Last week I wrote about the aggravating dance I have been doing with a certain loitering phone book. Seeing that it wasn’t backing off, I decided to go forward with taking matters into my own hands. Looking back, I am not exactly proud of the ways in which I tortured the poor publication. However, in the end I think I did the right thing… Continue reading
Some musicians just have it, you know. That spark that let’s them enter a part of our brains in which they can do no wrong. It doesn’t happen often, but when it happens to me it is sort of otherworldly. The rhythm of the songs don’t get old, even the most asinine lyrics make sense, and I begin to think every album was written specifically for me.
For example, I give you Alanis Morissette. First of all, her name is fucking Alanis. That is the kind of name that makes the Sarahs, Lindseys, and Beccas of the world feel like lemmings. Then there is her voice. Hurry, think of someone else who sounds like her (okay, besides that Meridith Brooks girl). You can’t.
So you get it, I like Alanis.
I like her regardless of her blatant misuse of the word ironic. I like her regardless off the fact that she either has something very secret and important in one of her pockets at all times, or she’s trying to be discrete about getting off in public. I even like her regardless of the fact that she sings about cross-eyed bears. Those are the lyrics, right? Right?!
That being said, this post isn’t actually about Alanis but rather inspired by her. It may sound jabby but remember, I already said that I liked her, so it is okay.
You all know her little song about “irony” (also known as things that are unfortunate). With all due respect, I can think of a few things that are worse than a free ride when you’ve already paid. If the ride is free you probably don’t want it anyway. Bam!
Here are five things worse than the original “Ironic” lyrics, because I am clever like that:
1. Ten thousand knives when all you need is a spoon. Think about it. It is way more painful to eat soup with a knife than to cut your PB&J with a spoon.
2. Your wedding day… in general. Zing!
3. A traffic jam when you’re already late to your last-chance court date. You’re going to jail, and it looks like someone else is going to have their hand in your pocket. No, probably just completely in your pants without your discretion.
4. Just a “no smoking” sign. Obviously I haven’t quit yet.
5. Meeting the man of my dreams and then meeting all five of his wives. Say what you want, I just wasn’t brought up that way.
BONUS VLOG: About junk. The kind in your drawers. Not drawers as in underwear. Pervert.
- Breaking Up Songs Are Not Hard To Do (anthonymercado.wordpress.com)
- King Again and Empathy from Alanis (iamoceansroar.wordpress.com)
- Ironic Lyrics By Alanis Morissette (lyricsjunction.wordpress.com)
In yesterday’s post, I revealed a secret about my disdain for sharing my music preferences with other drivers on the road, specifically at red lights. In the comments, there were a few others who expressed secrets involving music. Jillian was educating people at the same red lights, Amber was performing accidental serenades, and TBM revealed his faux music career. Sam also sings T-swift better than me, but that’s okay because much more people show interest in hearing me spit some Eminem.
Me and Slim go way back.
I vividly remember the period in my life when I was first introduced to the exquisitely crude lyrics of one of my favorite rappers. I can still smell my old 5th grade classroom and hear the sounds of me cracking pencils out of frustration over those logic puzzles. Isabella, Amy, Tony, and Michael can figure out their own damn class schedules or which gifts they gave to whom for Valentine’s Day. Shit. But this isn’t about them. This is about my favorite rapper, Mr. Marshall Mathers himself. You will be okay with this once you understand our history.
When Eminem came out with My Name Is, I remember being scared and delighted all at the same time. Scared, because I knew if I got caught singing the lyrics, “I don’t give a fuck, god sent me to piss the world off” at the impressionable age of ten, I would surely be put in jail and condemned to hell. My delight came from Eminem being my first true taste of secret rebellion. It was a simple infatuation that I couldn’t fully understand. It wouldn’t be long, however, before I was able to start understanding and appreciating the verses I was performing for the hair ribbons and stuffed animals in my closet. Continue reading
My driver’s side window of my vehicle has been out of commission since New Year’s. I kept telling myself it hadn’t been broken that long. Denial. I finally snapped out of it and realized it was time for action when the Wendy’s drive-thru cashier started recognizing me by car. Plus, her looks of pity/disdain were starting to weigh on me. I’d have to get it fixed.
Fortunately for me, my car’s window is super special and required not only a window motor replacement, but also a new regulator. Ridding yourself of drive-thru shame is quite pricey. For $400.00 you can order that spicy chicken combo with your head held high.
I will admit though, that the repair shop I chose did a wonderful job. They even gave my vehicle a free once-over and provided me with a detailed report card. Like a dead-beat mom in a hurry, I shoved the report card in my wallet and went on my way.
Today, remembering about the report card sparked my curiosity. As I pulled out the document, I was blind sighted by what I discovered.
A painful memory suddenly gripped my brain. I went into full flash-back mode. Continue reading
Since I have been boasting about Pandora lately, I’ll share with you some of my favorite stations.
1. Jack Johnson radio- The only station chill enough to listen to when you have to get up early. It’s effective at preventing morning rage. Also, I like to imagine this while I
drag ass get dressed (dinky video is dinky).
2. Spin Doctors radio- Because I hope to hear Two Princes over and over and over and pretend an attractive male is singing it to me. Preferably he is wearing either lumberjack stuff or anything in this post. Copious amounts of facial hair is also a requirement (Chris Barron knows what’s up). I then get to swoon for approximately four minutes and twenty seconds. Everyone should swoon. Continue reading
Last evening I ventured out to a bar which is actually in a hostel here in Lafayette. I have only been there once, about a hundred years ago. It took some coercing on my friend’s behalf to get me there, as I was being a grandma. It is the only hostel I have ever heard of in Louisiana. The Blue Moon Saloon is like being in your own dream back yard. A grooving band hit the stage shortly after we arrived. I found myself really digging the accordion playing lead singer and swaying bodies all around me.
Sometimes when you live in one place for such a long time, you forget that you haven’t seen everything your city has to offer. If you can get out of your comfort zone, there are still good times to be had.
Happy Mother’s day y’all.
- 8 Things that Separate Great Hostels from Average Hostels (bootsnall.com)
- USA Hostel’s San Francisco, CA, and Hollywood, CA, Locations Named #1 and #2 Hostels Nationwide (prweb.com)
Long time no see. Now that I have gotten a split second to exhale for the first time in a week, here I present all the wonderful pictures I took this weekend at Festival International de Louisiane (please note the extreme sarcasm). I have always generally failed at taking pictures of anything anywhere, let alone at an interesting event I will want to remember and share with others. I could venture to the moon and back ending up with nothing to show but a few pictures containing half faces and blurred nothingness.
Not only was I so busy this past week that I had to put the blog in time out, but I was even unsuccessful at documenting my weekend via enchanting photos to make up for it. Typical. This failure happened, embarrassingly enough, also due to
tequila technical difficulties. Unfortunately, I temporarily lost the ability to tell whether my Iphone camera was in picture or video mode, so I basically ended up with these photos below… and a bunch of three-second videos of me posing awkwardly waiting for a flash that never came. Lovely.
I also threw in a picture of the most peculiar Diet Coke box I have ever seen, and a picture of me after attempt to coloring my hair “dark red blond” flying solo. Should I stick to hiring the professionals? I feel a bit… little mermaid-ish.
- Festival International de Louisiane (25andfly.wordpress.com)
- Festival International de Louisiane in L (gulfscapes.wordpress.com)
Guess what? My little city is actually hosting a massively entertaining event that is going down this weekend (it actually begins tomorrow, but in my mind it isn’t until the weekend – way to go work). It is an all around, five-day, celebration of the arts in downtown Lafayette. There will be over 100 music performances, local food and drink vendors as far as the eye can see, and arts and crafts merchants on every block. Want some banana leaf art, botanical glass, or something fashionable from Africa or New York? You got it. I personally don’t take the food vendors lightly either. If you ever have the chance to attend this festival, I strongly suggest you do not either. We have some of the most serious grub at this thing. By serious, I mean orgasmic.
As I am writing about how incredible this happening is, I can’t help but feel a bit hypocritical. Continue reading