Babbling 8

Happy Friday!!!!




P.S. I am vacationing in Portland until Tuesday, so I will not be posting again until I return to Boise. I'd say I'm sorry but... I'm NOT. Heh heh heh....

Back to normal

Happy Wednesday!

I'm back to normal!
Well, in a matter of speaking.
So about 6 weeks ago I started feeling like I had the flu one Thursday night. So I didn't go to school the next day. That weekend I was awake for a total of about 10 hours. The following Monday I went and had a mono test which came back positive.
Thus began my mononucleosis adventure.
You're not supposed to get mono when you're 27. It's supposed to be a young kid to teenager virus.
So I'm odd that way.
You normally catch mono from slobbering around on people or from sharing food and drinks. I don't do either of those.
So I'm odd that way too.
.....
Ok, maybe I'm just odd all 'round.

But the funny thing is that this past Sunday I was doing some laundry, going up and down the stairs, and the sudden realization hit me that I felt completely well.
It's such a strange thing, that virus.
It came on all of sudden. One day I was fine, then the next day I was exhausted and weak. I continued to be exhausted and weak for over a month. And I tell you what, mono sucks. Most days I had to choose between studying, eating and showering. I could do one, not all three.
And I usually chose showering because I want people to like me.
But I managed to make it through finals (and got all A's, thank you very much) and then spent the next four weeks in bed watching movies on my laptop.
Then BANG!
One Sunday I feel completely normal. (Physically, that is.)
Weird.
And it sure is nice to be able to shower AND eat AND do errands on the same day.
So I have a whole new appreciation for my B cells. I like them in their normal state. Not all trashed and looking like they've been run over by a lawn mower.
Thank God for the regenerative powers of the immune system.
And for waffles.

Beverage?

When I was younger we had to drink milk with dinner. (I remember we had these little white plastic Kool-Aid cups and these multicolored Tupperware ones. Heck, we STILL have those little multicolored ones. They're over 30 years old now.) Anyway... I absolutely HATE milk now. I hate it SO much that I don't even want to touch it. If I'm cooking and spill some, I'll wipe it up with as little contact as possible and immediately rinse my hands off. It stinks too. Bleeehhh.... Just the thought makes me ill.
No, I am NOT neurotic. Keep quiet.
But when you're a kid your life is pretty much milk, juice, water and the "once in a blue moon" soda. Or at least that's what my life as a kid was like. My favorite juice was grape, I adored Capri Sun and Sunny Delight, and Root Beer was my soda of choice. And I actually liked milk.
It's weird how your taste buds can do a 180 on you, isn't it? Mine did.
At some point I started to dislike all of my former favorites.
And somewhere along the long line I discovered Diet Coke.
*angelic singing, bright light, dancing turtles with shiny halos*
I love Diet Coke. It is my favorite beverage of all time.
It's so bubbly and sweet and perfect.
There are alcoholic drinks that are sweet and fruity. They make your face feel warm and flushed, which is quite lovely.
There's water, which is cool and refreshing and keeps you alive.
And there's Diet Green Tea, which is tart and sweet and brisk all at the same time.
But Diet Coke is the best.
Now here's the kicker.
I started taking this new medicine in January for my Trigeminal Neuralgia. It's called Topamax and it has all kinds of crazy side-effects. But the weirdest one is that it makes all carbonated beverages taste like poo.
POO, I tell you. And nobody wants to be drinking that. (I'm guessing, anyway)
So Diet Coke does not taste nice anymore. It's like The Twilight Zone. Or hell. Either one.
All soda tastes awful now. It must be because of the carbon dioxide in it, which is just bizarre. I don't know enough about chemistry to explain it but I wish I did. It'd probably be a very interesting study.
But I remember the TRUE taste of Diet Coke.
And my allegiance will remain forever true.
*salute*

Because it's funny

So today's post is going to contain two links. The links will be to a music video by an artist named Spose, and the video title is "I'm awesome."
It is stinking hilarious.
The first link is just the regular video but since it has some bad language I'm including the second link which is the "clean" version.
If I was ever a rap artist this is the kind of song and/or video I would write. Except I might bling myself out a little more.
And I'd wear pink. Lots of pink.

Yo, homies. Yo.

Normal version: www.youtube.com/watch?v=OYws8biwOYc
"Clean" version: www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgxT5a0Vmeo

Babbling 7

Happy Friday!!

This post is dedicated to my older sister Jennifer, who has used the following phrase on me many, many times. I love you Jeffums, and I can't wait to see you in about 6 weeks. :)

Bag Lady

I wonder what it's like to be a hobo. Hobo-ess? I can imagine that it's a lot of fun, apart from the whole smelling-like-a-rotten-fish thing. Are there hobo rules? Like, do you have to be dirt poor? Or can you simply stash your money somewhere and pretend?
Do you really have to carry around a knapsack on a stick? That's probably terrible for your back.
I think I'd enjoy being a hobo more if I could take a break now and then. You know, check into a hotel once a month, have a shower, eat something that didn't come from a can, etc. Then I'd be back on the road. Or back on a train. I don't recall ever seeing a hobo on a bicycle so maybe that's against the rules.
My sisters, their husbands and I play Rock Band sometimes. Our group name is the Weevils. And my older sister's husband Adam named his character Hobo Joe. He has dreadlocks and wears a trucker hat. He also has a beard. I don't think that'd be a good look for me.
Hobos are kind of like bag ladies.
When I lived in Portland I saw lots of them.
They steal shopping carts from stores and live in them. Unless, of course, the stores are smart. Walgreens put these little automatic wheel-clampy-thingies on all of their carts. So if you try and wheel them out of the parking lot these plastic things clamp over the wheels and they won't roll anymore. That takes all the fun out of them, you see. You can't roll in a non-rolling cart.
I think I would fill the front of the cart with potted plants. Like petunias. There's no use in rolling around a cart if it doesn't look nice. Aesthetics matter, you know.
Anyway, back to hobo-ing.
What made me think of this?
I have no idea.
I just woke up this morning wondering what it would be like to be an independently wealthy hobo. It sounds fascinating, doesn't it? Kind of like Forrest Gump without the hassle of all that running.
But I think I'd have to change my name. Hobo Jamie just doesn't have much of a ring to it.
Hobo Flo?
That's a little better.
And I think I'd insist on being called by my full title at all times.
"Excuse me, Flo?"
*Long pause* "Were you speaking to me?"
"Yes... I'm sorry. Hobo Flo?"
*snicker*
If I ever win the lottery and disappear after a shopping spree at REI, you'll know why.

Bacon

Happy Wednesday!
Today I am not going to talk about shoelaces. And I bet you're thrilled, aren't you? Well that's just because you have no idea how brilliant I can be when speaking about shoelaces. But another time, friend. Another time.
So bacon. I hate bacon. HATE it. I hate all pork, actually. Ham, sausage, pork chops, etc. If it's made of a pig, I don't want it. This is because when I was in high school my dad brought home half of a pig.
No, not literally. We're not from Arkansas.
He brought home the MEAT from half of a pig. (Boy, that's hard to clarify. It was in nice little paper-wrapped bundles. My dad is not a pig thief; he and a friend from work BOUGHT a pig and shared the "profits." This would be a much more interesting posting were the opposite true, however.) So we had pork out the eyeballs (and every other orifice) for a LONG time.
However, I had already decided that pork was not among my favorite meats. I would eat it, but it wasn't my favorite.
It's because in 4th grade I saw a movie about how hot dogs are made.
*gag*
So I had already crossed hot dogs off my list of edible niceties. Then this pork thing came along and pretty much took care of the rest.
The problem is that bacon actually smells pretty wonderful. So every time I'm around it I get the urge to try it just to make sure I still hate it. And I inevitably do. But my nose never remembers the next time around. I wonder if there's a medical condition to describe that.
Smellsheimers?
I don't think so.
I've completely forgotten why I decided to write about this today.
Oh, yeah.
My little sister's nickname for me is "Pig." She got it from a Muppet movie when we were very small, so it's not an insult at ALL, it's just a quirky, endearing name we use. We give each other stuffed pigs as presents and find books and things with cartoon pigs to send each other. I love it, but most people assume it's mean or degrading.
I like to think it was just a foreshadowing of things to come. My tiny sister, in her cute little baby voice, was speaking a prophecy.
"And you, wise older sister of mine, will grow to abhor all things pork-like in taste. I, therefore, dub you 'Pig,' out of respect for all the swine you will save from being consumed. Rise up now. Live your life, continue to thrive, giggle a million giggles, and paint your toenails odd colors. Go forth, brave sibling, and eat chicken."

Bann 3

Hello Tuesday (again).
So, I missed Monday again. Terribly sorry about that. But I was enthralled in yet another TV show. Yes, this is my pathetic, mono-infested life. TV, my laptop and a cross-stitch pattern that I bought in college and recently re-discovered. Incidentally, I shall probably finish this particular cross-stitch when I am 90. It is now quite clear to me why I chose to hide it from myself. Anyway... This particular show is called Lie to Me. It stars Tim Roth and is based on a real life behavioral scientist who goes around helping the police and FBI by figuring out if people are lying. It's quite interesting. I love science-y things and this particular show is very well written and is highly enjoyable. But mostly, it has Tim Roth. And he's British and goes around calling everyone "love". *giggle*

So let's see. German memories.
Ah, here's a good one.
Oktoberfest. Everybody loves Oktoberfest. Why? Well, that's just a silly question. It's because of the BEER. There's a lot of it, you see. And when people drink it, they get happy. Sometimes they get happy enough to sing. Or dance. Or both.
Sometimes they get happy enough to do those things in public.
And sometimes they get happy enough to do one of those things with an enormous pink stuffed rabbit.
??
Yes, it's quite true.
One afternoon in October I walked across the village to pick up my little sister from a neighbor's house. (Several other military families lived in the same village we did.) On the way there I passed the village beer garden which was full of very happy people. However, nothing in particular caught my attention and I continued merrily along my way.
Well I stayed at the neighbor's house for a few minutes and by the time my sister and I were ready to leave the mom of the family, who was a very protective sort, decided she didn't want us walking back home alone. So she decided to walk with us.
Upon passing the very same beer garden we happened to find a man, perhaps in his mid-thirties, sitting alone on the curb, holding a very large, very pink stuffed rabbit. He was extraordinarily happy (read: drunk off his you know what) and was singing in a very slurry kind of German to the aforementioned bunny.
At which point the three of us looked at each other and the mom remarked, "Well that's not something you see everyday."
It turns out she was quite correct.

Babbling 6

Happy Friday!!

Blatherings

Hello friends!
Well I have to tell you about the dream I had last night. This was special. This has not ever happened to me before. As you know, usually as I dream I talk or laugh until I wake myself up. One time I woke up because I was scratching out a rhythm to a song with my toes. In 2006 my friend Sara and I moved in with an elderly couple to be their caretakers for a summer. The first night we were there she said I simultaneously managed to click my teeth, talk, and move my feet like I was running a race. I am not a dull sleeper.
But last night was something new altogether. In my dream I was reading some kind of technical manual and proceeded to BORE myself awake. I am absolutely serious. As soon as I woke up I knew exactly what had happened. And I immediately told myself, "Well done. You've just made history. I'm sure you're the first person alive to ever bore herself out of her own dreams." I mean, seriously?
Anyway...

I wrote a new limerick today. It's not a reflection about how I feel; it was for a friend. So I thought I'd share it with you.
Ready?

Sometimes my life sucks a lot
It's just like a fish who's been caught
He thinks, "Wow! A trip!
And perhaps a friendship?"
But ends up with no eyes in a pot.

What do you mean it's morbid and you hate it? Well no one said you had taste in limericks anyway.

Being me

It's Wednesday. Wednesdays seem to be the days that my creative juices cease flowing. For some reason I rarely find myself contemplating anything more interesting than shoelaces. Must be the middle of the week blahs.
So I can't think of anything to write today.
Do you want to know what I had for lunch? Probably not.
What was in the last load of laundry I did? Shocking! I'll never tell.
Are my shoelaces tied? See? I told you. Shoelaces.
I dreamed last night that it was Christmas time and I blew out the electricity in our house by plugging in one too many strands of Christmas lights and then turning on this little Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer figurine set. (I really do have one of those.)
Let's see.... what else? What else?
My deodorant stick is broken. I can't turn the dial at the bottom with my fingers. I have to get a pair of tweezers and turn it with them. It's irritating. The things I go through to smell light and fresh.
I wish I had a puppy. I always wish I had a puppy. Puppies are amazing. And cute and cuddly. And I don't care what John Cleese says; you shouldn't eat dogs, adult or otherwise. He actually caused me to doubt my love of all things Python for 3/5 of a second.
Meh.
I think I'm done rambling now.
Know any good jokes about shoelaces for next Wednesday?

Bann 2

Hello to Tuesday and to you all!

I didn't post anything yesterday because I was quite busy. I just didn't have a spare minute. Not even one.
What was occupying my attention, you ask?
Well, I'll tell you.
It was this fabulous "new" show I found called Men Behaving Badly.
It ran in the UK from 1992-1998 (or around then anyway) and is exceptionally funny. It's also quite... well, dirty. I suppose the name gives it away. Think Two and a Half Men meets Friends meets How I Met Your Mother. It's so funny it's ridiculous.
Anyway, that's why I didn't post. Well, that and the mono. It's been 5 weeks but I'm still as tired as ever.

So today I thought I'd give you another peek into the past. Are you ready? Hold on to your hatrack.

At one point a very nice lady in my dad's squadron took my older sister and I and her three kids up to an amusement park in northern Germany. I can't remember the name of it but if I could I probably couldn't spell it anyway. The central character of the park was supposed to be a mouse (you know, kind of like Mickey) but I thought he looked very much like a rat. A singing, dancing rat. That, friends, is a child's worst nightmare. I only really remember three things about this park.
1. So we went to this haunted house. And we're all crushed into this small room that is rotating and slowly "dropping." In actuality, the walls were moving upward. And this very low and creepy voice is speaking, of course, in German. I remember the four of us girls looking at each other and remarking, "You know, I bet this is a lot scarier if you know what he's saying." So after the "drop" you get into these little cars and go through the rest of the ride, which basically takes you past these little alcoves showing scenes of torture and mayhem. I am SO not kidding. At one point there was one of some demon looking guy whipping a small white dog who was throwing up. Who thinks of that stuff?? (Oh yeah, I forgot where we were...)
2. We all got into this very small virtual reality machine. You know, the kind that rocks around and tilts forward and backward while the screen in front shows a scene of a roller coaster ride or a trip through space. Now I don't know if you're aware of this, but some Europeans have a very different standard of hygiene than Americans. So we get inside this thing, the attendants close the door, and I swear, almost immediately you can begin to see this greenish cloud of STINK begin to swirl around the top of the enclosure. I can't remember what the ride was about, who I was sitting next to, how long of a ride it was, or anything else. I just remember the SMELL. It was so amazingly awful. And the Germans seemed to have absolutely no problem with it.
3. In the middle of the amusement park there was another park area, with grass and benches and trees. It looked like a place for people to bring picnics and things and for kids to run around a little bit, or maybe fly kites or something. But what I saw in it were two people nude sunbathing. I'm not going to lie, I was a little taken aback. It's just not something you expect to see in an amusement park. Maybe on the beach, MAYBE at a swimming pool complex, but in an amusement park? It was odd.
"Look children! Here's the cartoon rat, here's the poor little animal being tortured to death by a demon, here's the box of 'death by body odor', and finally, here's the naked people. Now, didn't we have fun today?"

Babbling 5

Happy Friday friends!!





P.S. Last night I woke myself up while speaking in a British accent. (I think it was North London-ish and it was quite good, if I do say so myself.) This just further proves that I am indeed meant for a life on the great Isle of Cheese Rolling, Fireball-Whirling, Bog-Snorkeling, and Mud-Racing. The day shall come... *rubs hands together sinisterly*

Beyond Ridiculous

I don't know if I've mentioned it in other posts (I know my sister has commented on it at some point) but I have this huge crush on Neil Patrick Harris.
And he happens to be gay.
Yes, quite definitely gay. To quote a character in Love Actually, "Gay as a Maypole."
Hence the title of this post. There are several reasons that the silliness quotient of said infatuation is around a 98. Here are a few of them:
1. As I said, he's gay. As in, he would find absolutely nothing about me attractive. Just being me automatically makes me a losing candidate. It's rather a sad reality. The fact that I am female works against me, which has never been a factor in other failed relationship attempts. In those cases it's usually my personality. But, moving on....
2. He's famous. So even if he weren't gay I still would have no chance with him. He lives in Los Angeles; land of the perpetually tan, surgically enhanced (or de-enhanced), physically flawless, ready-to-do-ANYTHING-for-a-shot-at-the-big-time young women. Thinking of another movie, My Best Friend's Wedding, when you have thousands of pieces of creme brulee to choose from, you're not likely to pick the lime Jello with bits of pear floating in it.
I hate Jello. Gelatinous goo is nobody's friend. I don't care how you package it, what you call it, what you put inside of it, or how desperately you try to cajole me into eating it. It's gross. But I digress.
3. He's famous some more. How do you meet people like that? Head to LA, wander around WalMart and hope they drop in?
"Here's the plan. I'll wait over by the disposable razors and you stake out the produce department."
I suppose you could always lurk outside his apartment or gym or something, but I believe that's technically called stalking. You just might end up sharing a cell with a large woman named Wanda who doesn't shave and really wants to share your underpants.
4. Did I mention he's gay?
5. Things like that just don't happen to people like me. Normal people, like myself, do not end up marrying movie stars, or pop music artists, NFL players, international politicians, NASCAR drivers, foreign diplomats, etc, etc. (Oh, and by the way I'm TOTALLY fine with not getting into the whole NASCAR thing...) I guess I'm meant for more of the "normal" life. But have you ever had the feeling like you're "supposed" to do more than just live a "normal" life? Maybe that's a weird vanity or false pride thing. Maybe it's a delusion of grandeur. Maybe I'm just nuts. And this latter option, friends, is by far the most likely.

So! Now that you know some more of the crazy that goes on inside my brain I'll just wish you a happy Thursday and continue along my merry, yet slightly zany, way. I'm sure Neil would do that same. :)

Bann

When I was 14-15 we lived in Bann, Germany. It was a little village that was close to Landstuhl Air Force Base, where my younger sister went to school, and Ramstein Air Force Base where I went to school. My poor older sister was too young to go to college but had already graduated from high school so she spent that year making Christmas stockings and communing with our poodle.
Anyway,
When we got to Germany I hated it. HATED it with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. It was overcast all the time and, of course, none of us spoke a lick of German. I couldn't have cared less that it was my dad's dream job; I just wanted to go home. (I was a selfish little twit. But most 14 year olds are, right?)
But after about three months or so, once school started and I made some friends it didn't seem so bad anymore. I actually kind of grew to like it. Don't get me wrong, when I heard we were leaving I was ecstatic. But I wouldn't have minded staying for a little longer.
So I decided that today I would write down some of the things I remember about Germany. (The good ones. Bad memories, or at least MY bad memories, do not belong on the Internet.) It's been almost 14 years since we got there, which seems like FOREVER ago and I don't really want to forget everything that happened to me there. So here goes.
1. We lived in a tri-colored house that was built in 1923. The basement was just FULL of these weird spiders with super long legs that were just disgusting and it totally smelled like mildew. And when you went from the garage to the place where the washing machine and dryer were you had to duck to avoid hitting your head on the concrete lintel. My dad and I both forgot that exactly once. The rest of the family is short enough that they didn't have to worry about it. The rooms upstairs were arranged in a way where you had to go through someone's bedroom to get to someone else's. I had to go through my little sister's to get to mine. Sometimes this was fine. Other times this was NOT fine. My parent's bedroom had this huge mural of a forest along one wall. And we had two bathrooms but only one of them had a shower and a tub. And they were totally 60's yellow. Everything in the house was in the 60's and 70's color scheme. Even these awful brown curtains that were up when we got there. Each room had a radiator for heat but the oil was so expensive that my dad was really "careful" about the amount of time we turned them on. Since all of our electronics were American we had to use these super heavy transformers to plug things in. And in the upstairs game room every time you turned on the television, which we only used for movies or Nintendo, it blew the fuse for the whole upstairs and we had to go trip the circuit breaker. The downstairs tv only got British cable and it didn't actually work very well so we hardly ever watched it. There was an attic upstairs that had this huge reddish stain on the floor and we (well, I, at least) were positive someone had been murdered up there in a vast Nazi conspiracy. We had no garbage disposal so everything had to be composted in this crate thing that stood outside by a cherry tree that grew in our backyard. The cherries were surprisingly good. The landlord also owned a little gas station down the street so we would go down and buy chocolate and Coke from him and sometimes he'd give it to us for free. When he needed to talk to us he'd send his son down to either try to talk to us in English (which wasn't great) or talk to my mom in French.

You know, it occurs to me that this could be a very long blog posting. So instead of just sitting here and droning on about my life in Germany I'll just leave it at that for today. Maybe on days where I've come up dry for something to write about I'll jot down a few more notes about other things I remember.
Grand?
I thought you'd think so.
Until tomorrow!

Backstory

Good afternoon fellow Tuesday-dwellers!

So it occurred to me yesterday that I've only given you one example of a dream that made me wake up laughing. Then it occurred to me why. It is because I like you.
But as I said in my very first blog, if you are silly enough to read these ramblings of mine then you deserve whatever happens to you. So today I will give you a few more examples.

Dream #1: I am speaking with Gonzo the Muppet and suddenly one of his eyes pops off and turns into a fluffy yellow chicken.
*insert chuckling and disoriented stumble to the bathroom

Dream #2: An exceptionally hairy Robin Williams is on stage and speaking to the audience. Behind him you can see the silhouettes of three ex-paramilitary British mimes, sneaking up behind him with bayonets. They have decided to kill him because the monologue has run on too long. My older sister turns to me and says, "That was harsh. I would just have called him a weasel."
*insert laughing and disoriented stumble to the bathroom

Dream #3: (I have mentioned this before) My mother is giving a long-winded speech in which she refers to sex as "the poo."
*insert giggle and disoriented stumble to the bathroom that actually winds up being a smack into the wall and return to bed.

You might very well be wondering why in the world I would find those dreams funny. My sisters did. As a matter of fact they both suggested I might very well have skipped a medication dose or two.
The answer is that I don't know. When I wake up in the morning and remember the dreams they seem slightly amusing, but not funny enough to wake a person up out of a sound sleep. And as my sisters remind me, they are not the kind of dreams you share with people if you expect them to like you.
But occasionally I have a dream that is ACTUALLY funny. Like, the kind of funny you could put on television and get Nielsen ratings with. Of course, these are the dreams that wake me up and give me instant dream-amnesia. I can't remember a thing about them. At times like those I wish my brain worked more in the sketch comedy writing vein. Then I could just make something up and no one would no the difference.

So I shall continue to update you with the dreams that cause me to chortle myself awake in the wee hours of the morning as they occur. As I said in the beginning, you read at your own risk.
And by the way, my sisters are completely mistaken. The people I share my pills with are all fascinated by my dreams.

Behind you!

I was driving home today and passed under a highway sign that said, "Look twice. Motorcycles are everywhere."
It made me think of this SNL sketch I saw once where cobras had taken over this plane. And at the end of the sketch this cobra was talking about how they were going to take over the world. "When you roll over to put your arm around your lover you'll find... ME! When you reach into your hatbox for your favorite hat you'll find... ME!"
So I immediately started picturing little evil cartoon motorcycles leaping out and leaving evil tread marks on unsuspecting foreheads around the globe. "Mwuahahahaha.....ZOOM!"

Anyway.
Today I'd like to talk about 3 songs that are highly stalker-like, very disturbing, and therefore highly enjoyable.

1. The Police - Every Breath You Take
This is the old Stalker stand-by song. This is the George McFly look-a-like hiding in the bushes across the street with the binoculars song. And this is a song performed by a group called The Police. I always thought Policemen were the good guys. You know, supposed to make you feel safe and protected and all that. Not the guys that make you want to hide in the basement with a shotgun. "Every breath you take, every move you make, every BOND you break..." He's even got a line in there about posthumous watching should you do him in and get out on bail! Creepy, Sting. Very creepy.
2. Enrique Iglesias - Escape
Ok. Now when I first heard this song the lyrics I heard were, "You can run, you can DIE, but you can't escape my love." Needless to say, I was rather shocked. Was Enrique saying that you'd have to literally leave the planet to get rid of him? Surely there are laws against that kind of thing. I was only slightly relieved to learn that the actual lyrics are, 'You can run, you can HIDE, but you can't escape my love." Now maybe it's because I'm a woman but if someone I loved decided to RUN and HIDE from me I think I might get the idea that maybe the relationship wasn't going to last. But do your thing, Enrique. Hope it works out for you, man.
3. Billy Ocean - Get Outta My Dreams Get Into My Car
Now this song isn't so much stalker-y as just plain misogynistic. But you can kind of imagine old Billy following this woman around in his car before actually yelling at her to get into his car so I included it on my list. I don't know if you've ever listened to the lyrics closely, but here are Billy's bellows to the woman of his dreams:
1. HEY YOU!
2. GET INTO MY CAR!
3. YES, YOU! GET INTO MY CAR!
4. Get in the BACKSEAT, baby.
5. Touch my bumper.
6. Get it while you can.
7. I SAID OPEN THE DOOR!
Repeat, repeat, etc. Well, ladies, I'm blown away. If my next date doesn't say these exact words it's a deal breaker.


P.S. The day before yesterday my Dad stuck his finger into a hedge trimmer. He then required 4-5 stitches. Here's what gets me about the whole thing. After sticking said appendage into the rotating vortex of death and dismemberment, my father saw the geyser of blood and put his finger IN HIS MOUTH. It must be a guy thing. My first reaction (which I did not say aloud) was to think, "Dad, do you realize you have over 600 types of bacteria living in your mouth?"
*sigh*
But then again, this is the same man who refuses to hire a lawn service and insists on mowing the lawn in 95 degree weather in his SWEATPANTS.