Thursday, March 31, 2011

Whatever You Want it To Be

This post is sort of a "choose your own adventure" post, but without the predictable "You fell down a mineshaft. The end!" ending. Unless you *WANT* to fall down a mineshaft, in which case, I'll throw that one in for free. Basically, if you want happy, depressing, and/or random, they're ALL here for your enjoyment. As am I, Readers, as am I...

Part I: The Crappy

I learned yesterday that a dear friend of mine is seriously ill. Because not everyone wants to be on my blog (weird), I'm even going all gender-non-specific on a homie, so don't think I've suddenly forgotten subject-verb agreement because I'd rather stick a hot tack through my eyelid. (Subject-verb agreement is VERY important 'round here.)

Aaaaanyway, you know how you have that friend with whom you can just pick up wherever you left off and it's always fun (and funny) and you admire the hell out of them for about 200 different reasons? This is that friend. I know if anyone can deal with this situation and come out of it holding a trophy and standing on the dead body of illness, it's this person. And yet.

I'm still concerned and upset and really, really **JAZZ HANDS** PISSED OFF at the unfairness of this life. Sorry. I'm entitled to my feelings as you are yours. You get sad and cry in your beer. I'll get pissed off and throw things. Whatever gets you through the day.

I know this person will make it, and I know it'll be hard. For what it's worth, s/he has all the prayers that I can pray, all the candles I can light, all the Santeria bracelets I can wear (no, I don't actually practice Santeria, but I SWEAR Randy Jackson does), all the Nag Champa I can burn, all the meditation I can manage and all the shots of Bacardi I can do. That is to say, whatever I can do to make this trip a little easier or bitch-ass burden a little lighter, I will do. S/he has a friend in me, as I've always had in her/him.

The Funny (or just mildly stupid):

Needing a little bit of the lighter side, I talked to a different friend last night and for whatever reason, the topic of mobility scooters came up. (As it does.)

Me: I don't know, I'm thinking about getting a mobility scooter.
Her: You mean a Hover-round?
Me: HELL. YES. I want a Hover-round!
Her: ...
Me: I'm getting mine CHROMED.
Her: I want rims.
Me: I want spinner rims.
Her: As long as they're 24s.
Me: I'm getting DUBS, true 'dat.
Her: I'm rolling in that Hover-round.
Me: I want tassles on it too.
Her: Hell yeah.
Me: It has to be red.
Her: Definitely.
Me: Tell your The Man that you want a Hover-round.
Her: He'll think I'm retarded.
Me: He already does!
Her: That's true....

Sort of like this:

As you can see, I added spinners and some tassels. Clearly, my basket would be full of trashy fiction novels and a blender full of daiquiri. When you're old, you can carry your blender with you and no one comments. I'm pretty sure that's true. (When I worked in a Rest Home, I took a call one night from emergency dispatch because a resident had called 911. Why? Her dinner tray was late. You can do ANYthing when you're old and it's cool.)

The Random:

Last night, I enjoyed some of my (left over from) Weekend Daiquiri and watched Idol with The Man. The contestants did Elton John songs. I was overcome with the urge to sing along to Tiny Dancer (who isn't?) but The Man wasn't happy with my *brilliant* song styling. Sad face. Nor did he seem interested in me breaking off a little "MOHAIR suit you know I read it in a magaziiiiiine ohhhhhhh" but whatever. WHAT. ever. At least I didn't jump up and throw in my dance moves - although really, that might have turned my performance around.

While I'm not what most people would call a "good singer" - according to Rock Band, I can totally stay on that little glowing line thingy. Sometimes. I told The Man, not for the first time, that I'd rather hear Steven Tyler doing some vintage than ANY of the Idol kids. Seriously. Rock legend and I have to make do with his colorful commentary.

Last night, Steven warned my favoritist favorite that he should make sure he keeps his voice out of the high register for long periods or he'll end up "like me" - and The Man was all "did he mess up his voice" and I was all "go and listen to Dream On and then the later stuff. You tell me."

Then, because I'm all open like a BOOK yo, I revealed that I'd actually argued once that Dream On was sung by a different singer. Like Aerosmith had a singer BEFORE Steven Tyler. I know, the shame, it hurts my soul. I was young and silly and thought that Doritos could never hurt me. I've learned, Friends, I've learned. Doritos ARE dangerous, and Steven Tyler sang Dream On. And I've seen Aerosmith in concert (twice), so I think I've made it up to them.

The End:

Pick your own ending...

*You barely make it under the door, as it almost crushes you! Luckily, you've found the treasure room and you're tripping over diamonds and rubies and blenders full of Daily's Raspberry mix. The end.

*Oops! Trapdoor. You've fallen down the mineshaft and die. The end.

*You drink too much Bacardi and slip on a leggo and hit your head, only to wake up to your cat licking your face. He's hungry. Again. The end.

Comments, questions, do you sing along (badly) just to sing?


eedwards said...

Loved it. I sing all the time, as you may have guessed. My best efforts in a while occurred Sunday afternoon after finding the 1st -- and the really only worthwhile -- Alanis Morrissette album that was in the wrong CD case. All afternoon I was in full-on whine, "my sweater is on backwards and inside out, and you say how-ow-ow-ow ap-propriate!" Red was not amused, and the dawg was scared.

But I must also give props to your use of the Choose Your Own Adventure. Loved those back in the day. I'm thinking that we should write one of those for grown folks. I'm thinking it would be a hit!

Sammo said...

Oh Alanis...forever burned into my mind as a prof of mine ranted about how she *totally* misused the word "ironic" and ruined it for us all. But she's better to sing along to than Elton, or Idol people doing Elton, so I really don't know why your performance wasn't appreciated!

And ADULT Choose Your Owns would be a SMASH hit. Let me know and we can get started! I'm seeing us on Oprah before she retires...

Choose: You stay married and save for retirement in Phoenix.

Choose: You get divorced and sell his prize baseball cards on eBay to finance your Vegas trip.

Oh the potential!