girl with a groove with the big bust on, big bust on

so i have these ideas floating around in my head, posts i want to write, truly very important things i wish to say to all of you kind enough to plop on the couches around here.

ok, that's not true. it must be so obvious i come to you clueless most times. i slice something open and this stuff pours out of me and i think, "well, um. ok." and then i hit "publish" and hope you'll come back. and i hope you come back, truly, because some of you have really broken in some spots on the couch and you seem to fit there. and i've made cookies.

probably another reason i have nothing to say lately is because i've been spinning around my house, the mini and the yard to this. i'm obsessed with this song! give me a second. i have to dance again.

doom da da di da di doom da da di da di.

ok.

oh, trust me. i didn't want to like it when i first heard it. not at all. but like everclear and cherry kool-aid, my college cocktail of choice, i was hooked quickly. i'm all girl crushing on the entire cd. a tasty mix of scissor sisters, freddy mercury, and the bee gees. plus, he's kinda cute. seriously. i hear this entire cd in my head even when it's not directly piped into my ears.

as a result, today you get randomness. and this. oh, you will dance, my friends. i demand it. and i kind of wish to see it, too.

sidenote - those of you who considered me a "thinking blogger" are so doubting yourselves right about now, aren't you? thinking to yourselves "in the event you are unable to fulfill your duties..." and such. things will get better, trust me. don't strip away my title just yet. wait. you think if you do it will get you a step closer to the kick ass rack? nice.

or was that why you chose me in the first place? thinking i'd give it up? nice.

time for a transition. i need a haircut. it's getting drastic. i freakin' love my longer hair. it's all "don't hate me because i'm beautiful in my own mind. what? you don't think so? who are you to judge me?" hot, and the pig tails are stellar, but the bangs are out of control. well past my nose.

in other words. i'm sexy and rocking a tremendous joey ramone (btw..."rock and roll high school" is one of those movies i've seen more times than i can count. one summer, with cable's shiny virgin introduction in our house, i watched it and this almost daily. here's where i confess i'm actually an 80 year old man writing this under the guise of being a 17 year old high school girl. and that it bothers me a little bit that a religious observation is then followed by sex. geez, neil...).

anyway, where was i? oh. my bangs. so i'm standing at the bathroom counter sunday morning, all perfectly dewy, drying my hair, which is nearly poking my eyes out and fluttering around my nose as it covers my face, when in walks my husband in his adorableness. i strike a pose that hangs delicately between demure and stunning (i'll give you a moment...) and say, "don't i look sexy? or maybe like joey ramone?"

"or cousin itt," he says, albeit with a grin, but the moment is gone. click on the hair dryer again, pull my hips back to their upright position and inform him that comment is penalty box worthy.

because obviously, had he agreed i looked like joey ramone, i'd have thrown him down on the bed and bliztkrieg bopped him.

i realized this week that i've developed this habit of calling people "something mcsomethingsons." because i like to jump on a fad that is on its waning moments of cleverness.

for example, my youngest is dashing to the front door of the school yesterday as i call behind him, "slow down there, mr. shorty mcshortyshorts." and he did stop. to give me a look like i was insane.

my oldest has been "wacky mcwackmeister," and "stinky mcstinkster" this week. my hairy neighbor is truly "creepy mccreepenstien." the husband is "notgettin'any mcdenied." i know that doesn't rhyme and therefore doesn't fit into the rhythm of the game, but seriously, he called me cousin itt.

me? i'm kick ass mckickenstein, commander of all i survey.

randomness, folks. this 80 year old man needs to go watch "the price is right," eat some chocolate pudding and take a nap now. besides, i trust that anyway you want to, anyway you've got to, love me, love love me, love love. trust me. you'll get hooked, too. or invite me over for everclear and cherry kool-aid cocktails, which, if you’ll recall my propensity to turn alcohol into sex, has its pros and cons.

doom da da di da di doom da da di da di.