Today, I made good on a committment. I signed up for an unlimited month of Bikram, which is almost 100%ridiculous given my absolute and complete aversion to being too hot and the fact that last time I did yoga, my boob fell out of my shirt.
Nonetheless, I went and signed up, brought my mat, and sat in the sauna of a room for 90 minutes trying (key word here trying) to keep up. I am not flexible. Well, I'm not totally inflexible, but I definitley am going to be a beginner for a long time. I have a new focus to lose weight and commit more time to just me. Sweating like a pig and smelling like a camel seems the right approach, eh? Just acclamating to the temperature was accomplishment enough for me. I can't remember the last time I've sweat like that. I may have never sweat like that in my life and you know what? It felt good when I was done. Real good. I'm not scared yet, hot yoga, even if I can't stop thinking about this SNL video.
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The adventures and confessions of a single girl, travel junkie, shopaholic, amateur photographer, prodigal scrapbooker, social drinker, public servant, sister, daughter, friend, klutz, and nap time professional who keeps looking for the hidden meaning in it all. These are the scenes from my life.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
30 things: Day 11
Day 11 - post another picture of you and your friends.
We had matching tank tops.
We had Jell-O shots
We had an idea.
We had poster board.
It.was.the.perfect.day.
There is strength in numbers.
People in parking lots with coolers of alcohol are easily influenced.
People in parking lots will do just about anything for a Jell-O shot.
This day is what we affectionately call one of THE BEST DAYS EVER!!! Seriously, it was. Kenny Chesney & Co. at AT&T park in the Summertime. We were so much fun, the other fans in the parking lot thought we were hired by the show to make it a real tailgate party. I can honestly say that I don't think there will ever be another day like this, but damn it, I'm sure glad I was there for this one!
We had matching tank tops.
We had Jell-O shots
We had an idea.
We had poster board.
It.was.the.perfect.day.
There is strength in numbers.
People in parking lots with coolers of alcohol are easily influenced.
People in parking lots will do just about anything for a Jell-O shot.
This day is what we affectionately call one of THE BEST DAYS EVER!!! Seriously, it was. Kenny Chesney & Co. at AT&T park in the Summertime. We were so much fun, the other fans in the parking lot thought we were hired by the show to make it a real tailgate party. I can honestly say that I don't think there will ever be another day like this, but damn it, I'm sure glad I was there for this one!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
on identity theft
I had this brief moment of time in the last few years where I thought I knew who I was. It was fleeting. Just the other night a new someone asked me "what do you want?" After hours and hours of conversation about everything under the sun & after the sun & beyond the sun, I couldn't answer him.
Cricket. Cricket.
I feel like I'm more undefined now at 29 than I was at 17. Maybe it was just more acceptable then. "She's just a kid, she's got her whole life in front of her, her whole life is just starting." As my brother puts it, "my life is going in neutral." The only thing I can think is that neutral is better than going in reverse.
Burnout. Discontent. Boredom. Doubt. Something is to blame. Bad Attitude?
Boredom? How could I be bored? Riiiight???
My uncle used to be a hard core drug addict and everyone in the family knew when he was going on a binge cause he would disappear for days and weeks at a time. It's not the same parallel, but I do the same with my writing. I binge on "life" and stop writing about it. It should be the opposite. More to do should be more to write about, huh?
In the last few weeks, there's been a lot more drinking, a slight increase in self-deprecating thoughts, a significant shirking of responsibilities, a noticeable wasting of money and rejection of bill paying. The dishes are only kind of taken care of, the laundry is sitting in the dryer for the last week, the bed got unmade, and I can only see 1/2 of the kitchen table. I haven't seen the whole kitchen table since sometime before Christmas. I cleared half of it off today. I saw dings and scratches. Grrr. Then my baby got in a wreck, last week. I'm sorry baby. Pout.
Thursday, we had this conversation: "Why do you think it's so important that you have time to just yourself when you're in a relationship?"
The answers...
* from the 19 year old who ALWAYS has an answer to everything - "because you have to miss someone sometimes"
* from the 31 year old who keeps hoping that the stripes on her zebra will change - "because you just need some time to breath and not get sick of each other"
* from the 26 year old who is in marriage counseling "that's what me and X did wrong, we never had time to ourselves, we were always with each other. I think we got sick of each other but we're working on it"
* from 29-year old me "because you get lost in the definition of so-and-so's "wife" and such-and-such's "mommy, you still have to exist as "You" and not always as "we" or "us"
Who is right? All of us and none of us. Why? Because all of us, in one way or the other, on some level, are still figuring out the ever present "Who am I? What do I want out of this thing called life?"
The night before that conversation, I took this picture, while dressed like Ke$ha and listening to Lady Gaga, live. Live Gaga. It is as entertaining as it sounds. She is actually really great and she can actually really sing.
{in a wig, this girl could be anyone she wanted to be}
Post concert, 1 am, I walked thru the parking lot in the rain, dressed like a hooker, half my shirt falling off, wearing a platinum blonde wig, with rhinestones glued to my face, 1 fishnet glove one, 1 fishnet glove off dangling in my hand, and with a bottle of Jagermeister under one arm, I let myself into the front door of a friend's apartment and fell asleep on a blow up mattress in her front room at 4:30am.
Lemme tell you. That girl...didn't look so hot when she woke up 2 1/2 hours later at 7am. Hot mess maybe, but that's about it.
Friday night, after a few shots of bubblegum vodka and a few more beers, in the midst of a girl-guy-other girl-and girl #3 vortex of drama that was like a scene straight of the damned Real World New Orleans, I snuck away and took this self portrait in the bathroom (keepin' it classy, I know) while the band played this song. It about sums it up.
{sometimes I wonder who that girl is in the mirror...bar night, she was doing her best to capture the sweaty, I-just-awnna-dance-!-look-at-my-Whitesnake-video-worthy-windswept hair-do to showcase her peacock feather earrings and ever growing body art to show to the newest textmance somebody who has no idea who she really is}
Look at those two pictures together. Where in do I lie? Right in the middle? Too far left? Too far right? Are they both me, just different facets? The thing about facets is that they're cut to maximize a gem's beauty. They're all different angles, rarely two exactly the same. Hmmmm...this has me thinking. Maybe, just maybe, I've had blinders on when I look at myself in the mirror, both literally and figuratively. I think we will be revisiting this thought soon if not sooner.
Finally, tonight before I'm done wondering about identities, how they get lost, and the long process to find your own in the haystack of life...I would like to say to the girl who stole my blogger description almost word for word and made it yours: imitation really is NOT the sincerest form of flattery. Not only is it not cool that while I am in my own waning quandary trying to really figure out what makes me tick and who I am, it is even more not cool that you think that you can take my "Who's that girl?" and try and make it yours. Yes, I'm a pretty cool chick, I know, but even you can be your very own pretty cool chick too. I won't name names or point fingers. I don't do that. You know who you are. Trust me, I know enough cool cats, to know that there's enough room for both of us to carve out or own definition in this book of life. Also, my Copywriter told me she would quit me if I didn't stand up for my words. My Copywriter is also one of the coolest chicks ever!!!
Cricket. Cricket.
I feel like I'm more undefined now at 29 than I was at 17. Maybe it was just more acceptable then. "She's just a kid, she's got her whole life in front of her, her whole life is just starting." As my brother puts it, "my life is going in neutral." The only thing I can think is that neutral is better than going in reverse.
Burnout. Discontent. Boredom. Doubt. Something is to blame. Bad Attitude?
Boredom? How could I be bored? Riiiight???
My uncle used to be a hard core drug addict and everyone in the family knew when he was going on a binge cause he would disappear for days and weeks at a time. It's not the same parallel, but I do the same with my writing. I binge on "life" and stop writing about it. It should be the opposite. More to do should be more to write about, huh?
In the last few weeks, there's been a lot more drinking, a slight increase in self-deprecating thoughts, a significant shirking of responsibilities, a noticeable wasting of money and rejection of bill paying. The dishes are only kind of taken care of, the laundry is sitting in the dryer for the last week, the bed got unmade, and I can only see 1/2 of the kitchen table. I haven't seen the whole kitchen table since sometime before Christmas. I cleared half of it off today. I saw dings and scratches. Grrr. Then my baby got in a wreck, last week. I'm sorry baby. Pout.
Thursday, we had this conversation: "Why do you think it's so important that you have time to just yourself when you're in a relationship?"
The answers...
* from the 19 year old who ALWAYS has an answer to everything - "because you have to miss someone sometimes"
* from the 31 year old who keeps hoping that the stripes on her zebra will change - "because you just need some time to breath and not get sick of each other"
* from the 26 year old who is in marriage counseling "that's what me and X did wrong, we never had time to ourselves, we were always with each other. I think we got sick of each other but we're working on it"
* from 29-year old me "because you get lost in the definition of so-and-so's "wife" and such-and-such's "mommy, you still have to exist as "You" and not always as "we" or "us"
Who is right? All of us and none of us. Why? Because all of us, in one way or the other, on some level, are still figuring out the ever present "Who am I? What do I want out of this thing called life?"
The night before that conversation, I took this picture, while dressed like Ke$ha and listening to Lady Gaga, live. Live Gaga. It is as entertaining as it sounds. She is actually really great and she can actually really sing.
{in a wig, this girl could be anyone she wanted to be}
Post concert, 1 am, I walked thru the parking lot in the rain, dressed like a hooker, half my shirt falling off, wearing a platinum blonde wig, with rhinestones glued to my face, 1 fishnet glove one, 1 fishnet glove off dangling in my hand, and with a bottle of Jagermeister under one arm, I let myself into the front door of a friend's apartment and fell asleep on a blow up mattress in her front room at 4:30am.
Lemme tell you. That girl...didn't look so hot when she woke up 2 1/2 hours later at 7am. Hot mess maybe, but that's about it.
Friday night, after a few shots of bubblegum vodka and a few more beers, in the midst of a girl-guy-other girl-and girl #3 vortex of drama that was like a scene straight of the damned Real World New Orleans, I snuck away and took this self portrait in the bathroom (keepin' it classy, I know) while the band played this song. It about sums it up.
{sometimes I wonder who that girl is in the mirror...bar night, she was doing her best to capture the sweaty, I-just-awnna-dance-!-look-at-my-Whitesnake-video-worthy-windswept hair-do to showcase her peacock feather earrings and ever growing body art to show to the newest textmance somebody who has no idea who she really is}
Look at those two pictures together. Where in do I lie? Right in the middle? Too far left? Too far right? Are they both me, just different facets? The thing about facets is that they're cut to maximize a gem's beauty. They're all different angles, rarely two exactly the same. Hmmmm...this has me thinking. Maybe, just maybe, I've had blinders on when I look at myself in the mirror, both literally and figuratively. I think we will be revisiting this thought soon if not sooner.
Finally, tonight before I'm done wondering about identities, how they get lost, and the long process to find your own in the haystack of life...I would like to say to the girl who stole my blogger description almost word for word and made it yours: imitation really is NOT the sincerest form of flattery. Not only is it not cool that while I am in my own waning quandary trying to really figure out what makes me tick and who I am, it is even more not cool that you think that you can take my "Who's that girl?" and try and make it yours. Yes, I'm a pretty cool chick, I know, but even you can be your very own pretty cool chick too. I won't name names or point fingers. I don't do that. You know who you are. Trust me, I know enough cool cats, to know that there's enough room for both of us to carve out or own definition in this book of life. Also, my Copywriter told me she would quit me if I didn't stand up for my words. My Copywriter is also one of the coolest chicks ever!!!
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
the truth is
The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. you just have to find the ones worth suffering for.
Monday, March 7, 2011
30 things: Day 10
Day 10- songs you listen to when you are happy, sad, bored, hyped, mad..
Yes, yet another list that I've been avoiding. There are just TOO many songs to list here. If you know anything about me, you know that I LOVE music. By music, I mean all of it, African Tribal music to Opera and everything in between. I don't think that the majority of people out there realize how all music is related on some level and how, we, as people, are related to music.
I caught myself trying to keep track of my blink rate yesterday early in the slow AM at work and then somehow, Pandora appeared on my computer. Literally, I don't remember clicking on it and *whoosh*, music to the rescue. Now, I'm laying on my couch for the 11th hour in a row, flipping the music channels on the TV from one without looking to see if I can still name the artist just on sound.
You see music is more than just noise for me. It's an experience. I can get lost in a song almost as easily as I can get lost in a warm hug or a feeling. There are a few songs out there that I would consider even better than a warm hug. Songs that have lyrics that envelop you and either make you feel vulnerable in the world or completely exposed. That's the true test of a good song. That's what our hippie parents felt in the 60's and 70's. Well that, and drugs, and probably each other and the person next to them. But either way, that rebellious music, that shit on the radio that put the issues out on the table and into the public conciseness, that's what made the Bible-thumpers throw vinyls into piles and burn them. Music has the ability to expose those parts of life that people just can't or don't want to deal with. I.love.that.
As easily as music can compel you forward, it can take you back:
+++ I DISTINCTLY remember sitting down in front of the 13 inch color TV in our living room that sat on the cheap, rickety, particle board TV console, my eyes glued to Madonna's Like a Prayer video, but not for long before my mother came screeching out of the other room yelling something about "secular music" and "turn this naked stuff off"!!! All of 8 years old, in 1989 when MTV played actual music videos, I knew I wanted to listen to more of that "stuff". Fast foward to Glee Season 1, circa 2010, I'm in the same living room but this time I'm the home owner and ain't no one chasing me off of singing this thing and dancing in around in my pajamas and singing into the remote.
+++ Mixed tapes...yes, the ones that you had to rewind back together with a freaking pencil. C&C Music Factory from Cousin Mike. He snuck it to me, I wore it out. I was still in single digits. I was an addict.
+++ Kenny G. (shame) It was one of the few approved non-secular music choices available in our house. I took what I could get. I rocked some Kenny G, believe you me. Despite the fact that that long haired hippie was probably single handedly responsible for some kind of sax-induced baby boom in the 90s because men everywhere were seducing their ladies with light jazz, in my house, it was approved music.
+++ I remember one of my first "holy shit I love this stuff" music moments. I was 11 and there was a radio in my bedroom which was horribly sponge painted green and white. It was Kris Kross "Jump"...the Mac Dad will make ya, jump, jump, Daddy Mac will make you, jump, jump..." Sign me up. I wanted MORE!
+++ My first two CD purchases for my personal-CD player (circa early 1990something and that thing was the size of a small dinner plate that skipped like a stone across the lake): The Eagles Hell Freezes Over Tour Live and Boyz II Men PhillHighHarmony. Shortly after that, Hootie and the Blowfish and Shania Twain. Seriously, 12, 13, 14 years old, this is what I listened to. I wanted to hear ALL of it. There's a H&B track that never grew up to be a single, but it was one of my favorite songs. I used to daydream in the dark about slow dancing and being in love. Funny thing is, it's a break up song.
+++ High school, boy bands emergeed but, OG Hip Hop ruled. None of this rapping bout nonsense BS that is happening these days. Dr Dre, Snoop Dogg, Tupac, Notorious B.I.G. Real shit!
+++ Fast forward to 18 and a Police Cadet of a couple of years in my mom's white Chevy Z71, listening to none other than this lil' DMX diddy acting like a fool who damn lost her mind, that song was bumping out of the car, me in the driver's seat, I hit the SLOW lane of a Monday afternoon commute time traffic scene already going 75MPH. By the time the Sergeant caught up with me, I was going 95. when he asked me how fast I was going, I knew better than to lie to a cop and mark down your actual speed..."at least 90 officer." "I paced you at 110, license and registration." For whatever reason, he didn't write me for 110 or for reckless driving and Glory Be! didn't tow my mom's car. To this day, I blame DMX.
+++ 20-something, I put $1000 worth of tickets on my credit card to take my dad, his friend, and my friend to see Andrea Bocelli Live. His microphone lost power mid show. He stopped, waited a few minutes, and then un-amplified, unsupported, accapella, he just sang. It was heavenly.
+++ 20-whatever, I found myself sitting at a Songwriters concert at the Luther Burbank Center in the Wine Country watching four guys with their four guitars sit around and jam like there was NO audience. Lyle Lovett, John Hiatt, Joe Ely, Guy Clark...classic song writers. I was easily the youngest person in the entire theater. John Hiatt was old enough to be my father, but I was totally in love with his voice.
+++ Two separate trips to Mexico + booze + friends + karaoke contests = a couple of contest wins for this girl. What did you sing, Lauren? This and this. Ever seen a white girl dressed up like Aretha Franklin. She looks a lot like Marie Osmond.
+++ Right now, as I type, there's a list of songs that I keep on my iphone, gathering a new title every few months when I hear a new song that makes me smile on the inside and day dream, in the dark, in the light, in the in between hours. I think you'll be able to figure out what this list is for. This one compels me forward, not back. Let It Be Me, When I Come To You, Lean on Me, Why Don't We Just Dance, No One, Only a Fool, Simply The Best, Can't Stop This Thing We Started, Could Not Ask For More, How Sweet It Is, Fall, Keep on Lovin' You, Marry Me
+++ I could go on, but this blog must have some kind of end in sight.
Music = my drugs of choice.
+++++
Just for shits and giggles, I categorized my musical tastes. I don't know if it worked out so well, but I did it none the less.
For roadtrips and warm, Summer nights with the windows down: Country (even if Carlsberg and J-Dahl hate it). My heart beats Country, I love Southern accents, I want to live on a ranch, no one ever got me a pony when I was a little girl, so I want a horse soon, and cowboys and those rugged country boys are just sexy. Ok, yeah, I listen to all the other stations too, but you'll find me moving back to Country more often than not.
For artistic inspiration: uhh, Rap, R&B, Hip Hop, Rock and freaking roll! Gimme a beat Mr DJ. What else can you say really? Move your hips, move your brain...
For nursing a bad day or general melancholy: John Mayer,or the plain ol' fashioned blues...Eric Clapton, BB King, Jonny Lang, Etta James, Muddy Waters, Bonnie Raitt...
For the concert experience: Hinder, Papa Roach, BuckCherry, Motley Crue, 7 Day Binge, the more tattoos, leather pants, and unconditioned hair the better.
I just can't pick a favorite artist, a favorite song, I just can't. I just won't. It would be like asking a Mama which of her babies she loves more. I refuse. I love them all, for different reasons, but I love them all.
So, when it comes down to it, my list of songs might be totally generic and it's just going to fall short of what music does and has done for me for 20+ years. Music is one of those things that is the heartbeat of my life.
Yes, yet another list that I've been avoiding. There are just TOO many songs to list here. If you know anything about me, you know that I LOVE music. By music, I mean all of it, African Tribal music to Opera and everything in between. I don't think that the majority of people out there realize how all music is related on some level and how, we, as people, are related to music.
I caught myself trying to keep track of my blink rate yesterday early in the slow AM at work and then somehow, Pandora appeared on my computer. Literally, I don't remember clicking on it and *whoosh*, music to the rescue. Now, I'm laying on my couch for the 11th hour in a row, flipping the music channels on the TV from one without looking to see if I can still name the artist just on sound.
You see music is more than just noise for me. It's an experience. I can get lost in a song almost as easily as I can get lost in a warm hug or a feeling. There are a few songs out there that I would consider even better than a warm hug. Songs that have lyrics that envelop you and either make you feel vulnerable in the world or completely exposed. That's the true test of a good song. That's what our hippie parents felt in the 60's and 70's. Well that, and drugs, and probably each other and the person next to them. But either way, that rebellious music, that shit on the radio that put the issues out on the table and into the public conciseness, that's what made the Bible-thumpers throw vinyls into piles and burn them. Music has the ability to expose those parts of life that people just can't or don't want to deal with. I.love.that.
As easily as music can compel you forward, it can take you back:
+++ I DISTINCTLY remember sitting down in front of the 13 inch color TV in our living room that sat on the cheap, rickety, particle board TV console, my eyes glued to Madonna's Like a Prayer video, but not for long before my mother came screeching out of the other room yelling something about "secular music" and "turn this naked stuff off"!!! All of 8 years old, in 1989 when MTV played actual music videos, I knew I wanted to listen to more of that "stuff". Fast foward to Glee Season 1, circa 2010, I'm in the same living room but this time I'm the home owner and ain't no one chasing me off of singing this thing and dancing in around in my pajamas and singing into the remote.
+++ Mixed tapes...yes, the ones that you had to rewind back together with a freaking pencil. C&C Music Factory from Cousin Mike. He snuck it to me, I wore it out. I was still in single digits. I was an addict.
+++ Kenny G. (shame) It was one of the few approved non-secular music choices available in our house. I took what I could get. I rocked some Kenny G, believe you me. Despite the fact that that long haired hippie was probably single handedly responsible for some kind of sax-induced baby boom in the 90s because men everywhere were seducing their ladies with light jazz, in my house, it was approved music.
+++ I remember one of my first "holy shit I love this stuff" music moments. I was 11 and there was a radio in my bedroom which was horribly sponge painted green and white. It was Kris Kross "Jump"...the Mac Dad will make ya, jump, jump, Daddy Mac will make you, jump, jump..." Sign me up. I wanted MORE!
+++ My first two CD purchases for my personal-CD player (circa early 1990something and that thing was the size of a small dinner plate that skipped like a stone across the lake): The Eagles Hell Freezes Over Tour Live and Boyz II Men PhillHighHarmony. Shortly after that, Hootie and the Blowfish and Shania Twain. Seriously, 12, 13, 14 years old, this is what I listened to. I wanted to hear ALL of it. There's a H&B track that never grew up to be a single, but it was one of my favorite songs. I used to daydream in the dark about slow dancing and being in love. Funny thing is, it's a break up song.
+++ High school, boy bands emergeed but, OG Hip Hop ruled. None of this rapping bout nonsense BS that is happening these days. Dr Dre, Snoop Dogg, Tupac, Notorious B.I.G. Real shit!
+++ Fast forward to 18 and a Police Cadet of a couple of years in my mom's white Chevy Z71, listening to none other than this lil' DMX diddy acting like a fool who damn lost her mind, that song was bumping out of the car, me in the driver's seat, I hit the SLOW lane of a Monday afternoon commute time traffic scene already going 75MPH. By the time the Sergeant caught up with me, I was going 95. when he asked me how fast I was going, I knew better than to lie to a cop and mark down your actual speed..."at least 90 officer." "I paced you at 110, license and registration." For whatever reason, he didn't write me for 110 or for reckless driving and Glory Be! didn't tow my mom's car. To this day, I blame DMX.
+++ 20-something, I put $1000 worth of tickets on my credit card to take my dad, his friend, and my friend to see Andrea Bocelli Live. His microphone lost power mid show. He stopped, waited a few minutes, and then un-amplified, unsupported, accapella, he just sang. It was heavenly.
+++ 20-whatever, I found myself sitting at a Songwriters concert at the Luther Burbank Center in the Wine Country watching four guys with their four guitars sit around and jam like there was NO audience. Lyle Lovett, John Hiatt, Joe Ely, Guy Clark...classic song writers. I was easily the youngest person in the entire theater. John Hiatt was old enough to be my father, but I was totally in love with his voice.
+++ Two separate trips to Mexico + booze + friends + karaoke contests = a couple of contest wins for this girl. What did you sing, Lauren? This and this. Ever seen a white girl dressed up like Aretha Franklin. She looks a lot like Marie Osmond.
+++ Right now, as I type, there's a list of songs that I keep on my iphone, gathering a new title every few months when I hear a new song that makes me smile on the inside and day dream, in the dark, in the light, in the in between hours. I think you'll be able to figure out what this list is for. This one compels me forward, not back. Let It Be Me, When I Come To You, Lean on Me, Why Don't We Just Dance, No One, Only a Fool, Simply The Best, Can't Stop This Thing We Started, Could Not Ask For More, How Sweet It Is, Fall, Keep on Lovin' You, Marry Me
+++ I could go on, but this blog must have some kind of end in sight.
Music = my drugs of choice.
+++++
Just for shits and giggles, I categorized my musical tastes. I don't know if it worked out so well, but I did it none the less.
For roadtrips and warm, Summer nights with the windows down: Country (even if Carlsberg and J-Dahl hate it). My heart beats Country, I love Southern accents, I want to live on a ranch, no one ever got me a pony when I was a little girl, so I want a horse soon, and cowboys and those rugged country boys are just sexy. Ok, yeah, I listen to all the other stations too, but you'll find me moving back to Country more often than not.
For artistic inspiration: uhh, Rap, R&B, Hip Hop, Rock and freaking roll! Gimme a beat Mr DJ. What else can you say really? Move your hips, move your brain...
For nursing a bad day or general melancholy: John Mayer,or the plain ol' fashioned blues...Eric Clapton, BB King, Jonny Lang, Etta James, Muddy Waters, Bonnie Raitt...
For the concert experience: Hinder, Papa Roach, BuckCherry, Motley Crue, 7 Day Binge, the more tattoos, leather pants, and unconditioned hair the better.
I just can't pick a favorite artist, a favorite song, I just can't. I just won't. It would be like asking a Mama which of her babies she loves more. I refuse. I love them all, for different reasons, but I love them all.
So, when it comes down to it, my list of songs might be totally generic and it's just going to fall short of what music does and has done for me for 20+ years. Music is one of those things that is the heartbeat of my life.
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