When I’m not on the road performing (car concerts while I drive), random thoughts cross my mind as I traverse the city. Sometimes I’m intensely introspective and think, “Wow I AM complicated–I should share this deep thought and save the world.” At other turns and let’s be honest, much more frequently at a ratio of like ten billion:one, I shake my head at myself because ya gotta. We’re two weeks out from our son’s next appointment with the neurologist, so naturally I’m a total freak. My mind wandering isn’t some new defense mechanism my psyche developed because of my son’s muscular dystrophy diagnosis, it’s just that I have this forum now is all, and you lucky readers get to share the ride. Please buckle your seat belts–best part of the ride is the free fall, better keep your arms and legs in the vehicle (and how many of you got this one??) Add to it the sleep deprivation borne of last week’s trek to the Great White North, land of Tim Horton’s and mecca for a bunch of girls sharing a concentrated hobby, (“concentrated hobby” sounds much healthier than obsession, wouldn’t you agree?–obsession suggests to a “troubling extent” and we are not troubled one bit) has left me bereft of introspection. Plus my younger son has four friends sleeping over tonight–Happy birthday to my now 10-year-old!–and it’s crazy loud up in here (you know how to say it!). Also, it smells like, well, the miasma of all the y-chromosome bearers bunking in, and let’s just say it is not entirely pleasant. Instead, this:
Sneezing while applying mascara doesn’t leave pretty in its wake. For your eyes or your mirror.
Sometimes a touch too much black eyeliner makes a girl feel pretty badass.
My husband’s incessant ice crunching may very well be my undoing.
You know you’ve entered a parallel universe when you say out loud, “Cool! He genuinely preferred the $199 baseball bat!” and feel like you’re getting a bargain. For $200, fucking Louisville Slugger oughta at least buy me dinner first.
The default parent always addresses the really important childhood issues, regardless of that parent’s gender. Like I know thing one about boners or nocturnal emissions.
I’ll take my chances against salmonella if it means I can eat ricotta, vanilla, sugar AND the eggs mixed together before throwing it into the rest of the Italian Love Cake batter. Because I gave up baked goods. It’s called discipline, people.
Binge-watching well-written and expertly-produced TV shows causes deep emotional ties between viewer and characters. My husband and I were immersed in methamphetamine production (in the Albuquerque television universe way, obviously) in our Breaking Bad days, and are currently deeply invested in defending humanity against the walking dead. Tom is the new Rick Grimes, but without the 3-day shadow. Why does Herschel have a full beard if Rick maintains scruffy-hot? Also yours to ponder, how can Maggie still have a cute haircut? I’m still in season four, DO NOT tell me what’s going on in season six. And did you know that the actor playing Rick is British?? Color me shocked.
“Oh, I shot it at his butthole” is a sentence no mom wants to hear proclaimed victoriously at her son’s birthday slumber party. Ever.
A person shouldn’t be judged harshly for scraping the last trace of hummus out of its container with her finger. Or tongue.
Why don’t we have Tim Horton’s here?
Just how many times have I heard my favorite song? It’s short, so I often play it twice consecutively on my way into work, and to pick up groceries, and while dancing around the kitchen, and on my way home from work, and, and, and. . . What exactly might the math on it look like? I really would like to know.
Those little inflammations you get on your taste buds from time to time are likely the single most fucking annoying phenomenon known to mankind.
Standard traffic rules do not apply while driving through the central city. I haven’t made even passing acquaintance with a fellow motorist using a turn signal in years. Typically red lights and stop signs indicate, you know, stopping. Where I work, it’s more a suggestion.
Hearing your newly minted 10-year-old whistle along with the new album you just downloaded is a really sweet surprise.
I got gravy on satisfaction. I still want gravy on satisfaction. ❤️