gone by, Dan has shot up way taller than that boll weevil and he and his fellow bandmates Will and Guyton are embarking on a musical recording career.

That's not to say he and and his band haven't been paying their dues. Oh my no. In fact, I can attest to the fact that I've actually seen this band grow and strengthen over the past couple of years. They write their own songs......and their sound is hypnotic and haunting, with beautiful sweet vocals tying it all together. I'm no expert, but according to their myspace site, they name Coldplay and Oasis as musical influences and it shows. I really like them. Really really like them. (Oh my, I'm sounding like Sally Field, aren't I?)

This summer they teamed up with producers Todd and Toby Pipes of "Deep Blue Something" fame (remember "Breakfast at Tiffany's") and have recorded their songs and personally, it sounds very good, if I may say so myself.

The bottom line here is that Dan, Will, and Guyton, who make up BadEnders will be releasing their new CD on August 31st in Plano, Texas. So if you're in the neighborhood (and I know I'll certainly be there), there is a CD release party going on at Rock Steady. Come on out and support the guys. Support BadEnders. Give 'em a listen. You won't be sorry.

Love Me Some British Comedy

It's Sunday night and I'm totally spent from the weekend. So I'll make this brief. This looks just too funny! Anyone else?

Cleveland, Part Two

When we last left our super hero, er me, I was making my way into downtown Cleveland in the hearse in the rain.


Scratch that. It was a monsoon. Or typhoon. Ridiculous rain. And my $10 WalMart umbrella with super powers used mainly for fighting off villains in Kroger parking lots was nowhere to be found.


Well, there goes a waste of good hair products.


I pulled up in what must've been an area of Cleveland that was used in some Stephen King movie about the apocalypse because seriously, there was not an open business nearby except a Subway restaurant and the masonic temple thingy. So much for going cheap with the hotel reservation, CM.


I pulled the hearse into the parking lot and splashed through the potholes in bare feet. I should've taken it as a sign when the hotel had no welcoming mat on which to wipe my paws, so that when my day-old pedicured toes hit the marble floor, I went into full Herky cheerleader jump pose and landed on my right buttock. The Chinese woman at the desk didn't even look up. I guess that had happened a dozen times that morning. Hmmm, would a little eye contact or a "are you okay?" be admitting liability, Chinese wench?


The place was weird. It was an American hotel chain, but all the decoration was Chinese with those huge vases and Buddha statues everywhere. And they all had price tags on them in case you felt compelled to buy one of those 4-foot tall suckers to take home to the kiddies as a souvenir. "My mommy went to Cleveland and all I got was this lousy vase."


Because it was hours before the official check-in time, she only had one room ready. I'll take it, I said through wet bangs.


Chinese wench: You not intellested in dat loom.
CM: I'm not? Why not?
Chinese wench: It on floor we save for yung people.
CM: *thinking about taking her down at this point*
Chinese wench: Dat floor is where we put noisy people.
CM: How do you know I'm not noisy? Let me have it. *sheesh*


I opened the door to the room and it was lovely. For a Chinese-run American hotel chain whose door I will never darken again in my natural life, but was willing to give it the ole college try this particular time.


After whoring-up for the second time before noon, I did some exploring of the city, grabbed some lunch and talked on the phone with Kas before he had to go to sound check. Yeah, that's how I roll, bro. 'Nuff said.


Fast-forward to later that evening, if you will. I was to meet up with T, M, and S from England who runs Kasim's website and I swear must have a GPS planted on him since she knows where he is more often than he does, for dinner. We were to meet at the mall which provides parking for the venue. Easy breezy, huh? So, I'm waiting for the girls at the bottom of an escalator that takes you up into said mall, but still in the parking garage, right? I turn around and see a girl I'd met the night before at the solo show and she's white as a sheet and shaking uncontrollably. She was on her way to meet up with some Meat Loaf fans for a pre-concert dinner at a different restaurant in the mall and had been mugged only moments before she saw me.


Great P.R., Cleveland.


Anyway we helped her get her wits about herself, patted her on the behind (no, not really, I just like saying that) and sent her on her sad and pathetic way. At least the scumbag didn't steal her front-row-center ticket! Priorities, man!


After dinner we boarded a shuttle bus down to a really cool venue on the river. The Cuya-something River. The sun had come out and it was lovely. The show was amazing. (I know, you're thinking I must be kidding, right?) But really, it was wayyyy better than the show I'd seen in Philly in the spring. It went on for 2 hours and Kasim did well and looked oh-so-hot. What? Like he could look any other way? Thanks, T, again for letting me steal a photo from your camera.
But before too long, the show was over and dammit all, Cleveland rolled up the sidewalks and there was no place to go hang, get a beverage and trade our reviews.

What's up with that, Cleveland? Seriously, the city was dead and it was only 11:00. Oh well. I'd snarfed down enough $7 beers to lull me to sleep.

And sleep, I did. It's nice when the air conditioning is working and it's not raining in through the window. At least this hotel got points for that. And it wasn't noisy at all. Well, except for the sound of dead bodies being thrown down the elevator shaft or cows in pain.

The next day, Friday, I whored-up and met T for lunch and a day of Rock & Roll memorabilia at the Hall Of Fame. It was fantastic! If you're in Cleveland, check it out. But give yourself a bunch of time to do so. We almost ran out of time to see the special exhibit they've got (through this month or maybe next) about The Doors. I can't say I have ever been a fan, but the whole Jim Morrison legend does enthrall me. There's some really cool letters between Jim's father and the US Ambassador to France where he died. Lots of controversy there.

Oh that just reminded me - my friend Merv was a Jim Morrison fan and being the nutball that she is, she used to tell people he had not died and that he was living in her parents' guesthouse. Dunno why. But that's how she rolls, bro.

After the HOF, we grabbed a bite of dinner and parted ways since I was tired and wanted to just relax at my hotel and pack up to go home the next day.

After talking to a friend, M, on the phone for a bit, I was feeling like I wanted to visit the hotel bar for a nightcap. So, I put on some shoes and went downstairs to the hotel bar, which happened to be inside the, dare I say it?, Chinese restaurant. Um, k.

To the naked eye, the place looked like it should have dogs hanging up like meat, but the place totally rocked!

Apparently, all of the other guests at the hotel were Yankee fans who had just seen their boys win against the Indians. It must've been "towel" night at the ballpark, because they all had Cleveland Indians towels on their heads, in a mocking manner, and were quickly emptying the bar of their inventory.

I grabbed a bar stool and enjoyed a couple of Three Olives Cherry vodka with diet coke (my new drink) and became the token southern belle of the ball amongst a sea of New York accents. I was a hit, kind of like Blanche from The Golden Girls at a bar. Good times. And yes, that was a tip-of-the-hat to LindyStars and her Golden Girls references.

At 11:00 the bar closed. Seriously, Cleveland - what's with 11:00 being the witching hour?

We adjourned to one of the Yankee's rooms to play a little Texas Hold 'Em when my cellphone rang.

My mother had become very ill and was being taken to the hospital. In Dallas. Grrrreat. So much for playing poker with cute boys.

I spent the whole night on the phone, stressing and trying to get an earlier flight out of town to no avail. (Remember, it was after friggin' 11:00.) So I stuck with my original flight plan.

I made my way to the airport in the morning, dropped the hearse off at the rental place where they totally didn't believe I'd put any gas in the car (and they were right) and they charged me $30 for that lie.

Though I had a total blasty-blast and the people of Cleveland DO rock, I couldn't get home fast enough. Luckily, my mother made a turn for the better on Sunday and they released her from the hospital. Once I got her and her caretaker settled-in at the house, I went home and took a nap. A four-hour well-deserved nap.

And that, chitlins, was my trip to Cleveland. The End.

Tomorrow night - I'm collecting on my birthday prezzie from BTJ - tickets to see Patty Smyth and Scandal at the House of Blues. I need to find my shoulder pads and hairspray so I can hold my bangs in an unnatural upward fashion for my trip back to the 80's! FYI, the bass player in the back of this photo from 2005? Yeah, Kasim. Just sayin.

Have a great day, y'all. C U L 8 R.

Cleveland, Part One

And so it was that CruiserMel went to Cleveland, Ohio for a few days last week. And you, in return ask "why, CM?" Okay, I'll tell you.

Some time ago, I "met" a friend, we'll call her T, on a Todd Rundgren forum. We became email friends and somewhere along the line we became really good friends, online and on the telephone. We shared a mutual interest in all things Todd and/or Kasim-related. We would giggle and tell stories and trade photos. Online.

When Kasim was going to be in Cleveland doing a solo show, along with performing with Meat Loaf, and seeing as how CM hasn't done anything crazy in August yet, I decided this would be a perfect time to meet T in person and have a little sisterly bonding, whilst having a nice "view," as it were.

Funny sidenote: Boy Toy J actually blessed this union. And I'm not talking about meeting T. It was surreal. I'm sure it was spawned by alcohol and wanting to please his girlfriend, but when he said I should.......oh I can't tell it out loud.......let's just stick with surreal, shall we?

So, Wednesday morning I dropped The Romanian at the rental car place and got to the airport a full 2 hours before my flight. As you know, I'm prone to travel ghoulies and frankly, I'm perdy darn sick of it. So I decided to head the ghoulies off at the pass. Be proactive: that's my motto now.

I made the flight to Memphis just fine, even having time to grab a granola bar, some water and a tacky magazine at a newsstand. The flight was uneventful. That worried me a bit, I admit. As soon as the plane touched ground, I dashed to the front of the plane, wanting to be 1st to step off and move on to my connecting flight.

*pause* *longer pause* *even longer pause*

Would you believe the damn sky bridge (or whatever it's called) broke? I felt my scalp crawl. In my head I was praying "please get me off this plane." At least I hope it was in my head.

Then the pilot spoke: "We will lower the stairs from the rear of the plane for disembarkation for your convenience."

WHAT THE FUCK? I'm at the front of the plane!!!!!

Anyway - we deboarded like the Beatles arriving in NYC, except there weren't any adoring fans or flowers being thrown at us. Once I got around the slowest passengers on earth, I did an OJ through the airport and got to my gate with 2 minutes to spare. Two.

Once in Cleveland, I was "upgraded" to a "better" rental car than the roller skate on tires I'd signed-up for. Hey, I'm frugal; get over it. This "better" car was a huge monstrosity, a Dodge I think, and it looked like a hearse. A big, ugly hearse. Yeah, this was sexy all right. Quite.

I made my way to the hotel in a place called Willoughby (sounds pretty, doesn't it. ummmkay) where my room was as humid as a rainforest with water literally running down the mirrors, turned on the a/c and headed for the mall to get a mani and pedi. Happily, it was heavenly. I even fell asleep. Don't you love those chairs with the massage thingies in them?

Later on, I whored-up and T came to pick me up for dinner. She's adorable. She's sweet and kind of shy at first, but she's a hoot once you get her talking, especially about Kasim. We were like teenagers, giddy and excited to see Kas' solo show at a place called the Beachland Ballroom. Why it was called a ballroom, I'm not sure; it looked like a bar to me. And it had one of those, too. Bonus!

We got our seats on the first row and whispered about how cute he looked (he really did!) and how funny his stories are every time. In addition to getting to see Kasim, he was joined on stage by a surprise guest - Randy Flowers, one of the guitar players in Meat Loaf's band. Then in walked a good portion of the rest of Meat's band, including Paul Crook (the other guitarist) and the two girl singers (C.C. and Aspen Miller). It made it a very special night, for Kasim and for us. Natch, I bullied my way through the crowd to meet everyone. It was too cool for school, I tell ya.

Don't eeeeeeeven look at me in this next picture. Just look at that famous smile on Kas. But seriously, what's with my neck? And remind me to use more conditioner next time. Okay, you can look at me just this once because you have just got to see the dumbfounded deer-in-the-headlights look in my eyes. This is normal when I see him. I have no idea why he even bothers with me.

This next one is a little better. This is Paul Crook. He's got a great laugh.

That's Kasim, Randy, Aspen and Paul. Nice family portrait, no?

When the night was over, T took me back to the hotel, where lo and behold - darkness. Complete darkness. And not a hum or buzz of electricity in the air except for the buzzing in my head from a little too much bourbon. Luckily, T had a flashlight to give me, I opened the window, washed my face off and got on the cellphone with S (in California) to report about the night. Remember S? She's the one who got to meet Todd ON HIS BUS and is another Toddhead/Kasimhead. She ooohed and ahhhed over my night for an hour or so. After awhile, I decided to hit the bed.

At precisely 5:41 a.m., the lights and television turned on like a brutal high beam straight to my retinas! And it was raining. Into my room. Fantastico.

Later on that morning, I changed hotels to one closer into Cleveland to ready myself for another night of fun, T, Kasim and Meat Loaf.

I'll give you a day or two to absorb all of this. I know. You'll get over it. Eventually.

Thanks to T for letting me steal her photos as my camera decided to go on the fritz and was a totally worthless piece of shit all weekend.

A Pre-trip Surprise

Hello my little chitlins! Did everyone have a great weekend? Maybe I should ask if you guys had a good week and a half, seeing as how I haven't posted here in what seems like a long long time. I had the best of intentions to have a little chat with all y'all before my trip to Cleveland*, but I ended up with an unexpected surprise that kept me from the computer. So very sowwy.

Apologies over, k?

Here's what happened. You might recall when my friend L & I surprised our Romanian friend on the cruise ship he was working on - back in March. We went bearing pounds and pounds of chocolate and got to see one happy Romanian enjoy his birthday at sea.

Are you aware of the saying "no good deed goes unpunished"? Well, it's true.

I had planned out what needed to be done in the days leading up to my trip up north. There was work to be done indeed. Laundry, ironing, careful planning of clothing with accessories, manicure, pedicure, blog entry. All of this needed to be handled last Monday and Tuesday, plus the usual appearances at the office. (Yeah, they kinda expect a person to show up. I know.)

At 5:00 on Monday, I was ready to hit the ground running after leaving the office.

*ring-ring* (that was the cellphone, btw)

Me: Hello?
He: CM? It's the Romanian. I'm here!

Me: Here? What?

He: Yes! Surprise! Can you come pick me up?

Me: Uhhhh, mmmm, ahem.....sure, where?

He: Fort Worth. (40 miles away - and it's 5:00. Oh joy.)

I'll speed up the story now, so I can watch "Rock of Love with Bret Michaels" on TV. Sorry, I'm tired, sweeties.

Nevertheless, all of my good intentions went straight out the window and it was all about the Romanian all the way until early Wednesday morning when I nicely gave him the boot on my way to the airport.

Hooray for irons in hotels and malls with mani/pedi salons in Cleveland!

But stilllllllllllllll, who goes to a foreign country to surprise people!?!?!?!

Love ya, Mr. Romanian, but maybe an email next time, huh?

Oh wait, one quick little story about having a Romanian in your house for 36 hours, if you have the time. Please?

The Romanian is trying very hard to learn to speak and write perfect English. And he's doing a fine job at it, if I may say so myself. Anyway, we're talking Tuesday night and he is asking me questions about the finer points of English.

He: Spell though.

Me: T. h. o. u. g. h.

He: Spell thought.

Me: T. h. o. u. g. h. t.

He: Spell tough.

Me: T. o. u. g. h.

He: See? It's not as easy as you would tink.

Good points, indeed.

*I have a few stories about my Ohio Adventure which I hope to tell you this week. There was a broken skybridge, the ugliest rental car in history, a power outtage, monsoons, Kasim (Did I not tell you guys that before?), new friends, old friends, a mugging, a museum, Yankees and yes, travel ghoulies.

Tune in later, my little chitlins. Until then - have a happy week, k?

Sweet Nothings

"Good morning, precious."

"Come here, my love lump."

"Careful now, don't scratch it."

"You want some dinner? I'll make gravy."

"Who loves you?"

"Baby, you're my handsome prince."

"D'you want me to scratch your butt?"

"Gimme a kiss."

"Come snuggle with me."

"Oh goodie, you're showing me your privates."

These aren't lines overheard between myself and BTJ. This is just what I've heard myself say to CruiserDog over the past couple of days. Clearly, I need some help.

A Mixed Bag

Remember me? I'm sorry, I've been staying away from writing a new post for way too long - once again. And I promised I wouldn't do that to ya. Forgive?

It's been a busy week - and we're only half-way through it. Ugh. Let's see what I can dredge up and form into some neat little pile to pass a couple of minutes while you're reading this....

A girl I work with, L, gave me a belated birthday gift this week. Mind you, I was thrilled to have my birthday come and more importantly GO, so when she popped her head in my office and said "happy birthday," it took me by surprise. She'd gone shopping at lunchtime and she knows I love nothing more than getting free stuff, so she had gotten all kinds of beauty samples and was passing them along to me. Me!

I felt like the Artful Dodger in Fagin's hideout, picking through the bag of lotions and potions as if they were gold watches and cash. It was a bag of treasure. Or so I thought.

When I looked closer, each little sample had at least one of the following phrases listed on the package:

Anti-Wrinkle
Anti-Aging
Intensive
Lifting
Youthful Radiance
Repair
Firming

Um. Yeah. This is why birthdays aren't so fun anymore. But I have to say - how touching is that? Why would she even think about me and my birthday weeks after the fact? Tres' cool.

Moving on......

I think I broke up with Boy Toy J last weekend. Well, for 24 hours, at least. It was cumulative. He didn't actually do anything in particular to push me into bitch-mode. I just went there on my own and gave him the old speech that rolls around in my head whenever he comes up with some cockamamie (is that how that is spelled?) idea or bings off the wall for the 413th time. The speech where I turn into a mother and hear myself saying things like "when do you plan on growing up?" It wasn't pretty. We all know how I hate being that person, but sometimes it just builds up in me and I have to bleed-off the steam or my face will peel off my skull and dragons and fire will spew from my facial orifices. We don't want that to happen, do we? He wrapped his tail between his legs and limped home. When we talked the next day, he had not slept and said he was going to be responsible and be that guy I want him to be. My walls have gone up again. I'm leery. I'm not buying it, entirely. But he is cute and I do care about him, whether it's right or wrong. And besides, it's not like Prince Charming is knocking down my door. And no, I don't want a lecture, mmmmkay?

Have you noticed the new countdown clock over there? No, over on the right. Your other right. Yeah, the yellow thingy. It may not sound all that sexy and exciting, but I'm quite thrilled to be heading to Cleveland in a week to see two Kasim shows. I'm also getting to meet for the first time a friend (T) who I've been chatting with for quite awhile about all things Kasim and Todd. We're also planning on touring the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame one day! Great fun!

Topic #4 for this post (man, I'm all over the place): I was checking out the ole site-meter the other day and I'm proud to say I've had my first hit from south of the equator! I feel so international now. Apparently, there is an Aussie who wanted to know "things to do while asleep." I have no idea why they ended up here, but once you get past the usual things to do while asleep, I'm pretty sure there aren't many left. So I probably wasn't too helpful. Sigh.

Speaking of sleep - it's getting late here and I'm not really feeling bloggy, so I'm going to sign off for now. Hopefully some wonderfully exciting adventure will drop in my lap soon and I can rattle off the post of all posts.

Until then......

The Spankbank Caper

So, S & I are having lunch the other day at one of those brewery places that makes terrible beer but has terrific food and an even more terrific patio and cute boys to look at.

Usually S likes to cuss and discuss matters of a political nature, but that day was different apparently, so it was refreshing when we started talking about the current storyline on Denis Leary's "Rescue Me." We love Denis Leary, in a "oooh, I'd like a little of that bad boy" way. Combine that with carrying a fire hose and it's the stuff that dreams are made of.

Anyhoooo, we started talking about an episode or two ago when the guys of the firehouse were discussing who was in their spankbank and if you don't know what spankbank means, you really need to go on vacation or have a cocktail or two. I assume you can figure it out, my little pervs, um readers.

Natch, this led to me sharing that I'd bought myself a prezzie for my birthday. (Side note: I apparently wasn't "the only living female to not have one" before then, by the way!) Her eyes widened and she calmly asked me who was in my spankbank.

You must understand that S & I do not have these kind of convos. Nun-unh. I've tried before but she's a private person and apparently, I like to step on her toes figuratively at times, so I usually back it down a notch and save that stuff for Merv.

I was in mid-bite of my salad with light lemon caper vinaigrette dressing and started to laugh uncomfortably. I swear a caper moved up into my right sinus cavity from the pressure.* I can still smell vinegar now, two days later.

It was difficult to compose myself, but I managed to name off a few boys that came to mind. (hee, I said came) And S & I became closer friends that day as we found we've got at least one or two guys in common, spankbank-wise. Apparently, we both have John Mayer in the top 10. I think we also found out Mr. Leary is in there, too. Who says friends can't find things in common even after knowing each other all these years?

Anyway - so today, I was taking a little break from work and thinking about what to blog about and this spankbank topic came (heh, there I go again) up in my brain and it made me realize that spankbank is really a term for guys. So what would the female equivalent be? Dream Desk? Fantasy File? Vibra Vault?

Whatever it's called - anyone want to name names right 'cheer in this here blog? Who is in your spankbank/vibravault? Awwwww, come one, come all! (there I go again.....)

*Get the title of this post now? Hee. Caper. Get it? I crack me up sometimes.

The Soundtrack, Eight Months Later

There was this bizarre and quite dangerous explosion in Dallas today. A company that provides and stores gases for welding and such went up in flames this morning. Scary stuff, indeed. It shut down a bunch of major highways near the downtown area and it's still a mess. Luckily, only 3 people got hurt and no one died amazingly.

Annnyway, it upset me all day. Eventually, I had to turn off the coverage and decided to take my iPod and my sneakers for a nice sweaty walk after work to burn off some of the stress. While I was walking through the neighborhood, I had the iPod on shuffle mode and it reminded me about that Soundtrack To My Life meme that I did way back in November 2006. I wondered if anything had changed since then. And besides, I had nothing to blog about today, so I give you the Soundtrack To My Life, Almost 8 Months Later:

Opening Credits: "One More Day" by Todd Rundgren. Aiyee, this is a cool one. (previously "Money, That's What I Want" by Todd Rundgren)

Waking Up: "Call It What You Will" by Utopia. "But don't call it love..." Damn, what a way to wake up. Not looking good..... (previously "Curbside Prophet" by Jason Mraz)

Falling In Love: "Just What I Needed" by The Cars. Me likey this one. (previously "Lessons In Love" by Level 42)

Fight Song: "Sugar, We're Goin Down" by Fall Out Boy. I'm not sure a fight song should be about goin' down, but at least "we're goin' down swinging." (previously "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey)

Breaking Up: "Mammon" by Todd Rundgren. Okay, this was weird. I read this song as being against organized religion. Do I need to reassess the church I go to - when I go? (oddly enough, same song previously)

Making Up: "It's A Love Thing" by Keith Urban. Firstly, okay, I admit I like a few country songs. Secondly, is this cool or what? I mean - come on, isn't love the reason to make up? (previously "My Place In The Line" by Jude Cole)

Life's OK: "Cherish" by Madonna. Yeah, this one's on my iPod. Isn't everyone allowed a guilty pleasure? Besides, it's fun to dance to this one. (previously "Instant Karma" by John Lennon)

Mental Breakdown: "I Just Wasn't Made For These Times" by The Beach Boys. Yup, I feel like that some times. (previously "All I Want Is Everything" by Jellyfish)

Driving: "Lying Through Your Teeth" by Head Automatica. Awesomely fun song, really loud. (previously "Save A Prayer" by Duran Duran)

Flashbacks: "Girl Can't Help It" by Journey. Um, I probably still can't help it. (previously "In Repair" by John Mayer)

Happy Dance: "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana. Happy? Mmmmkkkay. I said the iPod was on shuffle, right? (previously "Stay With Me" by Def Leppard / Rod Stewart)

Regret: "She's Tight" by Cheap Trick. Interesting selection. Do I regret being tight financially, sexually, emotionally or what? No comment. (previously "I Just Want To Touch You" by Utopia)

Final Battle: "SexyBack" by Justin Timberlake. Rrrriiight. I'm in the trenches, but looking oh-so-sexy at the same time. Maybe I need to add some camos to my wardrobe. (previously "Heaven" by The Psychedelic Furs)

Death Scene: "Back to You" by John Mayer. For some reason, I just thought of those news reporters tossing it back to the anchorman. You know when that day comes, I'm going to rise up from my deathbed and say these final words. "Back to you, Ted." (previously "Daughters" by John Mayer)

Final Credits: "Constant Craving" by k. d. lang Sad, just pathetically sad. I need to make a couple of changes apparently. (previously "Drive" by The New Cars)

And there you have it - apparently my life has gone downhill since November. I think I need to take a vitamin or two. Or go to therapy.

Man, I Had Good Taste Back Then!

Last night I was looking for something to watch on television and having very little success. I decided to see what was lurking on the DVR for a change. I found a couple of episodes of "Classic Albums" hiding on there.



Have you ever watched it on VH-1 Classic? I am a sucker for that show. If you've never seen it before and you are a music lover, it is simply the coolest behind-the-scenes shit. Ever.



The basic premise is that they take a "classic" album (I'm not sure who picks, but they do pick some goodies most of the time) and they get the original talent and producer(s), usually in a studio somewhere. They pick apart down to the very last detail each song from that album and discuss why they did it this way or that way and basically give you a peek into the creative process.



Music ain't easy, people. There's a hell of alot of work and tedious detail that goes into that song you're listening to on the iPod, honey.



Last night's selection (seeing as how I was needing to quiet down and hopefully get sleepy) was Steely Dan's "Aja" album.


I was a Steely Dan fan back in the day but I haven't heard a note of their jazzy goodness in at least 15 years. I ate this stuff up like it was sweet chocolate mousse at "that" time of the month! Luscious and dreamy and sophisticated - all those things I aspire to be in my dreams.



Either way, I woke up this morning with a mission. Must. Find. Steely Dan. CDs. Today.



I listened allllllll day at the office, added some choice tunes to my iPod, and have been in one of those groovy moods ever since. On my way home, I was listening at full volume in the CruiserCar and glancing in the rear view mirror, I couldn't recognize what kind of car was behind me from the shaking of said mirror. (So I like my music a little loud. Evs.)



If you haven't given Steely Dan a listen in awhile, give 'em a whirl. Very good stuff. True artists. Nice. Click on the little radio bar to your right for a sample. (I think you need to click twice.)

Enjoy!

I'll Bet Fergie's Lady Lumps Aren't Where Mine Are

I am a red-headed, green-eyed, left-handed, adopted female. I'm not sure what percentage of the population that makes me - but I'd venture to say, it's probably pretty low. My mother told me I was special.

I'm a competitive person. And it is true, I can be an over-achiever when I want to be. But this is getting ridiculous.

Way back in 2004 when I developed a mysterious case of tendonitis in my left elbow (the only elbow that matters to me), I went to the doctor who said: "98% of my patients get full relief from physical therapy."

So I went and tugged on stretchy bands, squeezed play-dough, and twisted my forearm into a pretzel for months. Apparently, I was in the other 2%.

The doctor told me "98% of my patients who fail to get relief from physical therapy find success with surgery."

So I went under the knife in December 2004, had a rotten Christmas, and was black and blue until Valentine's Day. And I still had to go to physical therapy 2 or 3 times a week for months. Wha? My PT told me that "98% of his clients find complete relief after surgery combined with a few months of therapy."

Yeah, right.

Eventually, I just got tired of going to see Mr. Therapist, though he was a pretty sight indeed. And if you've read even one of my previous posts, you know I like me some cute boys, so I must've been bored to flunk out of PT. Once again, I had found myself in that pesky 2% that did not find success after surgery combined with physical therapy.

I put up with the pain for another year until this past spring when I could stand it no longer and went to another doctor for his opinion.

"98% of my patients find success after this other kind of surgery."

Oh what the hell. I had to eventually be with all the normal kids, right? A person cannot be special all their lives, can they?

So under the knife I went.

I endured some serious swelling, scarring and general ickiness from April until well, now. You remember the photos, right? Eeeewwww. Yeah, it hasn't changed much and checking my calendar it's been almost 4 months.

BUT - I haven't mentioned it here, because I like to think I'm a good sport and also, if I didn't talk about it, then it wasn't bothering me.

Right?

Wrong-O.

When the swelling finally went down, I had this weird goose-egg floating around just under the skin. It didn't hurt but sometimes it would make my forearm go kinda tingly, so I went back to the doctor and he said "98% of my patients don't get this fluid during the healing process, but apparently you are in the 2% who do."

Duh. Welcome to my world.

So he drained some gook out of there, charged me $100, patted me on the behind and sent me on my merry way. Well, maybe he didn't pat me on the behind, but as you recall, I had told him loudly whilst still under anesthesia that he was hot - so I was fantasising that part. Heck, for my $100 I want a little fun, so sue me.

Two weeks went by and I was feeling like a normal kid - one of the 98% - until one day someone said "what's that?" and pointed with disgust at my elbow.

DAMMIT. Back to the 2% club.

Three more times.

Yes, three more times. That makes $400 and no pats on the behind.

Today I gazed longingly into his eyes as he syphoned off another 8 ccs of fluid from my hump / lump and hoped he would say that all would be fine now and I would be part of the 98% again.

Alas, maybe. That's right - maybe.

If I grow another lump / hump, he thinks I might be allergic to the dissolving stitches used under the skin and he might need to "go in there" again to fix this. And how often does that happen to his patients?

2% of the time.

Special isn't so fun anymore.