Oh for heaven's sake! I seriously don't understand teenagers. I know I'm only 25 and I was one of them a few short years ago, but I didn't understand them then, either.
The reason I bring it up is that I have a friend at work who is barely 18. Her ever-so-slightly-older boyfriend treats her like crap. I've spent a decent chunk of my time lately trying to convince her to dump his sorry butt. She was seriously considering it until today when he sent her a song he wrote for her. A SONG. It's supposed to be one of those sappy love ballads. I read it and can say with all certainty that it is truly awful. Here is an unretouched excerpt (as background, I should mention that he's in the Army): "Why'd you do it man? Why'd you go? I guess to serve my country and make some dough."
She completely swooned over it.
Wow.
Here's the thing that really irritates me... it's not that she wants to stay with her idiot boyfriend or that she was happy that he did something thoughtful for a change. It's the fact that kids these days seem to think that as long as they have a guitar and understand the word "emotion" they're somehow capable of writing music!
Here is an unretouched excerpt of something a kid like this would say: "Ooooh. I'm filled with ANGST oversomething that no one cares about. I think I'll write a song."
Newsflash, kiddos- We don't want your songs. They suck.
Granted, there are some kids who are gifted. Some people can start at a very young age and produce something beautiful. Beethoven was 4 when he started composing. However, most of us are not like that. We're average. And we definitely should NOT be writing songs.
Why is being a musician or an actor such a big deal to these kids anyway? Why is that the end-all, beat-all answer to life's problems? How did THAT become the dream? When I was that age, I wanted to be the first female President of the United States. I mean, come ON, kids! Have a dream that helps out the rest of the world! Yes, you could be Angelina Jolie and adopt a bazillion African babies, but the likelihood of that is pretty slim.
So come up with a new dream. Be an accountant. A bus driver. A lawyer. ANYTHING but a musician. If not for you, do it for the rest of the world. Save our ears from awful lyrics.
Oh, and if I hurt your feelings, I'll apologize personally... if it will keep you from writing another song.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
Give Me The Gas
You know those crazy lamps at the dentist office that shine light right into your eyeballs while you're teeth are being drilled, just adding another level of pain to your experience? Well, today I named one. Her name is Patty.
I've been making rather constant trips to the dentist lately to have old fillings repaired. Like any normal human being, I'm not a big fan of the dentist office. They give you foul-tasting drugs, make you hold your mouth open wider than you thought you could for longer than you thought possible, and you always leave with the sour taste of tooth dust in your mouth.
There is one good thing about that place, though... nitrous oxide.
Once they put that little tube over my face, I was in heaven. I totally calmed down, and I swear that I was more centered than I ever have been in my LIFE. No kidding. When I sat and just focused on one thing, like the music I was listening to, I was able to get so much more out of it than I normally do. I feel like I understand the way musicians hear music a little more now. I felt every beat running through my body and the passion in every note.
I am not joking when I say that, at one point, I was lip syncing "Bohemian Rhapsody" into Patty. I'm pretty sure the dental assistant caught me, but she didn't say anything. Then I had to play it cool. I sat there and pretended like I didn't feel a thing. I felt like it was a pretty good con, but looking back, she must have known. I think that the big old grin on my face... the kind kids get when they go to Disneyland for the first time... may have given me away.
No matter. Patty and I still had a chance to bond. So even though half of my mouth is still dead, it was a good trip.
I've been making rather constant trips to the dentist lately to have old fillings repaired. Like any normal human being, I'm not a big fan of the dentist office. They give you foul-tasting drugs, make you hold your mouth open wider than you thought you could for longer than you thought possible, and you always leave with the sour taste of tooth dust in your mouth.
There is one good thing about that place, though... nitrous oxide.
Once they put that little tube over my face, I was in heaven. I totally calmed down, and I swear that I was more centered than I ever have been in my LIFE. No kidding. When I sat and just focused on one thing, like the music I was listening to, I was able to get so much more out of it than I normally do. I feel like I understand the way musicians hear music a little more now. I felt every beat running through my body and the passion in every note.
I am not joking when I say that, at one point, I was lip syncing "Bohemian Rhapsody" into Patty. I'm pretty sure the dental assistant caught me, but she didn't say anything. Then I had to play it cool. I sat there and pretended like I didn't feel a thing. I felt like it was a pretty good con, but looking back, she must have known. I think that the big old grin on my face... the kind kids get when they go to Disneyland for the first time... may have given me away.
No matter. Patty and I still had a chance to bond. So even though half of my mouth is still dead, it was a good trip.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The Things We'll Do
I think I'd like to become a reality TV slut.
Why? Because Snooki, one of the stupid stars of "Jersey Shore" has recently been given a deal with Simon Schuester to publish her first novel. I can't for the life of me figure out why she can do it and I can't. I am entirely bamboozled.
To be published, you apparently have to be a whore.
What will she even write about? The day she couldn't rat her hair higher than 10 inches?
Why? Because Snooki, one of the stupid stars of "Jersey Shore" has recently been given a deal with Simon Schuester to publish her first novel. I can't for the life of me figure out why she can do it and I can't. I am entirely bamboozled.
To be published, you apparently have to be a whore.
What will she even write about? The day she couldn't rat her hair higher than 10 inches?
The Terrible Tuesdays
Yesterday was a rough one for pretty much everyone I know.
I started the trend. The story is kind of funny now, but at the time, I was about ready to lose it. I spent my lunchtime in my car, taking a nap after a very, very long (but totally fantastic) weekend. As a little backstory, I should mention that I don't like to leave my car parked right outside of the office when I nap. There's a little group of smokers who come outside about once an hour, and I don't really care to have them peeping in my windows. So I move my car about a block away to a different parking lot. It's one I happen to enjoy quite a bit. It's shaded in the summer and somewhat secluded. So yesterday I drove my car over to my Special Napping Spot and dozed off. When my alarm went off, I threw my stuff in the front seat and got out of the car to come around to the front. Here's where things went very wrong... I locked all the doors. Yep. Definitely locked myself out of the car. Definitely had to walk back to work from my Special Napping Spot. Definitely had to call any and all friends who would have access to my spare key. Now, I don't consider myself to be a particularly paranoid person, but I do live in Tacoma. I didn't mind that I wouldn't be able to see good ol' Jonathan (my little Focus) from my office window, but I did mind that my purse was locked inside of him and thrown open, exposing my wallet and other goodies. My keys were in there, too. Anyone who was willing to break out a window would have had absolute control over my entire life. Heinous. Oh, and did I mention that I had an extra set of keys in my purse, too? That's right. I locked TWO sets of keys in my car. Doesn't get much stupider than that. I am fortunate enough to have awesome friends, so one came and saved me pretty quickly, but I was one hot mess until she got there.
A couple of my girls had it rough, too. One is the youngest cat lady I've ever met, and her little Missy had a stroke late last night and had to be put down. She came into work today in her pajamas. I'm hoping she'll be joining the rest of us back in shallow waters very soon after that dive right into the deep end. Another friend spent the better part of the night in the hospital with her mother, who is getting tested for who-knows-what.
Did I also mention that Glee last night was terrible? We all know that Britney Spears has had her on and off years, and I think the episode was filmed to reflect the crazier moments in her life. All of the most loveable characters on the show completely lost their minds last night. Thanks for setting us up for that one, Brit.
I know people say that Friday the 13th is bad, but I think from now on, I'll be replacing it with Tuesday the 28th.
I started the trend. The story is kind of funny now, but at the time, I was about ready to lose it. I spent my lunchtime in my car, taking a nap after a very, very long (but totally fantastic) weekend. As a little backstory, I should mention that I don't like to leave my car parked right outside of the office when I nap. There's a little group of smokers who come outside about once an hour, and I don't really care to have them peeping in my windows. So I move my car about a block away to a different parking lot. It's one I happen to enjoy quite a bit. It's shaded in the summer and somewhat secluded. So yesterday I drove my car over to my Special Napping Spot and dozed off. When my alarm went off, I threw my stuff in the front seat and got out of the car to come around to the front. Here's where things went very wrong... I locked all the doors. Yep. Definitely locked myself out of the car. Definitely had to walk back to work from my Special Napping Spot. Definitely had to call any and all friends who would have access to my spare key. Now, I don't consider myself to be a particularly paranoid person, but I do live in Tacoma. I didn't mind that I wouldn't be able to see good ol' Jonathan (my little Focus) from my office window, but I did mind that my purse was locked inside of him and thrown open, exposing my wallet and other goodies. My keys were in there, too. Anyone who was willing to break out a window would have had absolute control over my entire life. Heinous. Oh, and did I mention that I had an extra set of keys in my purse, too? That's right. I locked TWO sets of keys in my car. Doesn't get much stupider than that. I am fortunate enough to have awesome friends, so one came and saved me pretty quickly, but I was one hot mess until she got there.
A couple of my girls had it rough, too. One is the youngest cat lady I've ever met, and her little Missy had a stroke late last night and had to be put down. She came into work today in her pajamas. I'm hoping she'll be joining the rest of us back in shallow waters very soon after that dive right into the deep end. Another friend spent the better part of the night in the hospital with her mother, who is getting tested for who-knows-what.
Did I also mention that Glee last night was terrible? We all know that Britney Spears has had her on and off years, and I think the episode was filmed to reflect the crazier moments in her life. All of the most loveable characters on the show completely lost their minds last night. Thanks for setting us up for that one, Brit.
I know people say that Friday the 13th is bad, but I think from now on, I'll be replacing it with Tuesday the 28th.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Tick Tock
My job leaves me with waaaaay too much time on my hands.
For the last 15 minutes or so, I've been spying on the guy I share an office with. He's eating a Granny Smith apple. The best part is that he forgot to take the sticker off before he started eating it. Any second, he's going to take a bite out of that little piece of plastic-y paper and glue. I.AM.RIVETTED.
It's the most exciting thing that's happened here in days. I'm literally on the edge of my seat. I've been asking myself questions like "Will he notice that he ate a sticker? Will he spit it out? Will it increase his fiber intake at all??"
These questions seem to need an answer. I feel that I MUST KNOW what will happen.
That's how dull my job is.
For the last 15 minutes or so, I've been spying on the guy I share an office with. He's eating a Granny Smith apple. The best part is that he forgot to take the sticker off before he started eating it. Any second, he's going to take a bite out of that little piece of plastic-y paper and glue. I.AM.RIVETTED.
It's the most exciting thing that's happened here in days. I'm literally on the edge of my seat. I've been asking myself questions like "Will he notice that he ate a sticker? Will he spit it out? Will it increase his fiber intake at all??"
These questions seem to need an answer. I feel that I MUST KNOW what will happen.
That's how dull my job is.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
The New Me
I have been officially dubbed with a new nickname at work.
You see, my job requires that I dress nicely. That's not too uncommon for someone my age who works in an office. However, in my mind, part of dressing nicely means wearing heels. Not skanky super high ones, but at least an inch and maybe two. I don't think that's a crazy assumption to make either.
Here's where I get myself in trouble... Problem 1: I walk everywhere quickly. Problem 2: The floors in our office are partly linoleum and partly carpet. Everyone knows the sound that heels make on linoleum and other such materials. You'd think I'd be safe on carpet, though. Not the case. The carpet is just as bad! It isn't well padded, so I just go pounding down the hall like a bull elephant on a rampage.
Thusly, the reception desk has decided to call me Thumper because of the noise I make when I travel down the halls. I think I'm more upset about this than when I found out that Bambi's mother died.
You see, my job requires that I dress nicely. That's not too uncommon for someone my age who works in an office. However, in my mind, part of dressing nicely means wearing heels. Not skanky super high ones, but at least an inch and maybe two. I don't think that's a crazy assumption to make either.
Here's where I get myself in trouble... Problem 1: I walk everywhere quickly. Problem 2: The floors in our office are partly linoleum and partly carpet. Everyone knows the sound that heels make on linoleum and other such materials. You'd think I'd be safe on carpet, though. Not the case. The carpet is just as bad! It isn't well padded, so I just go pounding down the hall like a bull elephant on a rampage.
Thusly, the reception desk has decided to call me Thumper because of the noise I make when I travel down the halls. I think I'm more upset about this than when I found out that Bambi's mother died.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The Doctor Is Out
I am so depressed right now. I just read an article online that stated that Neil Patrick Harris, star of such classics as Doogie Howser, M.D. and Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog (now that I'm writing this, I'm realizing he's played a lot of characters with high degrees...), may be leaving show business for good.
I mourned my loss when I first found out he was gay, because that means I'll never get a chance with him. On the other hand, I'm sure some of the world's most heterosexual men threw their hats in the air in celebration. He's got a pretty decent following in the hetero man crush arena. However, this is all beside the point.
The latest news, which I read today, states that NPH and his partner are having twins by surrogate. I would ordinarily celebrate with them, but the problem is that Neil Patrick is considering leaving acting to be a full-time dad! I'm getting teary-eyed just thinking about it!
Why, oh why didn't Tom Cruise make this decision instead??
I mourned my loss when I first found out he was gay, because that means I'll never get a chance with him. On the other hand, I'm sure some of the world's most heterosexual men threw their hats in the air in celebration. He's got a pretty decent following in the hetero man crush arena. However, this is all beside the point.
The latest news, which I read today, states that NPH and his partner are having twins by surrogate. I would ordinarily celebrate with them, but the problem is that Neil Patrick is considering leaving acting to be a full-time dad! I'm getting teary-eyed just thinking about it!
Why, oh why didn't Tom Cruise make this decision instead??
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