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.