I was around 14 years old walking through my house singing Karma Chameleon. Our TV had been left on a concert movie called Black and Blue. I had never heard of the bands involved and was not interested because let's face it...it was not Culture Club. But then I wandered through the living room and a man's voice literally brought me to my knees. As I knelt in front of the TV with my mouth hanging open my world was changed. I quickly became obsessed with the small man with the huge voice. I saved every cent of my allowance and bought Black Sabbath albums. Then when I found out he had formed his own band, Dio albums joined the collection and then Rainbow and then I was mail ordering Elf albums from England. I collected every article I could find and papered the walls of my room in posters and pictures ripped from magazines of him. Through him I found a love of heavy metal that exists to this day. He opened me up to a whole world of music that I would never have come across (I live in an area where country music is way too popular). Dio was my very first concert and it was the best. I saw him in concert one other time and I kick myself for all the times I could have gone but missed for some reason or another. I wish I could thank him for the beauty he brought into my life. I wish I could see him in concert just one more time.
Godspeed Ronnie James Dio. You will be missed.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
I’m supposed to be working but I decided a blog post was more the thing. This is the things I hate episode…
- Bras that hook in front. For some reason the last time I bought bras every freaking one I bought fastens in the front even though I knew I hated that. That’s what I get for bra shopping online with my best friend vodka. My problem with bras that hook in front is this…whenever I am out in public, with no warning, in the worst possible place that fucker will unhook and set the girls free. Now I like the feeling of my boobs running free as much as the next woman but they are large and rather floppy. I’m reminded of that teacher on South Park, Choksondik with her nipples hanging down out of the bottom of her sweater. Yep, that would be me.
- People who stand at stop lights and collect money for charity. I can hear the whole two people who read this booing me now but hear me out. I hate this because I have to give them money. They don’t make me and I know I’m welcome to drive on by but I just can’t. If they feel passionately enough about something to stand in the hot sun or the rain and collect money for it then by god I’m going to give them something (many times the last bit of money I have). Even if it is for a cause that I care nothing about (Save the super slimy worm that climbs up people’s noses…well maybe I wouldn’t give to that one. I’d be curled up in a corner somewhere with my hand over my nose shivering in horror that such a thing exists.) I will still give. I hate to think that someone is suffering somewhere and I didn’t stop. The part I really hate is when I have no money with me at all and I don’t see them standing there until it’s too late to detour and I have to drive through…then I spend all day feeling like an ass. I hate that.
- Reality TV. I don’t watch American Idol or Dancing with the Stars or The Bachelor or The Biggest Loser or Let’s see how many foreign objects I can fit in my anus (That’s not a show? Really? They televise everything else…I’d think that would be a hit.). My own life has enough drama that I don’t need to tune into other people’s. Though I will tell you a secret. We’re all friends here, right? You won’t tell anyone? Okay, here it goes…the real reason I don’t watch reality TV is…I’m an addict. Going back to the America’s Next Top Model debacle of 2008…if I start watching I can’t stop. It sucks me in and I start to care about these people. I find myself rearranging my schedule so I can watch it when it’s on. I watch the extra videos online. I try to find out what the people are doing after the show is over. It’s horrible and I felt dirty all the time so I quit cold turkey. Though every now and then I still feel the urge.
- Girl Scout cookies. Actually I love me some girl scout cookies, what I hate is that they are only available once a year. What’s up with that shit? Offer perfect sugary goodness and then yank it away. Every year I tell myself, “hey I’ll buy extra this year and freeze them and then I can have girl scout cookies whenever I want.” Yeah right…I just end up eating that many more of the damn things in the same amount of time and still no cookies for the rest of the year. Stupid Girl Scouts.
- Facebook. I use Facebook, most of my “friends” are family or people I knew from school. But with the exception of my family, do I really care how someone I haven’t seen in literally twenty years and I didn’t like that much to begin with is doing? The only posts I seem to care about are my family stuff and the few bloggers I also follow on Facebook (I loves me the bloggers I follow…they are all wonderful). So, you ask, why don’t I unfriend those high school people? That is a good question thanks for asking. The reason is because as soon as I unfriend someone I will run into them in the grocery store even though it has not happened in the whole twenty years we’ve lived in the same town. Karma works that way, you know. Karma is kind of a mean bitch.
- Getting old. This is a no brainer, right? I can’t color my hair the color I want without people going, “You work in an office, you can’t have blue hair.” I had to take out all the piercings in my left ear (I had eight) because my ear started to cauliflower (stupid cauliflower ear…and no you can’t see it. Freaks.) I had to take out my nipple ring because of surgery and now I’m too embarrassed to go get it repierced because I’m a grandmother for god’s sake and I don’t want to be one of those pathetic old people who dress like they’re still sixteen (what do piercings and clothing have to do with each other? Why absolutely nothing…it’s like you’re being purposely dense). I also hate the fact that I ache all the time like I did some strenuous exercise when I really haven’t moved in two days. If I’m going to ache like I’ve been having wild sex then I better have had some wild sex (Hubby…looking at you here).
- Daddy long legs. They are a creepy head with legs. What kind of thing has legs growing out of its head? When I was a child and running barefoot around the farm (yes, I grew up on a farm…a pig farm) I stepped on a daddy long legs and it was squashed on the bottom of my foot and I couldn’t get it off and I was traumatized. No one would help me they just laughed at me. I still have not recovered from the horror.
- Worms. Any kind and all kinds of worms are super creepy. I don’t care how good they are for the soil and that they feed the pretty birdies. They are slimy and gross. Yuck, I say, yuck. This is why on the few occasions I’ve fished I’ve used artificial bait or I don’t fish (I also won’t take a fish off the hook…fish = also slimy).
- Sad movies. I cannot stand anything that makes me cry. Especially sad movies about children. They make me want to hunt the writers down and beat them to death with a pointy, thorned stick. *Whack* How dare you even think something like that about beautiful babies *Whack* Yes, sad movies make me crazy violent. I still have not recovered from the saddest movie ever “What Dreams May Come”. If you don’t think that is the saddest movie ever you have a heart of stone and I stab you with my pointy stick.
- Movies about animals. This goes back to not liking sad movies (really these should have been together but you know what? I’m still sleepy and I couldn’t think of ten things so they got separated…deal with it). I cannot watch a movie where an animal is hurt or dare I say it killed. I have never seen Bambi. When my family watched Ol’ Yeller I spent the whole time in the bathroom with my hands over my years going “Lalalalala”. The only way I will even watch an animal movie at all is if someone else watches it first and lets me know it’s okay. God help them if they lie to me because they think it’s funny. I’m on the edge, people. Expose me to animal trauma at your own peril.