Thursday, June 28, 2007

friends, our love is so right!

Oh sweet Jesus, my legs/shins are sorer than a hooker's ass during the full moon at Fort Mac on payday. You see, I was all cocky after my big old night of exercise, so then yesterday, when my meeting ended early, I stopped by the U of R to see some friends, found sweet bugger all for people, so I just went back to the Y, worked my ass off again, and hit the highway. OH, and somebody stole my bodywash right in front of me, so if you are reading this, deadbeat, well, I hope it gives you hives. And I pissed in the bottle. And I have leprosy germs all over my hands. Enjoy! Anyway, sidetrack - So tonight, at 10:26 p.m. to be exact, I jumped off the couch, changed clothes, and went for a jog on the riverbank. I haven't run outside since Phyllis Diller was still menstruating, but I kept thinking how hard can it be since I do my bike and treadmill and whatever... well, it was about as hard as Aaron Neville's cigar-burn mole on his head, lemme tell you. I only jogged maybe 15 minutes, maybe not even, but it was so hard because of the shock on my shins. I've always had shin problems.... fuck! It hurts! But, I'll do some research on the type of shoe to buy and keep trying. I have no idea why I am so motivated, but I've lost 11 lbs and feel so much fucking better. I'm back, baby! But we are leaving for the lake tomorrow for the weekend, which is always a huge breakfast/bacon fest every morning, and i can't resist that good shit, and as I said, since there is no tv, I just want to eat every second of the day, so I am worried. And there is a family reunion there, but I want nothing to do with beer and wine, so I am going to pick up some vodka and treat myself to a vodka and diet coke if I am good.

Anyway, I got over the whole sad from being away from home thing, thanks for the nice thoughts. And Devo commented that she wanted to see pics of Regina. LOL, well, you'd think it was ugly... but it's not. It's always had a horrible rep, but once you get to know it, it's great. It's not too big, only like 200,000 people, the roads are constructed such that you can get wherever the hell you need to in 10 minutes or less, shopping is awesome, and, God help me for saying this, but I love the flatness. Yes, me, Mr. Mountain Man, is equally attracted to the flatness of the open prairie down there. I love that from my hotel on the 24th floor, I saw the entire city, literally, and out in the country for miles in all directions. It's pretty breathtaking. I can't explain it, but I feel some sort of connection with that land. Am I getting all Sylvia Browne? LOL, anyway, I can't explain it, but it feels like home, instinctively, just as much as the lower mainland does for me and the mountains. It's weird. I should write about about landscape connections.

Oy, I am rambling. It must be the pain. Fucking stupid ass shins, that are probably broken or something. I'm such a gluehead. Anyway, it was funny because as I start running, Patti Smith's "People Have the Power" came on my mp3 player, followed by "Runner" by Manfred Mann, so it was motivation to hear those.

I am not working tomorrow, in hopes we'll make it to the lake by early afternoon. Rachel works until noon so I was going to do errands. Will I look like a child welfare case if I leave the kids in the car as I go buy my bottle of vodka? Hmmm, that won't look good.

I wonder if I have a throat infection. Long story short, something is rotten in the state of Denmark, me thinks.

Oh, what else.... On the 3.5 hour drive from Regina yesterday, I listened to Dave Matthew's Everyday, a cd I fucking love, you could almost say a favorite, and just rocked the shit out of my van. The song "So Right" just puts me in an awesome, euphoric mood every time I listen to it, the way he just repeats so insistently "our love is so right!" Damn, I wish I would have written that album. You know, Chunks, you'd love that album if you gave it a shot, really you would, trust me. He always used to annoy me until this one, which I bought for "I Did It", and I just fell in love with it. Ah well, what the hell do any of you care about what I listen to. LOL, on the drive down, I was listening to a Fleetwood Mac compilation I made, mostly of TUSK songs, since I now think that album is fucking GENIUS, 29 years later - took that long to get the whole thing and now, whammo! - and songs from before Stevie and Lindsey were in the band, and I had some sort of revelation about some song and thought I would post it, and then I said to myself "AND who will give a motherfucking rat's ass, dickhead?" Well, not that exactly, I just feel like cussing. You ever feel like that?

Anyhow, Margo, go into my facebook friends and see Clara, if she didn't add you yet - she looks hot. I couldn't figure out who she was at first. Did I tell you she called me a couple years ago? It was so frigging weird to hear from her... I forgot about that.
Well, I better get to bed since it's so damn late. Child #1 picks up her report card tomorrow and then it's done for the year. Time flies.......
Have a good long weekend, peeps. I'll be holding you close in my heart as you celebrate with your loved ones.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

too boring for a title

Just a quickie - It is 11 o'clock and I should be in bed. I am in Regina tonight, for a meeting tomorrow morning for that committee I am on. It's sort of approaching my busy time at work, so I feel torn being here, but whatever. I really felt bad about going because my kids are missing me. Yes, I know, it is one night, but the oldest two shed tears, and I just got a call from Kelly, crying, because she misses me and can't sleep. I feel so bad. I got here at about 6:30, and missed the turn-off to the hotel because I was daydreaming, so then I just went to Old Navy, spent a pile of money I don't have and bought myself some 1/2 price gitch and t-shirts, a pair of 1/2 price shorts and a shirt, and dresses for the girls. Then I went to Subway and sat by myself as I at my sub and then I hauled my ass over to the Y and ran on the treadmill for 1/2 an hour, and then tried an elliptical machine, and then on my way to the shower I discovered a steam room so I went and sweated out a couple pounds of toxins, and left feeling rejuvenated and proud that I didn't do my usual "stuck in a hotel" pattern and order a pizza and stuff my face. So then I went to Chapters and then didn't get here until 10. There was grad going on down on the second floor and they all looked so nice and classes and it was so fancy to have it in a ballroom, rather than some shitty-ass crepe papered gym or whatever. They were paying "Girls Just Want to Have FUn" and then "Sunrise" by Simply Red, and I wanted to go in and join the party. ANyway, they put me in a deluxe room on the 24th floor and I have an awesome view, but I miss the kids and can't relax.
Anyway, life has been ultra busy lately, thus no blogging. I haven't been really facebooking like Roxanne thinks, because I don't know, it pisses me off. I want to see profiles without adding the people as friends, because the people i want to know about, I don't consider friends... lol, you know what I mean. So it's frustrating.
I owe apologies to Devo and KB. I haven't commented forever. I swear I will this week. Bare with me. Life just got crazy. And I have fuck all to say tonight. But I just wanted to say hey while I sit here in my room wishing I was home. And don't get me wrong - I love Regina. If I had to move anywhere, I'd pick Regina. I love the city and feel at home here and think it's really beautiful. But, alas, when I know my babies are crying for me 3 1/2 hours north, well, it's a buzz kill.
Anyway, I will leave you with this boring post so I can go floss my teeth before I go completely mental with whatever is stuck between my molars.
Have a good day y'all - I'll be more peppy when I get back home!
Remember, who's yo' daddy? JT.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

My Friend Sadie (and unlike something by James Frey, it's all true!)

Well, it's either the blog or trying to figure out facebook and doing a profile, and I think the blog wins out, simply because i have been away from this for 2 weeks or so. Yeah, I know, I know, but life just gets so busy. I can't remember a frigging thing that's been happening in the past two weeks - I know we took two days off last week to spring clean the basement, the garage, planted the next door neighbor's entire back yard for our garden, and then planted our own garden too, had a sick baby with hand, foot, and mouth disease, but she wasn't that sick, been dieting for about 2 weeks and started riding my bike to work in the afternoons, and before bed, blew the diet horribly yesterday and today, went to the lake, came back tonight, pouring rain for hours without any let up.... hmmmm, that's it in a nutshell. So that's what I've been doing. Alas, I don't feel funny or amusing or have anything to say, but when I don't post, I feel stressed. And, I haven't been keeping up with reading my blogs the past couple weeks, so I feel panicked about that. I'm retarded. I did take my laptop to the lake, thinking I would write something that I could save and post later, but didn't happen. So anyway, what I *am* going to tell you about tonight is a story that I think is neat, but you may not. But it's my blog, so goonie-goo-goo bitch.

Anyway, this is all about my friend Sadie. Let me back up a bit. I was one of those precocious kids. A precocious child of the 70s. I make no bones about it. One of those kids you'd like to slap with a dead fish. Remember that mouthy girl from the Neil Simon movie "The GoodBye Girl", starring Marsha Mason, that grumpy fucker from Mr. Holland's Opus, and that precocious little girl? Well, I was just like that annoying kid. In fact, I was probably the only 10 year old who was into Neil Simon movies. And I was, believe you me.... but in any event, what made me so precocious was the fact that I was the youngest child, having sisters who were 12 years, 10 years, and 7 years older than me, and older parents who I was forced to go around and visit their friends with, all of whom were older and had no kids my age. What's a boy to do when stuck with old adults, and older siblings, discussing older things? Well, you get sucked into that vortex, end up knowing more than you should know about many things, and turning kind of odd, where you don't exactly mix well with other kids your age because you are on a slightly different plane than them. This precociousness was also compounded because I was such a voracious reader. My entire family was comprised of readers, and while nobody was reading War and Peace, we all always had books on the go. The librarian in the children's and young adult section of our town library knew me by name (You were the best, Mrs. Watson!), and it was nothing for me to haul my bookish ass to the library after school - I still can't believe my parents let me haul ass all over town like that as a 10 year old.
Anyway, this is sort of a tangent. But I am setting you up by telling you what kind of kid I was. I didn't like reading the usual bullshit. I liked my young adult fiction, even before I was a young adult. You remember how we all read Judy Blume because she was so realistic, and also a tad... well, not racy, know what i mean - It was through her that I first learned what a wet dream was, and that in the olden days, women used some sort of freaky-ass belt to hold pads in place. Stuff we all need to know! So of course Judy was my favorite - I still remember the first time I read Blubber and how I laughed so hard my parents had to come check on me in bed. But I soon garnered another favorite. I remember reading "Tomboy" by Norma Klein, which was supposed to be "Judy Blume-ish", and indeed, it sort of was. I soon started swallowing up all of Norma Klein's stuff - she wrote for the pre-teen set, all the way to the adult market. But she was best known, and most successful, with the young adult market. She was often referred to as the "Thinking child's Judy Blume" and that sort of was true. Her YA characters were smart - frighteningly smart. Most always, they were New Yorkers, with artsy, leftish, academic families, and they most always went to good schools, and were of course horribly bookish and would have sex, mostly without consequence, and lived very adult lives. I ate it up like candy. They really were the thinking child's Judy Blume. She touched on topics such as teen sexuality, adultery, homosexuality, abortion, mental illness.... you name it. And it was all so.... grown up and New York. You see, even as a child, I was obsessed with New York. Blame it on Seasame Street. Blame it on Arnold and Willis. Blame it on the GoodBye Girl and Neil Simon, and later, as a teenager, Woody Allen. But I loved New York and felt like I was a native New Yorker who was temporarily transplanted to British Columbia and later Saskatchewan, and that I would find my way back home soon to my city. Of course, it was an illusion, this Big Apple of my dreams, the sprawling apartment like the Dakota, littered with books and fireplaces and space, the walks through the park in autumn, as the leaves blew and clouds rolled in, the runs to the museums and bookstores and jazz clubs in the village, and the plays and the bagels and the movies from the 1940s that I would go to , and the walking through the park and renting the boats with my Black girlfriend who was identical to Lisa Bonet and who lived in a big old brownstone, and the stopping at the newsstand each evening for magazines and papers, and the flat pizza, and the hailing of cabs, and the concerts at Lincoln Center. Yes, it was a glorified illusion, this city of my dreams. There was no heat or dirt or one room studios or crazies or litter or rats or roaches or ignorant people or whatever. My NYC was a Woody Allen NYC. And a Norma Klein NYC. Because, really, that's what it was modelled after.
So, after this long ramble, let me summarize. My favorite author, since I was a child, was Norma Klein. I owned almost all of her books, and there are a lot of them, and I reread them all the time. Into adulthood, she remained my favorite. So... what.... is what you are saying. Be patient.

Anyway, I ended up going to university, and after switching majors (knowing that I could never pass the science classes to get me into Medicine, which is where I really should have been had I not been a fuck up in high school), where I went in with visions of a career in psychology and counselling and came out with an English Major in my second year, much to my own panic. English was an obsession, and of course at that point of my life, I was being forced to read all the biggies of the literary canon - I had to take classes in all the eras, from Middle English, Shakespeare, 17th century, 18th century, theory, you name it. But, since I was such an odd duck with me precociousness, I developed this huge interest in Feminist literary theory and ended up in a feminist theory class. Thank sweet Jesus for my professor, who was the most amazing woman - we have the same literary interests: modernism, trauma theory, shame theory, feminism, literature and medicine.... just so many of the same interests. And we both love life writing. And so she let us do a couple life writing assignments for our class, one being the topic that brought me to Sadie: "Write the life of your favorite female author". I immediately almost soiled myself, because where else in that stuffy academy could you actually write on Norma Klein? Well, here was my chance, and I took it. SO, I wrote this huge biography on Norma Klein, and why her work is important to Feminist literature.
But I had some nagging questions - I knew my dear Norma died in 1989, but I didn't know why. And I had a few other questions I needed clarification on.
I need to interject here that at this point of my life, for about 6 months, I was living with not my beloved Rachel, but my old friend "Ruby". Rachel was student teaching in this godforsaken town that winter, and Ruby needed a place to live that winter since she was just moving to my city, so voila, instant roomate. Now Ruby had the wanderlust like me about NYC, and one night, after a couple pots of tea and numerous menthol cigarettes, she was like "why don't you just call Norma's husband and ask these questions for your paper?" and the dare was right there in front of me.
So, I called information, found the number easily, and called. I asked if I could send a questionaire, her husband said sure, and that was that. A few weeks later, I received a list of answers from what I asked: Norma died from an overdose of pills - she had been ill with depression much of her life - and other answers. I sent a thank you and that was that.
Fast forward a few weeks. I had come down with the chicken pox (a story in it's own right, remind me to tell you someday, as the doctor tried to imply I had syphilis). It was a horrible time, being 25 with chicken pox, and the worst case my doctor said he had seen, and my only outing was to venture downstairs when the coast was clear, to pick up the mail.
Well, one Monday, in May 1995, I received this package from NYC, from Sadie F. Klein. The package contained a book and a letter. The letter said something like "My son in law told me you were interested in my daughter's work, which pleases me greatly. Here is a book of hers I didn't know existed. I'll write more later." And thus began a great friendship in letters.
Sadie was, I believe, almost 89 years old at the time. In a nutshell, Sadie was married to a Freudian analyst, who saw patients in their huge apartment. She really came into her own after his death, travelling to China in her 70s, earning a degree in literature around this time, playing tennis into her 80s, visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art each week faithfully, living in the same apartment since 1939, being great friends with such a wide array of people, from authors to the newspaper man. And suddenly, we were friends. We wrote monthly, and I became aquainted with her family through her letters - Norma's daughters Jennifer Fleissner and Katie Fleissner, as well as some other friends that she regularly corresponded with. She would send me the latest catalogues from the Met, and well as copies of the Village Voice, etc. She always wanted me to visit, but at that point of my life, it wasn't possible.
Sadie and I corresponded for years, and she would send me copies of Norma's books, and I was always so intrigued at how active she was in her 90s.
Life sort of got in the way of our correspondance - children, work ,etc. I wasn't as faithful as a writer as I should have been. And then I had two letters sent back. And I assumed the worst. And I never wrote again, panicked and not wanting to deal with the loss of my friend.
Flash forward to Friday. I googled something regarding literary criticism on a story I was reading (old habits die hard) and found, right in front of my eyes, a book written by Norma's daughter, who is a professor of English at UCLA. So then I decided to google her to see what else she wrote, and it brought up her father's obituary - he apparently died a month ago. And the obit said he was survived by Sadie. Sadie will be 101 now. SO she is still with us. And i am so excited by this, even though I haven't heard from her in 5 years or so. And I am going to write her tomorrow night.
It was actually through Sadie that I ended up getting email from Judy Blume (let me tell you about that sometime, remind me - Judy loves Sadie). Sadie is the coolest woman in the world. Heart of gold. And it's just the coolest thing that we were friends that long ,and she seemed to understand my hunger for NYC and that yearning. I guess I satisfied a need for her, to discuss her deceased daughter and her work and her life, but it went much more than that - a friendship that transcended all of that. So here's to you, my dear Sadie. I love you dear friend. Long may you run.
And you all have a great week.

Monday, June 04, 2007

An Analysis of the ins and outs of Oprah's bedroom

Ah, it is what it is, and it is late.... I am pooped out, but not in the mood for going to bed. Does that make any bit of sense? Anyway, I need to apologize to Devo, for it's been so busy I haven't read her thoroughly, and now I am so behind. The weird thing is that her meme and my meme had a couple answers so close together - we both don't get physics (but in actuality, it must be some weird physics thing in itself that we both commented this at the same time - some law of ignorance in close proximity or something. Also, I had typed that I don't like backseat parents but then erased it lest I sound like Fred MacMurray or something. And then whammo, Devo's got the same thing. Cool, baby. Strange but not a stranger, as the Talking Heads sang.
Anyway, I apologize for the lack of comments. Mea Culpa.
So why don't I understand physics? I don't rightly know. But the other day, for example, I was in the Tim's drive thru and noticed this metal poll next to the window, to stop cars from crashing in wall or some damn thing. So I thought it was a good idea and then my mind went to "what is it made out of, and since matter cannot be created or destroyed (or so I think that's the truth, maybe I am confused), how did they get matter to form these chemicals to make the concrete or rubber or whatver the post was made of? And why haven't we run out of matter yet? That must mean that we only have so much we can deal with, and the possibilities aren't endless because we can't create matter. So that just confuses me.

On a sad note, my second oldest and dearest friend in the world (remember, my oldest friend in the world is a crack whore now or something), Margo, lost her precious Meathead this weekend. You know, there is nothing one can say in these things. Having gone through it, I know there isn't all that much to say, but I send her a big virtual hug. I remember when she bought that big old piece of fur - he was one in a million, and that's the only way to describe him. He was jealous of me and would hump me non-stop. Well, either that, or I resemble some hot bitch with an ass full of Alpo. In any case, the only way to stop him from riding me was to give him some kleenex to eat. He was just such a big oaf of a dog, and him and Margo were so cute together. He was there with her through the thick and the thin, through the lean years where Margo was single, and then he was accepted by Rochelle. He was just what she needed when she was single and I am so glad that she has Rochelle now. It's not easy accepting someone's dog, but she did. Rochelle, you are the best - you are comforting my Margs and I am so thankful she has you. You really have made her happier and for the first time since I've known her, content. And helping her through this time really shows just how lucky Margo is. So here's to you, Rochelle Robinson. Jesus loves you more than you will know.
Ok, what the hell else.... I realize this isn't all that interesting. Oh, a shout out to Jenny from the block, who delurked. If you are the Jenny with braces, I too used to lurk and read you, but I don't think I can find you now. Welcome.
Hey, I had a revelation the other day, thanks to Joni. She was 36 years ahead of her time. I was listening to Sarah McLaclan's remake of Blue, which I don't mind, except for the part where they multi-track her vocals, which is distracting. Anyway, as I was singing the lyrics, I realized how apt they are for these people who feel the need to get tattoos left and right. For those who don't know Blue, the song begins "Blue/Songs are tattoos/You know I've been to sea before/crown and anchor me/oh let me sail away.... and THEN, later on the lyrics " on a pin/underneath the skin/an empty space to fill in" and it was an aha moment. I felt like Oprah, sitting in my robe with no make up, whilst Gail was relaxing my hair. I just thought how those lines sum up all these people who get these tattoos and try to be all spiritual with their yin/yang shit and chinese letters and stuff and really, they just got the picture out of the Enquirer or something. But they are needing something and missing something and so they do this to themselves.. an empty space to fill in. Sadly, they'll realize that piercings and tattoos do not make the man/woman. No sireee bob..... it will just leave ugly, tacky, cheap-ass bullshit staining their body. Joan saw the truth in this in 1971. Rock on, Joni baby.
Oh piss willie, this is a boring post. I just don't feel funny today. Or interesting. But I do have this urgent need to listen to Blue. Speaking of Oprah, you ever pictured her and Stedman doing it? Come on CHunks, I know you have. She'd be all "mmm hhmmm, you think you will be putting that in my va-jay-jay?" and he'll be cringing that she said such a stupid thing, but since it's Oprah, he'd have to play along and be all "Yes, let me set down my briefcase and then I'll approach your "va-jay-jay" with aplomb." And then Dr. Oz will pop out of nowhere in a pair a scrubs saying "c'mon Stedman, her va-jay-jay is the most elastic organ in her body, because it's comprised of a million muscles and nerves, and it's so flexible, and self cleaning like an oven, and I recommend a zinc lozenge and some vitamin D to protect your virility. Look at that va-jay-jay! Look at that member under your suit - the body is a miraculous wonderland!" And then Bob Greene will poke his head in the window saying "if you pump her at a velocity of 45 thrusts for the first minute, and then only 30 thrusts the second minute, and do 4 reps of these (as long as your heart rate is reaching it's maximum rate, you can have an extra creme brule when you are done." Then Vernon will show up and say "Stedman... you need a trim anywhere first? You know how particular she is about nappiness anywhere on your body." Rosie the chef will saunter in saying "Oprah made me rich with that lame cook book - hell, I'll sleep with whoever y'all want, if that gets your freak on." Gail will be on the phone saying "girl, you are getting you some... I want to get me some... help Stella get her groove back, ok sug?" Then all those serious looking white producer ladies who work for her who look like they haven't 35'd, let along 69'd in their lives, would be all "ok, good, good, she's doing it. Let's go wait in our offices until she's done." Maya Angelou will throw on a handsome new kerchief and dashiki and write a poem that goes something like "on the mountain, we rise/rise like the stallion/ the queen is riding the stallion to freedom in the African sunset! FREEDOM!" Toni Morrision would weigh in with a short story about a ghost wanting to do it like celebrity, and then 48 pages following that you won't understand but will feel too dumb to admit it. Josh Grobin will be at the bedside, hiding behind his curls, singing some songs in Latin to get her purring like a kitten. Oh course, her best friend John Travolta will fly in for the event, saying "I've never actually slept with a woman, but I would with you if you were a Scientologist." And then Julia Roberts would pop by and make some risotto for after the loving.
And that, my friends, is the sex life of steadman and oprah, the ron jeremy and traci lords of the talk show circuit. DOn't even get me started on Connie Chung and Maury......
Have a good Tuesday, you sexy creatures you!

Saturday, June 02, 2007

that meme thingy

Three Things MeMe...

Three Things That Scare Me:
1. Phone calls in the middle of the night
2. wasps
3. pandemics

Three People Who Make Me Laugh:
1. Rachel
2. Margo
3. Sharon

Three Things I Love:
1. rainy fall nights
2. reading a good book, preferably Augusten, Sedaris, or Helen Fielding, or Rosemary's Baby - I love a good reread - it's comfort food for the soul.
3. getting hugs from my girls

Three Things I Hate:
1. Mustard
2. chafing (it's been a hot week)
3. panic attacks

Three Things I Don't Understand:
1. Physics (I'll explain in the next post)
2. People who never put their children first
3. What a butt plug is for

Three Things On My Desk:
I am sitting at the table, so:
1.) glass of wine
2.) vase of 26 roses
3.) a towel full of sand

Three Things I’m Doing Right Now:
1. listening to HGTV wishing I had the energy to find the remote
2. burping
3. debating the merits of choosing chips over a banana

Three Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1.) Own a beachfront house in Malibu and another one on Martha's Vineyard and an apartment in the Dakota and might as well throw a light house in there as well, as that was once a dream too.
2. publish a book of essays
3. Ensure my children live happy lives

Three Things I Can Do:
1. I can be sorta amusing when I am motivated to write
2. make the best borsht in the world
3. I'm pretty fucking good at laundry

Three Things I Can’t Do:
1. Sing
2. hammer a nail
3. control the world

Three Things I Think You Should Listen To:
1. Joni Mitchell's Hegira
2. Hole's Celebrity Skin
3. Rosanne Cash

Three Things You Should Never Listen To:
1. McLean's Magazine
2. Huey Lewis
3. Anyone with a pissing Calvin on the back of their truck.

Three Things I’d Like To Learn:
1. How to build a house
2. Piano
3. To not be afraid - this was Chunks' answer, but it's good.

Three Favorite Foods:
1. turkey
2. spaghetti with meat sauce
3. Chinese food or Japanese food

Three Shows I Watched As A Kid:
1. One Day at a time
2. Facts of Life
3. Dallas

Three Things I Regret:
1. All the opportunites I passed up because of fear
2. Not applying myself in high school
3. Buying a Joan River's album in grade 8, buying a Juice Newton album in grade 9, buying a Sigue Sigue Sputnik tape in grade 10, buying a Jennifer Rush tape in grade 11, buying the Dirty Dancing soundtrack in grade 12, buying a Deelite tape when I was already an adult - also, I regret stealing a Dolly Parton 45 from the Whore while drunk, so I could give it to a crush - I shoved it in my pants and then couldn't sit in the truck on the way home, because someone had to sit on my lap, so I have to take out the record and the jig was up and I still get bugged about it when I see certain people.

I have noone to tag, because I am loser who sits up past bedtime drinking wine and eating forbidden chips.