In Picking David Bowie Lyrics I Should Go With Chh-chh-Changes, but I'm Going With Moonlight, Serious Moonlight

My eyes are puffy and bleary which only means one thing! I've been crying like a wee baby and it was necessary to sing David Bowie at the top of my lungs on the way to work and marvel at the fact that if I had Karoke balls, I'd go out this weekend and rock the DB. I'd rock Mr. Bowie's tunes so freaking hard that you'd be all, "she is a hard rockin' (something that is surprising in how hard it rocks) thing".

And you see how I didn't rock hard at all right there? That's to add to the air of mystery that is going to shroud my hard rockin'ness.

So lately? I've been putting all this thought into how people are all judgy and waste their time thinking about things that make them seem cool. And by cool, I mean hip. And by hip, I mean, seriously? You take yourself that seriously? Or they do the opposite and they waste all this time thinking about how they are the opposite of hip. Or better yet... and this is my favorite. I am totally and I mean completely enthralled by people who think that the beer they drink defines them.

I could think of 100 things, wait no... (uh, 1, 2, 3...) Okay, I could think of maybe FIVE things that define me and my beer? It ain't one of them. But here is the thing, I find that I'm totally amused and want to be best friends with people who ARE concerned about how their beer defines them. And not because I think their awesomeness will rub off on me, but because I really, really want to get into their minds to find out what makes them tick.

All I know, is that by the end of that voyage? I'd want an icy, cold, Miller Fucking Lite. Because that is what is in my garage RIGHT NOW. Oooh, or better yet? A Michelob Ultra. Because I think THAT beer says, "I'm chubby, drunk and like the taste of fermented water." Because all of that? Is who I am. Well the drunk part is just a fraction of the time, but now we're getting into semantics.

I know, you? Yeah, you are fucking wowed right now. And I spent like a whole, I dunno, 5 seconds on my beer decision. I've mastered this.

Also? Yes, way back deep somewhere in my most reptilian mind, I probably feel that I'm just slightly more rad because I don't care that much.

But what makes me the hippest? Is that if I was in a bar that played, oh say, C'mon Eileen, I'd totally be all, "This place sucks!" and walk out after throwing my can of beer on the floor. But then I'd have to bend over and pick up my wood grain coozie.

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PS BoomTube has moved to Saturday night and it's only a half hour now. Because you can't stretch this kind of fantastic out for a full hour. You just can't. So don't ask.

PPS This change already means that Jason and I are more than likely already pitted up against each other in the same time spot. He has an hour long set that might be aired at the same time. We're pulling out the cardboard dance floor tonight and having this crazy mad dance off to prove to just ourselves who is more awesome so that you, the people, don't have to.

PPSS If McCain and Obama had done that, we'd no longer be a democracy, but we'd be the coolest fucking nation in the Universe! You can bank on that!

This Place Has Just Become...

Horseshit. One word. Horseshit.

Seriously? Why are you here? Have I given you anything worth a damn? No I haven't. I haven't given anyone anything that is worth a damn. I used BoomTube as an excuse and did you see that freaking train wreck?

In my defense, I wasn't ready. Jason and I had just argued and then he's all, "ready, set, go! Be funny!" and I was all, "Wait, what? No." But then it was too late and the light was in my face and I had to try to be funny.

And you know what? When I'm in a bad mood I am not funny. Not one thing is funny about me except maybe the stupid look on my face. No funny here, kids. No anything here. I even have two designs that I HAVE to get out this week because next week? No one is getting a single, solitary, gawddamn thing from me. It's not like their getting much as it is.

A really big part of me wants to just blow everything off until after vacation. I've already check out. I'm gone. Splitsville. I'm so fucking gone I just said splitsville. What the fuck?

No, really, what the fuck? Can you tell me? Because I've got nothing here. And, for some reason splitsville reminds me, this weekend Jason watched a biography on Marlon Brando and when he was done he looked at me and said, "Marlon Brando was really a dick." And, I was all, "Not a newsflash, the man was a dick and screwed like... I dunno, something that screws a lot. How many kids did he have?" and then Jason was all, "Like ten or maybe even more, no one really knows." And that made it seem really mysterious to me.

I have no point of telling you this except that I would be really, really pissed and disappointed if after someone got done watching a biography on me, if they weren't asleep, that they might then look at their spouse and be all, "Dude, she was a total dick!"

But then this takes me one more place. Something Jason and I didn't get to on BoomTube was the Super Bitch. There is a car that is always parked on the street down about a block or two from our house. And across the back window, in giant and I mean really big fucking letters, red ones even, it reads "Super Bitch".

Now, seriously? That's what you're going with. Super bitch? You're sticking with that? That's your label, your message? You could put anything in the world in that space and the stroke of genius that you had was super bitch. I have been thinking about this shit for like two weeks now, right? So while I was in the middle of thinking about it and trying not to nod off on my drive to work, I saw a bumper sticker that read, "From zero to bitch in 1.5 seconds". What are you saying there? You are both a zero and a bitch because that is some seriously fucked up advertising and you might want to consider firing your PR agent. Or seeing someone about your self-esteem issue.

All I'm saying is maybe I should just get it out of the way and put "disappointing dick" on the back of my car.

I would just feel bad when Jason had to drive it.

Which now? I'm reminded of the time my brother spray painted "FAT ASS" on the side of his car and I had to drive it. And I was all, "Yeah, funny and ironic when your tall, skinny ass gets out of the car. When I get out of that car it's just mean."

Subtlety Was Never My Strong Suit And Do I Have Excess Spit Or What?

As I promised, here is video of me awkward talking. Things you might notice in this video:
1) You can see the really cool combination of flat and fuzzy that my hair takes on when I've been standing out in the misty rain because my car wouldn't start.

2) I seem to have some kind of a salivating problem because I swallow an awful lot.

3) I just said swallow an awful lot.

4) I'm obviously NOT a hipster. Mostly, because I drive a foreign four-door sedan and then because there is a car seat in the back seat. Also? I only drink PBR when it's a dollar at the local bar. Oh and I hate righteous microbrews and look horrible in skinny pants. I do wear Chuck Taylors but I've done that since I was 14. My hair is never artfully messy and if I look glazed over it's because I might not be very bright. Bleach has evidently done something to my brains and made my insides a dark, dark place. And that's okay.

It's okay because I don't act righteous and then go around getting all up in everyone's face and making comments about how hateful people below the Mason Dixon line are. I love my Southern buddies. Also? I don't go around telling people how awesome I am and exactly why they should pay me, nor do I keep everyone else to a standard I can't seem to maintain myself. Oh and I talk about finger banging so you know, it's got to be interesting at least.