Friday, November 19, 2010

STMLTYOLB - In stunning technicolor!

It's that time of year again...since I've been an unfaithful little worker bee...just hanging out behind the hive, smoking cloves and ignoring everyone with a look of smug self-satisfaction about what a bunch of suckers everyone else is.

There's been a lot going on, most of it sort of unpleasant. Some of it has been nice...some of it has been confusing. But those descriptions are neither here nor there.

I know I've featured a song of theirs before, but I went and saw Muse in concert a month and a half ago, and tey blew my mind away so fucking hard that they are amost all I listen to. Other music sucks in comparison.

So, here we go.

One thing that I've always had a very passionate love/hate relationship with about myself is my imagination. This baby takes me on wild rides that are heavenly, and then when reality hits me, I come crashing down to a dark and bitter place. Most of these mind scenarios involve boys. Because I'm a girl, you see. Before I get caried away, alow me to introduce today's STMILTYOLB (songs to make imaginary love to your old lady by) -


By: Muse

( I can tell by Matt Bellamy's crazed hair and bemused expression that he's probably indulging in a few fevered by fantasies. About light sabers)

Song : Undisclosed Desires

Like I was saying, I almost daily stop what I'm doing and daydream about various boys harboring various secret feelings about me. It helps me pass the time, plus it's fun to stroke my own ego for a little bit.

This song almost always spurs these daydreams on, and here's why. In real life, i heft around a shitload of ugly baggage. I'm a mess, and a sad one at that. When I hear this song, i want somebody to want me so much in spite of all of this, and on top of that, I want them to be heavily burdened by the desire to fix me. To KNOW that I have a lot of ugliness behind these sexy eyeballs, and want to take it all away. Furthermore, to call me out on my bullshit and simultaneously assure me that it's all ok, that I'm special, and that their only goal is to make me better.

It's almost like White Knight Syndrome. The pathetic bit is I am obviously incapable of fixing myself, I've been trying for years, so most of my boy related day dreams have to do with being desired in spite of that AND said boy(s)being the key to making it all better. Sad, right? Just wait, it gets better.

The best part about these wild flights of male fancy is how they play out. It's generally in a park or other public area that for some strange reason NOBODY is around to witness (I think my fantasies take place after most of the world is dead? I don't have an explanation for that), and it all starts out innocently enough, just hanging out, and then whatever male co-star I choose for that day says something that just sets me off, and oh lawdy lawd, the argument that ensues. I almost always end up screaming "Well, what the fuck do you want from me?" and then flip myself around to leave and then BAM! Movie kisses. Is that retarded? Hell yes it is. But I'm big on my daydreams ending in movie kisses. I've never had a movie kiss, and that sort of makes me sad. While i've been a partner in some seriously wicked good kissings, there hasn't been a single one to write home about. my movie kiss always ends the day dream, and with perfect timing to the last drum beat of the song.

I have this daydream soundtrack shit down pat, mother fuckers.

Listen to the song and try your own daydreams in synch with it. It's Milli Vanilli brand awesome.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010


Alright, let's cut to the chase so we can get to the meat of this pumpkin.

Today's STMLTYOLB isn't really technically a sexy, saucy groove. It is all about enduring love and miraculous relationships, though.

Shed a tear and call up your very best pal today to........



The Wind Beneath My Wings

Bette Midler and this song need no introduction. We all know it, we all belt it out whenever we're alone in the car. Because this song is fucking insanely epic.

So let me ask you this. Do you have at least one friend that you would sell your soul to the devil for just to make them smile?

Me, either.

But I DO have a very very very bestest ever in the whole wide world friend that I would do anything for that didn't involve my immortal soul. I have referenced her quite a bunch in my blog entires, because she is one of the most important people in my life.

Close your eyes (I mean, don't REALLY do it, because then you can't keep reading) and let me take you back. Way back. Back into time. Picture it: I was a precocious, curly headed moppet with a strong singing voice and a flashy sense of style....she was a quiet, shy girl that came from a rich family that vacationed in the Hamptons. After I smoked cigarettes under the boardwalk and sang "That's The Glory of Love" to her, we had chocolate shakes and went our separate ways but remained penpals and developed a lasting bond that took us through her beomcing a lawyer, me becoming an off-broadway actress, divorces, childbearing, and then at the end, her death.

Not pictured : Amber, Drea, or reality.

Actually, when I was 14, I saw Amber sitting by herself at the back of the bus we rode home together. I had seen her a few times, never really spoken to her, but for whatever reason, decided it would be a great idea to sidle up to her and say the following: "Hi, my name is Ondrea, and I'm going to come home with you today and we're going to be best friends." She just sort of looked at me and then said, "Okay."
And then we were.

13 years later, she is still my very best friend in the whole wide world. She showed me the movie Beaches about a year into our friendship, and like all vagina bearing friends, we adopted it as our movie. I was Bette Midler, because of the boisterous nature, the singing chops and....well....the hair. She was Barbara Hershey because she was quieter than me, wanted to be a lawyer, and in a huge twist of fate that had nothing to do with humor OR her desire to be the ever lovely Barbara Hershey, she has a bit of a heart condition. I was blown away by the movie, and we have watched it together and cried a few times. Whenever it comes on now, I watch it, bawl my eyes out, and miss my very best friend.

Wherever I am, whatever I'm doing or being preoccupied with, if I hear this song I will listen to it in reverence, get misty, and think of how awesomely lucky I am to have such an amazing best friend that I have been able to grow with, laugh with, and be myself with. I love her and this song in serious fashion.

Hooray, friends! I hope everyone is as blessed as I am!

Monday, August 2, 2010

Songs to make love to your old lady by - the saga continues

So, I'm going to be completely serious for this one. No intentional joking, and it's probably going to be long.

If you're lucky enough to be a person that can dress themselves and speak without drooling, you've probably had a relationship. Which means you also know the crushing agony and torment when someone leaves you. Or, you know the crushing agony and torment of finally coming to terms with the fact that the person you, for no explainable reason that you or your friends can figure out, are so stupid in love with isn't going to change and will never, in fact, love you enough to attempt it.

Is this just me?

Anyway, I have mentioned my daughter's father in here. Chris was the very first person I ever loved after thinking I knew what love was, and I loved him so much it hurt. But not in a good way. Every single thing he did made my heart break, and I spent most of my time huddled up in the shower listening to that classic Annie Lennox song "Why". I only wish I were kidding. I spent a good three years in the shower. But at least I was clean by the time I split.

Chris and I argued frequently, and I would always ask him "Why don't you love me enough to try this?" and that's about the part of the argument where Chris would slam a door in my face and waddle off into his Cave Of Hating His Girlfriend. Between his time in the cave and my time in the shower, it's a wonder our daughter ever saw us together at all.

Anyway, when I finally got up the gumption to leave, it was really hard for me. I tell people all the time...and still do...that at that point I didn't care anymore and walking away was super easy. But the truth of the matter is, it ate me up inside. I wanted him to love me enough to be flexible, and there lies the rub. The ol' Grass is Greener Syndrome. Once I told Chris I was leaving and he figured out I wasn't bullshitting, he begged me to stay. Every day. I saw him cry, I heard him say he loved me, and the second I started to believe it was the second I started to hate his fucking guts with more passion than I had ever loved them with. I absolutely relished in his apparent sorrow, and even took to being insulting and cruel. Because in my girl brain, I felt like he deserved for the tables to be turned. I held secret clap and cackle sessions so I could allow myself time to express in bodily music how overjoyed I was that he finally knew how I had felt for the last three years. Unloved, unwanted, and completely pitiful.

Turns out, M. Night Shyamalan was directing this picture, and a twist of epic proportions came about!

I was dead the whole time, and it made my curator wife REALLY cold.

What really happened was I stopped being delighted and started being angry. Why couldn't this have been Chris when I was with him? Why couldn't he have wanted me when it mattered?

And it wasn't until years after the fact (this year, actually) that I discovered the song that perfectly encapsulated the absolute agony I felt during that dark and depressing time in my life.


Song : Fuck You Lucy

By :

(Slug : Proud Sponsor of Simon Says)

This song is excellent on several different levels. First, the almost excessive use of "fuck". I have such a soft spot for that word, because sometimes it's the only word that works. Also, I don't know about you, but I've always been a little bit disappointed that almost all of the big time 'wah wah my heart is broken' songs have been written and/or performed by women. It's sort of comforting to listen to a guy piss and moan about how much he hates his girlfriend for not needing him. Ok, so it's very comforting. Phil Collins doesn't count, by the way. I did solid research and he does, in fact, have a vagina.

So my scenario was a little bit different. I did the leaving. But the rest of the song still pretty much rings true for that period of my life. I really just wanted to say "Fuck you. I'm not ok. I don't know what to do." The only other glaring difference is...I was the only person that made the mistake of thinking that was love.

If you want to hear someone else as angry and fucked up as you are, take a listen. Sometimes, belting out swear words with someone who's writing your story practically verbatim is the best cure.

*as a sidenote, I don't know why the fuck I wrote this, or what purpose it serves. Giddy times will abound next cycle*

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

STMLTYOLB's not just for kids anymore!!

I am a saucy lady (or minx, if you’re beyond the puddle).

Having this status, it should go without saying that I very much enjoy what shall henceforth be referred to as “putting the moves on the main squeeze”. In turn, I also like when he busts out the sex magnet and sucks me in. You are free to take those two phrases as his wang and going down south, respectively.

But this is about me, as a saucy lady, and what things I enjoy doing.

Strike that.

First, it’s about things I do NOT enjoy.

As a saucy lady, I am not without a high number of sex partners. It’s unfortunate that saucy ladies can be mistaken as common place whores, hookers, sluts, skanks, whatever name you choose for those girls who have a cave for a vagina, and probably lost people in it that are still spelunking unplundered depths to this very day…keeping clear of the various STD stalagmites littering the area. You know who I mean. Floozies. Tarts. Streetwalkers. My best friend’s mother-in-law. I am not one of those ladies. My ladybits are a treasure to behold; they practically sparkle with glory and freshness. As I was saying. Yes, I have slept around with my fair share of men. And probably yours, as well. But I had standards, and I was safe. Now that you have about as much info on my good girl as my gynecologist, I can continue.

A surprising number of men that I have engaged in coitus with operated under a serious misnomer: Women want to be wooed and charmed and made to feel like this isn’t a cheap one night stand. WRONG. If a woman goes home with you after you’ve been doing the ritual bar sexy flirtation dance, you are in for a fast drive to Mack Town. There is no need for wine, or sweet nothings, or atmospheric music….just some sweet, sweet nape kissing and a deft hand. A sweet apartment doesn’t hurt your cause, either….because I’ve been to a few squalid hellholes where the festering germs unite to tell me to get the fuck out while I’m parasite free. To sum up: no wooing, no charms (obviously they were laid on thick enough in the beginning of the evening…This is not a Mr. America pageant.) AND NO MUSIC.

I cannot tell you how many times a guy has been wearing his smug knows he’s about to get laid face, asking me what kind of music “does it for me”. Silence. That kind of music does it for me. Listening to music when I’m supposed to be listening to your throaty songs of passion kills the mood that we painstakingly created earlier. It doesn’t make me feel giddy inside, it makes me want to be sick all over your over-eager beaver smile.

That being said, however, there have been a few instances where I’ve needed the sultry sounds of something other than my pre-coital purring to keep those embers blazing. And I have ONE SONG. One.

Touch yourself today to……..



(as a small sidenote, I believe this is one of the most homosexual photos ever taken)

Song in question : Come Undone.

This song is a fucking masterpiece. And I mean that with double emphasis. This song is a fucking masterpiece and this song is a fucking masterpiece. Oh snap, I'm a genius! Anyway. Aside from the fact that for the longest time, I thought the girl singing as an accompaniment was saying "cannot believe you're taking my heart to Egypt", this song has always raised my libido about ten notches... Putting me somewhere between Christian Slater and Wilt Chamberlin. There's something about the way the song opens that just lays me out beyond belief. I remember once getting all gussied up while the main squeeze was in the shower, setting candles around the bedroom, and putting this song on, lounging on the bed in some very saucy lingerie. Needless to say, good times were had by all. It's actually one of my favorite sexy memories of me and the main squeeze. Anytime I think about it, it gives me butterflies in a way that makes me feel like a pervert over butterflies. I have a sexy song playlist (available to anyone that's interested in a sexy playlist to try out for themselves!), and it's the first song on there.


I'm getting myself into trouble with the butterflies.

If you haven't heard this song (where the fuck have you been?), take a listen and then go hump. It'll be the best time you have. EVER.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Songs to make love to your old lady by - Featuring THE MAIN SQUEEZE!

So, a week ago, the main squeeze asked if he could do a STMLTYOLB post. And I was delighted. I will return next week!

Sweet, gentle reader!

I would say this is a pleasant surprise, but chances are, you've been here before. Mayhap it is a pleasant surprise to you, that you get to meet me, the Main Squeeze, or maybe you're already prepared to send increasingly disturbing and possibly pornographic threats in the form of comments on the bottom of the page. Either way, I hope you're ready to be transported back to a magical land when you were nineteen years old and only somewhat wondering if you've already developed the sort of alcoholism that either makes you an excellent poet or homeless. That is, my intrepid blog surfing companion, the reason why I've chosen to write about Bayside's song "Masterpiece" for today's Songs to Make Love to Your Old Lady By. Because it's the song that would TOTALLY be your life anthem if you were 19 and interested in sobriety only when you were wasted.

(this guy has no interest in anything but YOUR sobriety, because that means you have more money to feed his habit)

Most of us have been there before, but let me set the stage for you... You wake up at 6:30 in the morning, still drunk, laid out under a ping pong table with someone else's shoes on, a 40oz of malt liquor duct taped to one hand, the imprint of your cell phone's keypad pressed into your cheek from when you fell asleep drunk dialing, a full body soreness that just cannot be explained, and crude drawings of penii all over your forehead. It's usually right about this time, or maybe slightly later when you're trying to scrub marker off your face with the "cleanest" dish rag in the kitchen, that you decide to swear off of alcohol entirely. You're sick of waking up and feeling like crap. You hate that your friends would mess with you because you have the alcohol tolerance of a small child. It's time to grow up. You're 19 for pete's sake! And as you stumble out to the bus stop you put Bayside on your discman and sing it in your head as if you wrote it yourself.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I've just jumped headfirst into the pensive of your brain and splashed all your memory fluids onto the internet for everyone to read.

(exactly like this, only with more internet porn pop ups)

You might be feeling vulnerable and alone, but take heart, we're all here with you. You see, most people go through a phase like this in their lives. It's not always with substances that can be easily abused, but think of it as the time in your life where you figure out your limits. For instance, I happen to know that I can listen to 2.176 Dave Matthews Band songs per gallon of rubbing alcohol ingested. The point is that music and drinking fit together perfectly. So when you get the idea that drinking heavily might not be a good thing, it is quite ironic that the idea seems to have more conviction when you're completely smashed.

In a strangely complimentary way, this song reminds me of the period of time just before and at the very beginning of my relationship with my sweetums. It was a snapshot of exactly how I was feeling about my life. I felt like I should have known better than to equate being surrounded by people as not being lonely, or to equate being hammered as not being depressed. Okay so I wasn't 19 at the time... still, it makes me both sad and happy when I hear it occasionally. I remember the crushing feeling of wanting to change but not letting myself, and now that we've been together for almost 5 years now, I can see that changing isn't as hard as all that. Sometimes it just happens. Other times you have to wake up with a crudely drawn dick on your cheek. Either way, you can still sing this song like you wrote it.

And that, you cuddly ball of internet savvy, is why you can make love to your old lady to Bayside's "Masterpiece". Just remember to bring your journal, and have your big brother or sister get you some Steel Reserve so that you can immerse yourself nipples deep in the lukewarm waters of memory. Goodbye, new friends of mine!

Main "Once flexed His Biceps so Hard That YOU Popped a Blood Vessel" Squeeze

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Songs to make love to your old lady by

Sorry this is late, folks! I've been having some issues at home (I'm pretending you're interested in why this is less than punctual). Here's what you've been waiting for!

Very often I find myself staring at the people I see during the normal course of my day. I’m not staring at them with lust, I stare at these people and just contemplate everything about them. Would we be friends? Do they like to sing when they’re alone? Do they pick their nose and wipe it under their chairs? Silly shit like that.

Mostly, though, I wonder how like me they are. I know in the grand scheme of things, we are pretty much the same. But there are times when I Watch the people that pass in front of my office, or the people in line in front of me at the grocery store, or at the bank, or wherever I am and think about how sad and tired they look. I think that they can’t possibly have happy memories or anything in their life that brings them joy, because they just look…well, GREY. Like their lives have drained them of every single pleasant color and they are all automatons swarming together to keep the collective going. Right now, I’m wondering if that was some sort of awesome nerd reference that I have no idea about.

I get tired, too. And I feel drained most of the time. Between all of my recent issues, and my break up, and my job and my bills and everything else, I think I probably look pretty grey to everyone else. I barely smile when I’m in public by myself (though I do think that’s more for appearances sake than lack of anything to smile about; I look at people who are by themselves who smile for a little bit of time and I think to myself “That person is clearly losing their motivation to stay in touch with reality”), and I am always hurrying. Today, this seemed like perfect fodder for STMLTYOLB Wednesday, and here’s why.

I have so much joy it’s unbelievable. For anyone to picture me as anything but a radiant mix of delightful color splashes makes me so very sad. I keep every single happy piece of my life tucked away for rainy days when I need a huge pick me up, and boy do my memories deliver. In the hopes of restoring some of YOUR color (perhaps you are having a very grey day), here is today’s pick.



Featuring :

Song : Beating Hearts Baby
Oh my gosh, you guys. This song sticks to me like an obnoxious piece of pre-chewed gum on the bottom of my shoe. But in a good way. I have so many memories attached to this song, and not one of them is depressing or disappointing. Here is my favorite.

The first time the main squeeze came to stay with me for an extended period of time, I lived in Boca Raton in a very large apartment that was heinously overpriced (but I was recruiting for the DoD at that time, and money wasn’t something I needed to give a fuck about) and did I mention it was incredibly large? The balcony alone was about as big as my apartment now. Not that you can use that as any kind of valid measuring stick….moving on.

My roommate’s girlfriend was out of town, leaving just the main squeeze, the other roomie and myself. As the main squeeze and I were stuck together like aforementioned shoe and gum, I can only imagine that John (the other roommate) was uncomfortable and therefore, the main squeeze and I found ourselves alone pretty much constantly.

On one night in particular, being the fantastic cook I am, I decided that I wanted to make the main squeeze my seriously fucking bad ass manicotti (Yes. I’m Italian…knowing how to make manicotti is practically inherent. But mine is seriously better than everyone else’s) and just relax and have a good time with him. He had made me a CD that I had yet to listen to, so I decided an evening of cooking in my radical kitchen was as good a time as any to take an aural gander. The first 4 songs were pretty decent, and we were bopping along, the main squeeze was singing (he has a tremendous singing voice but he rarely uses it if he knows you’re listening. And by you I mean me) and then, on comes song five. Beating Hearts Baby. And I was so fucking tickled by it that I put it on repeat, knew it by heart in the span of ten minutes, and the main squeeze and I spent the rest of the night listening to that song, cooking, eating, dancing, and singing before exhausting ourselves to my room and going to bed, completely spent and divinely happy. Are there better memories than that? Of course! But for whatever reason, that is one of my prized possessions in my memory bank.

This song is completely the stuff that good times are made of. It’s infectious and toe-tap worthy and upbeat and wonderful. I hope that this can be another song that you listen to and attach a new memory to it…one that will make you glow on days when the grey seems unstoppable.

*As a sidenote, I believe I’ve mentioned that my fiancĂ© and I have been together for four years. It will be five years this November. Over the last five years, he’s made a very consistent “joke” about why he’s stayed with me so long. It has never offended me, and I hope that it’s partially true. The joke is “I came because she was hot, I stayed for the manicotti”. Neither of us were the relationship type, we were both reckless whores that slept with almost everyone we came into contact with. So, there you have it. My manicotti is so fucking good, I can keep the main squeeze attracted for life. You can’t have the recipe. Well….unless your relationship is in jeopardy. Then you can have it and take all the credit for it. Claim it as “so and so’s manicotti” and you will have a happy, bloated life partner that is too stuffed to think of anything else but your divine cooking hands. You’re welcome!!

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Songs to make love to your old lady by

Holy shit, guys.

If you’ve read even two of my blog entries where I talk at length, you probably already know that I have a huge crush on myself.

You will have also figured out that I have a serious problem with the way I view myself. In short, you realize that I am a hot mess of overblown ego and insecurities, and they tend to cancel each other out and leave me in this emotional limbo that encases me very much like a placenta. It’s ugly and sometimes it pulses.

Anyway, because of this, no matter how fucked up someone is to me in a relationship that causes it to end, I usually end up blaming it on myself even if I’M the one who left. The flip side to this coin was how I would also wind up telling myself that I may have a shitload of problems, but how could people not want this jelly? I find it impossible to believe that people don’t hover around me constantly, sniffing in the glorious scent of me and wishing they could sleep next to it even though they know what a fucking chore it will be to have me in their lives in a sexual/romantic capacity.

I know. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so pathetic.

I am about to bring out the big guns here for today’s Song To Make Love To Your Old Lady By. And when I say big guns, I do mean wimpy, suck ass little British water guns that long stopped working and everyone just laughs at them because they’re lame.

Today’s prodigal son is……….


Featuring : This pasty white guy

(he's singing DIRECTLY to my vagina's sense of self-worth)

Song : Invisible Touch

Christ Almighty. I know, it’s seriously fucking lame, but let me explain myself here.

Fine. There is no explanation.

When I hear this song, I want someone to think of me when they hear it, even if this is someone that I don’t want in the least. I’m sort of aware that I’m a mess, and I really want people to want me in spite of that. Or because of it. Or both, I’m not sure. I have deluded myself into believing I really AM the girl in Invisible Touch, because I’m probably really lonely inside.
I guess if you’re anything like me and also have a sick affinity for really lame songs from the eighties, this is a great song to listen to and harbor fantasies of random, hot men that want you even though you fuck up everything you touch. Thank you, Genesis, for defining me!!! You have no idea how much you’ve helped me out.