Don't make it hard on yourself
Don't make it harder than it has to be
Everything's fine
It's almost as good as it could be
Everything's fine
It's almost as good as it should be
Ever have one of those days that's just meh? Nothing bad happens, it doesn't suck, but nothing interesting happens either. Today was gray all around, in both color and mood. I feel like I've been on autopilot all day. Everything really IS fine. Supper was good, dishes washed and laundry in the dryer... no bills in the mail... no mini-crises... I don't have a thing to complain about, dammit!
Hmmm. I could go off on a rant about how Farmville on Facebook is a ridiculous waste of time (I'm at level 29 *sigh*) or why people I have neither seen nor spoken to in years send me add requests. Some of them weren't even my friends; they were my sister's or cousin's or friends' friends or classmates. One of the requests was from a gal who tormented me from elementary school through 9th grade. I actually let that one hang for a week while I wondered whether she wanted to continue being a flaming bitch or had quite possibly grown out of it. (It seems to be the latter. She has even less of a life than I do, ain't karma grand?)
Facebook is the devil, a friend tells me. I don't think it's that bad, really, but I don't get elbow-deep in social networking sites like some people do. (If you know me on SL, shuddup. *glares menacingly*) I don't pimp out my profile page, add stupid blingy animations, or list every book I've read or song I've liked since the age of 5. The people that matter already know this stuff (because I talk. a. lot.) and the people that don't care don't matter, so what's the point?
It's also depressing at times. Just two days ago I learned that two former friends were killed this year, one on a motorcycle and one in a semi... and it's not like I've talked to them in a couple years or was really close to either one since high school, but damn, you know? And seeing a lot of my friends and acquaintances after so long can be disconcerting. Some don't look like they've aged one bit. Most have kids, dogs, nice homes. Some make me shake my head because they're still living in a trashed 1974 singlewide and never got beyond the Friday-night-let's get-wasted-and-break-shit phase. I think I fall in between the two extremes. I don't have a lucrative career or 401(k), or soccer-playing kids, or even a dog. But I also don't pawn stuff for pot money and don't consider a six-pack of Schlitz and pork rinds an appetizer before moving on to the hard stuff for the evening's festivities. Mmm, pork rinds... hang on a sec...
I don't know what to say to people either. I am probably a bad Facebooker, or whateverthehell they're called, because I don't send messages or "Thanks for the add!" or share My Life So Far with anyone who'll listen. (That's what this blog is for. Why write it twice?) I try to comment on posts I like (FB gives me a lazy option of just clicking a thumbs-up icon, which is great) but it's sporadic at best. I mean, if someone posts "Just got up." what am I supposed to say? "Congratulations, you've lived to surf the internet another day, refreshing FB in the hope that someone left you a message, in between lurking on the Simon Cowell Fan Forum and checking your eBay watch list so you can snipe that must-have Longaberger basket at the very last second!" Pfft. If they posted "Just got up, one boob has a Jagermeister label stuck on it, there's an imprint of a Ford emblem on my backside and there seems to be seaweed in my hair," well, YEAH, thumbs-up. I don't even care if they're making it up. +100 for effort.
Hey, now I can complain about being too tired to write anymore. I just had one of those sitting blackouts- you know what kind I mean- where I don't even realize I dozed off till I wake up and my hands and arms are asleep and I'm sitting here feeling like an idiot because I have to wait for the tinglies to stop before I can finish typing or else it will look like xAD SREDsefr34 qchewq/;df
Cheez-Its and chocolate milk rock. That is all.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Lyrics Biology I
Today we'll be dissecting Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats."
(with thanks to friend KM, who has been doing this way better for ages and never fails to make me laugh)
Right now he's probably slow dancing with a bleach-blond tramp,
and she's probably getting frisky...
right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink cause she can't shoot whiskey...
The only women I ever saw shoot whiskey were career alcoholics and possibly Gretchen Wilson. Not everyone can be a Redneck Girl.
Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo...
Classic bar move. He's a slimeball.
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
This bothers me. "Pretty little" 4WD? Is it a Subaru? Nah, can't be... slimeballs can't afford those. And define "little" please. I have only seen ONE little 4x4 and I wouldn't have called it pretty. This guy's driving a pepto-pink 1988 Suzuki Samurai, I just know it. And how would one soup it up and have it still be "pretty?" Did he put a paisley hood scoop on it? Also, I don't recall any of the younger generation saying "souped up." They say boss, pimped, tricked, etc. Who wrote this song anyway? The Beach Boys?
carved my name into his leather seats...
OK, maybe it IS a Subaru. But it's his ex-wife's, not his.
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Your arms must hurt like hell from the recoil when that bat bounced. Also, you slashed *one* hole? Is there some new car function I'm unaware of, wherein you poke a hole in one tire and all 4 go flat?
And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Right now, she's probably up singing some
white-trash version of Shania karaoke..
Wait, aren't Shania songs white-trash already? (Don't flame me.)
Right now, she's probably saying "I'm drunk"
and he's a thinking that he's gonna get lucky,
That's the general idea behind buying a woman in a bar tons of fruity little drinks.
Right now, he's probably dabbing on 3 dollars worth of that bathroom Polo...
I've seen bathroom cologne dispensers. If they're 3 bucks a pop, I can't afford whatever bar you're at.
And, tip to the slimeball... if she's that drunk, it doesn't matter what you smell like. Essence of Polo Wet-Nap is a waste of money, when for generations, Eau de Cigarette Smoke, Beer, and Nachos has worked just fine. Buy her another drink with the three bucks.
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat,
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Everyone was in the bar watching the Darts Finals, or else someone would surely have noticed all this going on. How long did it take you to carve your name? "C-A-R-R-I-E U-N-D..." oh to hell with it. "C-U"
I might saved a little trouble for the next girl,
Cause the next time that he cheats...
Oh, you know it won't be on me!
Yeah, you saved her from having to ride in that fugly car. But you might also have made a little trouble for her... cause he'll be cheating on her next. He definitely won't cheat on YOU again. It's gonna take six months to get that 4x4 off the cinder blocks and on the road again, with a fresh coat of pink spraypaint. He'll remember you every time the cut-up leather pokes him in the butt through his genuine imitation sheepskin seatcovers.
Cause I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat...
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Yeah, he will definitely think before he does it again. He'll think to hide his vehicle and catch a ride to the bar instead.
But then, the next woman will just burn down the entire trailer park instead of limiting her vengeance to his car.
Note: I happen to really like this song. But it begged to be scrutinized.
(with thanks to friend KM, who has been doing this way better for ages and never fails to make me laugh)
Right now he's probably slow dancing with a bleach-blond tramp,
and she's probably getting frisky...
right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink cause she can't shoot whiskey...
The only women I ever saw shoot whiskey were career alcoholics and possibly Gretchen Wilson. Not everyone can be a Redneck Girl.
Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick, showing her how to shoot a combo...
Classic bar move. He's a slimeball.
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
This bothers me. "Pretty little" 4WD? Is it a Subaru? Nah, can't be... slimeballs can't afford those. And define "little" please. I have only seen ONE little 4x4 and I wouldn't have called it pretty. This guy's driving a pepto-pink 1988 Suzuki Samurai, I just know it. And how would one soup it up and have it still be "pretty?" Did he put a paisley hood scoop on it? Also, I don't recall any of the younger generation saying "souped up." They say boss, pimped, tricked, etc. Who wrote this song anyway? The Beach Boys?
carved my name into his leather seats...
OK, maybe it IS a Subaru. But it's his ex-wife's, not his.
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Your arms must hurt like hell from the recoil when that bat bounced. Also, you slashed *one* hole? Is there some new car function I'm unaware of, wherein you poke a hole in one tire and all 4 go flat?
And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Right now, she's probably up singing some
white-trash version of Shania karaoke..
Wait, aren't Shania songs white-trash already? (Don't flame me.)
Right now, she's probably saying "I'm drunk"
and he's a thinking that he's gonna get lucky,
That's the general idea behind buying a woman in a bar tons of fruity little drinks.
Right now, he's probably dabbing on 3 dollars worth of that bathroom Polo...
I've seen bathroom cologne dispensers. If they're 3 bucks a pop, I can't afford whatever bar you're at.
And, tip to the slimeball... if she's that drunk, it doesn't matter what you smell like. Essence of Polo Wet-Nap is a waste of money, when for generations, Eau de Cigarette Smoke, Beer, and Nachos has worked just fine. Buy her another drink with the three bucks.
And he don't know...
That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat,
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Everyone was in the bar watching the Darts Finals, or else someone would surely have noticed all this going on. How long did it take you to carve your name? "C-A-R-R-I-E U-N-D..." oh to hell with it. "C-U"
I might saved a little trouble for the next girl,
Cause the next time that he cheats...
Oh, you know it won't be on me!
Yeah, you saved her from having to ride in that fugly car. But you might also have made a little trouble for her... cause he'll be cheating on her next. He definitely won't cheat on YOU again. It's gonna take six months to get that 4x4 off the cinder blocks and on the road again, with a fresh coat of pink spraypaint. He'll remember you every time the cut-up leather pokes him in the butt through his genuine imitation sheepskin seatcovers.
Cause I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat...
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.
Yeah, he will definitely think before he does it again. He'll think to hide his vehicle and catch a ride to the bar instead.
But then, the next woman will just burn down the entire trailer park instead of limiting her vengeance to his car.
Note: I happen to really like this song. But it begged to be scrutinized.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)