One day, my mom told me I couldn’t do that any longer. I was so confused. Why not? My brothers got to. And so born was my longing to be dude cool. Luckily I got this sweet John Cougar shirt in the mail today to keep me clothed and off of any Girls Gone Wild videos.

I was always a tomboy. I can’t tell you why. It may have been all the brothers being my main source of company for the first vital parts of my years. Maybe it was because when I was playing with my friend and tromping through mud puddles and when I eagerly asked her to join in, she looked disgusted and shook her head no, saying she would get in trouble by her mom if she came home dirty. I never got in trouble for being dirty. My parents encouraged me to play sports. (I suck at all sports but track for the record.)

I remember coming home complaining to my dad about a boy that used to pick on me all the time, and he said “Well punch him!” That’s because if you were a girl, you could get away with punching a boy. If they punched you back, then they punched a girl. If you punched them, then they were a sissy for getting beat up by a girl.

I matured really slowly when it came to liking boys. I wanted to play GI Joe with them. I wanted to pinch them, and punch them and call them the names they called each other. I was never on level with the girls who couldn’t write all over themselves with pen and who wanted to quietly play Barbie whips up Ken a sweet meal. (Ken’s gay, Barbie.)

So many times in childhood and in adult life even, the way I act has gotten all misconstrued too. When buddying up with a buddy, buddies or buddy’s friends assume that I have a crush on him. Sometimes it’s met with a friend saying, “Not true, she’s just nice like that, or whatever. Or when I was in the 4th grade and someone asked me if I had a crush on the boy that sat in front of me because I was always poking him and giggling about things, I got overly defensive on stating my wish to just go catch frogs with him.

The first time I even kissed a boy, it was because I was surrounded by people egging it on. Wow, that was romantic.

When I really learned to kiss though, I definitely couldn’t stop. But that’s where things even got more turned around and my Dude Cool longing kicked into high gear. I learned the hard way that you couldn’t just make out with a guy and then turn around the next week and make out with another person. Okay, I never officially learned my lesson on that one, I just had more questions.

Why could guys do that but if girls did, suddenly they were called all these names and labeled as something terrible? Why couldn’t I kiss someone and then contact them the next day just to hang out with no expectations?

Trust me, I have had plenty of cad guy friends, and to be honest with you, I don’t care. It’s endearing.

Yes, I was one of those idiots who always tried to stay friends with my ex, or a hookup because come on I still want your high-fives and stories about the time you shit your pants!

And I know chicks can be crazy when it comes to situations with guys. Trust me. But it’s still not fair, and it still gets blown out of proportion. I swear 99.9% of the time that I have done something so-called “crazy” it has to be the male’s fault because their perception on my actions is completely skewed. That’s the thing, I am fine with just the old hangout afterward. I hate awkwardness and butthurtedness. So if I come off as overbearing, it’s because damnit let’s be friends!

As I got into the pubescent years, it became even more apparent that the female persuasion was just not for me. Women elevator eye you. If you are a girl, you know what I am talking about. The ol’ sizing you up from feet to head. They think you don’t notice it, but you do. Plus I have had girlfriends freak out on me for the STUPIDEST things. Guys never had periods or jealousy to blame anything on. If you got in a fight, it was about food or because I pinched you too hard, and then all was forgiven without even having to say a word.

I like to belch really loud, because if I have to, I have to. I like talking about poop, because I poop. I love a good dirty joke, and I have the mouth of a sailor. My dad said I am a version of him out to sea. It’s so true. I kind of think like a man. Every single time I have written anything fiction, the main character is a man. I can’t get into the brain of a female to write a full story or book about her. I mean look at all the shit Hunter S. Thompson did. Could a female have done that without being labeled just some crazy bitch? Odds are probably not.

When I look at the dynamic of men with each other, it’s like the world is their locker room and I wanted to badly to be in that locker room with them. If I talked to a girl the way men talk to each other, it was met with horror. I have been hated by oh so many girlfriends of guy friends because they assumed we were flirting, when in all actuality, no, him telling me he was going to shove that ketchup bottle up my ass if I didn’t knock it off was not a form of foreplay, that was me having a taste of being dude cool.

So I thought I found my niche. But you never really do in these kinds of situations. It seemed like whenever I was with the guys it’s like my vagina was hanging out or something. I couldn’t just start mooning everyone without being treated differently.

Plus, I reached a point of where I had to admit that I am still female. I wanted someone to talk about my makeup and clothes with. Someone to let me be just a little but of a crazy bitch when I needed to be, and someone who could empathize with fluctuating hormones. Someone to explain to me why a male was making me crazy because they were thinking it was crazy that I just honestly like making and keeping my guy friends and that I must have some crazy ulterior motive up my sleeve.

So in my older years, I have been very picky about the females I surround myself with, and the ones I do surround myself with are the ones that are just like me. We are the little female outcasts that have the luxury of peeing outside when we get drunk, burping in each others faces, and calling each other names and LAUGHING about it. We compliment each other and don’t act like a bunch of jealous whores around each other.

Even as an adult, I GUESS I can get it at times, when I meet an awesome person and I want their number, or if I get drunk and start chest bumping them or leg humping them or hugging them, I can see where the confusion may set in.

And I don’t want that confusion, but part of me still wants to pretend there is a banana in my pants. (Just kidding I don’t want a penis)

I would like to hang out with guys that are legitimately my friends and if they happen to be in a band not to be ribbed by strangers about being a groupie, I want to wear tight as hell black pants with shiny shoes and not be given shit if I didn’t shower that day, I want to shove someone with my elbow playfully without them thinking I am flirting. I want to be in a room full of guys and have one of them not pause and look at me suspiciously when they start to tell a tale of hooking up with a girl like I am going to go all Sex in the City on them and divulge all about their secret life of debauchery. I don’t want to take my shirt off and run around in the backyard anymore though.

It’s all ebb and flow though. I will get those few precious moments when it happens, and when it does it feels wonderful. And when I am with my other dude cool female friends, it’s even that much better.

Oh yeah. This is also 30 Songs in 30 Days:

* Day 06 – A song that reminds you of somewhere

Strange Currencies by REM. What a gorgeous song. Lyrically and musically. It’s so wistful when I hear it now. It reminds me of somewhere in my mind. And that’s youth, longing, loving, wanting to be loved back and just wanting someone to just fucking open up and say it already to you rather than be so ambivalent about it all. Before Katy Perry and her stupid Hot and Cold song, this my friends, is the OG Hot and Cold.

http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/Strange+Currencies/xjPeZ?src=5

I have officially cut myself off until I am actually bringing in decent income (until I pretend that I am and start mindlessly bidding on shit at 2 a.m. is what that that means) but it did end on a high note.

Everyone needs something Bruce Springsteen in their lives. Whether it be a pin, or  shirt, or some albums with pins and shirts attached to them, he is pretty much a rock-n-roll icon. He’s rugged and dreamy. He had Courtney Cox in one of his videos! Ben Stiller did many parodies on him when he had The Ben Stiller show in the 90s!!! Remember the 90s?!?!

The guy wrote Born in the USA, and the best part is all these dipshit people in political office want to use it as an anthem of sorts, when the song isn’t about that. It’s about the effects of the Vietnam war on Vets.

Reminds me of the time that Palin/McCain wanted to use Pink Houses for their campaign my Mellencamp. Yeah, Cougar contacted them and was like, “Uh what?” Rawr.

But that’s my rock-n-roll T of the day, and my song of the day for 30 Songs in 30 Days is:

* Day 05 – A song that reminds you of someone

It’s so hard to pick one song for these things. So I just kind of go with the first thing that pops in my head.

Kings of Leon have been kind of a long running joke when I find someone that likes them. It goes like this: “Oh sweet, they have two fans now.

Because even though they seem to be able to successfully sell concert tickets for 40+dollars and we’ve seen their Sex on Fire plastered all over MTV more times than we actually would want to count, (that one kind of does sound like a VD commercial jingle) I consistently run into others that, not dislike, but LOATHE them. They basically Creed hate them. You know what I mean by that.

I had a really talented friend that opened for them one time when they played here, and though I thought the show was pretty awesome aside from all the popped collars there (OH MY GOD JOCKS LOVE THEM THAT’S WHY I KNOW NOBODY THAT LOVES THEM) and maybe it was the half bottle of rum I had ingested, but when I met up with friend at the end of the show, he told me that they were a bunch of pompous assholes who used like 500 cans of hairspray in the dressing room and then got far too drunk to even play a proper show.

I really try to separate myself from bands when I hear stories like that. I tell myself it’s all right, because I’m not really there to befriend them, I just want to enjoy my music and go home. I don’t condone other bands being assholes to friends opening for them of course, I just again, try to separate myself from the assholery that musicians are so prone to possessing.

Now that we’ve established it’s Kings of Leon.

I lost my Grandma, this is terrible I don’t know the exact amount of years ago, but it was September 15th, I believe five years ago. She played a really important albeit strange role in my life.

Growing up in Iowa, a lot of our summers were spent coming out to Utah to visit Grandma and cousins. Grandma came out to visit us once or twice on our little farm/notfarm. She was VERY and I mean VERY proper. I was helping her do dishes one time and I remember I put the dishtowel between my legs to grab something really quick and she told me that ladies don’t do that. That paired with having 4 brothers growing up, no wonder I turned out to be such a filthy little girl who thinks she’s a boy.

One of my most shocking memories of Grandma was while she was visiting in Iowa was her getting really angry about something and I heard her curse. “WHAT IN SAM HELL!!!??” She said. Amazing how we can never quite remember why someone got mad, but we can remember their reaction when angry. (Dad, I was listening to Back in Black by AC/DC when you threw my door open and kicked my CD player across the room what were you mad about again?)

Anyway, I was beyond shocked. MY GRANDMA SWORE? Never! She was still living in the 1800s, did people even swear in the 1800s unless they lived in the land of Deadwood? I finally gutted up and told (tattled) to my mom about it, and my mom informed me that she was using and old expression “What in Sam Hill”

I also found out that my shopping problem and love of all things clothing is not my fault. Turns out I am genetically predisposed to want all these sweet unique and beautiful pieces of clothing in which I want to adorn myself with out there. My grandma was a snazzy dresser.She was classy about it and had great taste in the items she picked out.

When I got uprooted from Iowa and moved out here to Utah, and my parents were super pissed at me because I was 15 and all I wanted to do was drink, smoke, and swear, my grandma still took me school shopping. I even have a sweet photo of the shirt I picked out for my first day of school in Utah. I was in complete and utter 1995 with it.

There are pages and pages and stories stacked on top of stories that I could fill you with about my grandma, her house, her weeping willow tree, summers in Utah, Cottonwood Mall, the clothes she made me,the cookies she baked, the smell of Tide wafting from the laundry room, but I am sure you don’t have all night, and well, I do probably because I feel like shit and will be awake for another 3-4 hours.

Toward mid-adulthood, my grandma didn’t care for me that much. I was shacking up with dudes while not being married, dying my hair pink and purple, working in bars where they served ALCOHOL, and sin of all sins, I worked at eBay. I remember now with so much fondness her telling me how stupid that company was, and who would want to sit around all day buying a bunch of other people’s junk?

I said “Grandma, when I was unemployed, I made a ton of money selling on eBay, it got me through my unemployment.”

She yelled, “A TON of money? You made a TON of money? I highly doubt that!!!”

She really thought the Internet was the devil, and for that, I love love her.

Toward the end there, she just got old. It was hard for my parents. They spent a lot of time taking care of her. She got a little bit nutty. She got a lot of panic attacks. She couldn’t do stuff on her own, and for a very independent woman, that was difficult for her to come to terms with. At times, she was difficult to deal with. She would, out of frustration, confusion, and getting to the end of her life, be pretty cranky. She would yell at my parents and they would get sad because they were spending so much of their time with her and doing everything they could.

Eventually she did need to get placed in a home when it was getting pretty apparent that people couldn’t be there for her 24/7. She was livid. I took it upon myself to start paying her frequent visits. She took it upon herself to start only liking me. What a strange ironic gift. She was never fond of my hair or my lifestyle.

One day while visiting her, some people from her church came over, and she kind of brushed aside some gifts they brought for her, and complained of everyone around her, and then said, “This is my granddaughter. Isn’t she just the most beautiful thing you have ever seen? Don’t you just love her hair?” as she ran her hands through my hair. I was glad that crazy Grandma decided she loved me, even if sane one wasn’t too fond of me at times.

I was out of town when she passed away. I took it hard. I got back and got ready for the funeral, and I HATE funerals. I hate them so much. I mean I don’t know anyone that loves them, but I am ultra-sensitive when it comes to death.

I still try to trot around in this fantasy world that we don’t die.

But we do. And it happened. And I was driving down the road to go to her funeral when King of the Rodeo by Kings of Leon came on. And Kings of Leon reminds me of my best friend Victoria too. We both listened to this album so much, and she is that 2nd fan of theirs. It makes me think of all the fun but crazy weirdness that we were experiencing at the time as single people.

So that song was such an upbeat number for me. And I started to giggle at the irony while in my car, and then I burst into a blubbering pile of I wonder if I am going to crash my car from crying so hard. I was singing to it while bawling and simultaneously laughing at the situation.

Because this was the only thing that made me not completely lose it; thinking about all the good times with my best friend while listening to this song. I can’t even tell you to this day what that song is about. As a matter of fact, I can’t understand what the hell he’s saying half the time.

But now when I hear it, I think about both life and death.

Believe it or not, this is my first time seeing the video!

Day 04 – A song that makes you sad

I talked about sad songs that make me happy in a way. If I am depressed, I might throw on some John Cale and hear his deep melodic voice sing songs of woe, but it doesn’t make me cry. It comforts me.It validates my feelings. It tells me that I’m going to be in a great mood tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, maybe the day after.

It’s like getting one of those hugs from a person that doesn’t quite know how to hug you which makes it all the more endearing, as opposed to the person who will hug you if they see you scowling. That just means I wasn’t wearing my glasses and was trying to read something of a wall, hands off Handsy McHandserson!

But there are songs out there that reach into your heart and start poking at it with a needle. You may have been hanging outside on a sunny day just moments before, soaking in how wonderful life is, only to go inside and put your music on shuffle when out of the depths of your playlist comes out a song that sags your shoulders and makes a few small fat tears start to drip from your face. After the song ends, you throw on a little Huey Lewis for a pickmeup, because what the hell? Where the hell did this come from? There are a few songs that do that to me. Some because they are just damn sad, and because there was a difficult period on my life when I heard them and they remind me of being down with the sadness.

This one is a culmination of the above. I was going through a breakup, (Okay who hasn’t) when I started listening to Beck’s Sea Change. Holy depressing. This album is about his own going through a breakup, and he spared all of us the grueling duty of writing a bunch of shitty poetry about ours by writing a naked and heartfelt album chock full of gorgeously articulated grief.

Whether you are a Beck fan or not, or whether you memorized all the words to Loser like my friend and I did in Junior High, this album is worth giving a good hard listen to. It’s so raw, his voice is so full of broken beat down emotion. It cracks with pain that is so authentic, that there is no way he could have been feigning it when he recorded these songs.

So when I hear Guess I’m Doing Fine a number of factors come into play. It’s like having a friend show up on your doorstep sobbing and you just happen to be able to feel every single thing that they are feeling at that time without going through it yourself at that exact moment. Or being at a funeral of someone you don’t really know, but seeing all of the people around you, the look of loss on their face and despair, and suddenly you are right there with them. Or, if you were going through that breakup yourself and this little ditty popped on, it feels like he wrote the song JUST for you at that moment.

The lyrics aren’t as such that come off as whiny woe is me. They are a genuine feeling of loss and pain when everything is fresh off the suck press. You wake up one day and everything looks and feels so gray. Songs don’t sound the same to your ears, it’s just a record that the needle is scratching in an ugly manner over and over and over again. You are so exhausted from the blue snuggie of depression that has enveloped you that you can barely bring yourself to get out of bed to get a glass of water.

When Beck gets to the chorus, that’s the real kicker for me:

It’s only lies that I’m living
It’s only tears that I’m crying
It’s only you that I’m losing
Guess I’m doing fine

Right there where he says “Guess I’m doing fine” that’s it. I mean it’s such a sarcastic bald-faced and obvious lie. But what else can you tell yourself when you have hit this point? It’s that or yes, drown yourself in the toilet. He gets to the end of the song and sings the chorus one last time, and his voice gets so overwhelmingly emotional, he is wailing so hard that it really does bring on a wave of boo-hoo.

I have to commend you Beck, for successfully being able to bum me out every single time that this song comes on.

Full lyrics are:

There’s a blue bird at my window
I can’t hear the songs he sings
All the jewels in heaven
They don’t look the same to me

I just wade the tides that turned
Till I learn to leave the past behind

It’s only lies that I’m living
It’s only tears that I’m crying
It’s only you that I’m losing
Guess I’m doing fine

All the battlements are empty
And the moon is laying low
Yellow roses in the graveyard
Have no time to watch them grow

Now I bade a friend farewell
I can do whatever pleases me

It’s only lies that I’m living
It’s only tears that I’m crying
It’s only you that I’m losing
Guess I’m doing fine

Press my face up to the window
To see how warm it is inside
See the things that I’ve been missing
Missing all this time

It’s only lies that I’m living
It’s only tears that I’m crying
It’s only you that I’m losing
Guess I’m doing fine (x2)

And here, go cry yourself to sleep on your huge pillow!

Who’s your little slacker? I am, I am! 30 songs in 30 days will probably end up being more like 30 songs in 3659678674 days for me, but I am not good at keeping up on everything like I should be. It’s called Attention Deficit Disorder for a reason.

Plus I have physically been feeling like downright shit. (No pun intended)

Today’s topic for 30 Songs in 30 Days is:

A song that makes you happy.

So many songs make me happy. If I am in da club and I hear a song that I love, I squeal with happiness and start dancing. If I am bummed, and I hear a morose song, it makes me feel sad yet strangely comforted. If I am in the car and stuck in traffic and I hear a good upbeat song, I get happy. And on and on.

I want to verbally vomit on happiness for a minute right now before I post my song that I am choosing for today that makes me happy.

I went to the doctor for a follow-up appointment on Friday. I had this huge thing written out for laundry list of “am I dyings” questions that I wanted to bring up. My legs and toes and hands tingle, I get panic attacks, I Hulk out into uber-bitch at the drop of a hat, I start bawling for no reason, I get headaches, I am exhausted out of nowhere, I can’t eat. My damn mouth hurts! (Probably because I talk too much) The list is too big and whiny for this post.

He asked if I was depressed. I started to say yes. Because I do get depressed, and I was really depressed that day. But I am not your standard I HAVE DEPRESSION! person. I have always learned to laugh things off, make a joke out of it, or find something funny that makes me feel better.

So I changed my answer to basically this:

Last time I was sick like this, I had just gone through a terrible breakup. I had been dating around a bit as well, but I was newly and freshly single, and a lot of my friends just were either out doing their own thing or maybe they just got stick of calling me to do things and hearing me say, “I can’t.” It’s hard to explain that you can’t really leave the house much when you feel like this. Sometimes people ask if I am contagious hahahahahahaha. No. I am not. I will kiss you with tongue, ALL OF YOU to prove it.

I refer to my precious few hours that I get to leave the house every few days or so as “DOMINIQUE’S BIG DAY OUT.”

I got really lonely last time. I slept a lot, read books, remained confused because doctors kept telling me to stop being all periody and womany and stressy because that’s what was causing this. I probably got the most down I had ever been in my whole life. Toward the end of my illness something happened that I will probably only talk about to maybe two people, but it as so humiliating and horrifying and downright just the last straw that I told myself I was done with life and if I wasn’t well soon that was that. It’s weird reflecting on that, because I have never felt that way before and never have again.

Of course I talk about drowning myself in the toilet, crashing my car into the freeway wall, running into traffic, hanging myself in the bathroom, but we all know I am kidding.

Anyway, I got better that last time and came back to Earth.

This time, I started to get a bit blue, but suddenly out of nowhere, I had friends coming by to visit. My friend Andy brought me this Lil Wayne/John Wayne shirt which made my life and my t-shirt collection’s life.

Victoria told a co-worker, whom I have yet to meet (IRL tee-hee) that I wasn’t feeling well. He sent her over with Noni Juice and supplements for me. More than once. (thank you Randy!!!)

Conor asked if I was seeing people, and I told him I almost locked Andy and Victoria in my basement when they came over that one day. Ever since, Conor has been taking me out on little errands and popping by for visits.

Terrence is being so nice to me, even when I am being a raging whore about all this.

My dogs are driving me insane.

My mom still answers the phone when I call and she lets me ramble like a lonely crazy cat lady. Sans the cats.

Ian brought me a AN AWESOME tank top.

I keep wanting to namedrop erryone here, but anyway, I have been flooded with hugs, emails, phone calls, text messages, little pick me up gifts, and even thinking about that right now makes me tear up (AND I DON’T cry) because I feel so loved that it’s overwhelming. I have so much gratitude for knowing that such sweet selfless people exist in this world and that THEY ARE MY FRIENDS.

It probably doesn’t hurt that I have threatened many of them that if they aren’t nice to me I will haunt them from the grave if I die.

For the record, I am pretty sure I am not going to die, it just feels that way. The speculation is Crohn’s right now. To which I said, “Shit.” To which I also said, “At least my disease will sound like an intelligent professor.

To which my beautiful friend Jenny Poplar said, “Sorry to hear this, Dom. It is a well documented fact that people with Crohn’s disease are often of above average intelligence. Seriously, look it up. If it is Crohn’s at least you have a smart person’s disease..”

I am not even going to look it up, I am going to take her word for it that I am the smartiest.

So all that is not a song, but it makes me beyond happy. You know that whole bosom swelling with happiness feeling. Well, I wish my bosoms would swell, aggressive sick weight loss took those away pretty fast!

Enough about my boobs and me boobing and happiness in life.

The song that makes me undeniably happy; the song that if I was in a coma in the hospital and it came on I would wake up and dance to it; the song that I listen to 325879 times a week, is by a little band called Orange Juice.

They’re a Scottish post-punk band that came about in 1979. They never made it huge but they are huge in my heart. The song contains all my favorite elements; saxophone, clapping, campy vocals, COWBELL, and a beat sent to you from the blue clouds of heaven.

As I write this oddly enough, that song JUST started on a shuffle playlist I have going. BRB have to DANCE!!!

Whew. Back.

Favorite verse:

Nothing worth finding
Is easily found
Try as we might
That was supposed to sound
Very profound
It probably sounds dry

Now you dance!!!!

http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/I+Can+t+Help+Myself/2Ts6L5?src=5

All right! Song number two for 30 Songs in 30 Days!

This one is going to be convenient for my current state of negativity. I think my immune system ruptured a pipe a day or so ago, so now on top of impending doom, I have current doom of some sort of other sickness. Blah. Or as Dracula would say, “Blehhh!”

Day 02 – Your least favorite song

Well there are a lot of songs I loathe out there. Just turn on the radio and I can pick out probably every single one playing right now. I chose this song though because of the fact that it’s one of those double-edged swords.

I will be mindlessly wandering the aisles of TJ Maxx like some sort of bargain zombie when it comes on and the song sucks so bad, the artist is atrocious, yet it brings back a treasured gawky youth memory. So that in turn makes me think, “Awesome, the one thing that brings back a treasured overly hormonal pleasant memory is this bag full of pure yuck.”

Just my luck right?

When I was 15 I got a huge crush. Sound familiar? I mean I turned into a bumbling fidgety melty mouthed dolt around this person. It was the olden days before your Internets and your cellular phones and your sexting that all you kids are into these days, and it was in Iowa circa 1995 small town style. That was the grunge explosion. Try being into that when everyone else just wants a good pair of Girbauds and to see how high they can get their bangs to look so that they’ll match their collared polo shirts.

I loved Radiohead. Yeah, before their Ok Computers and weird electronic bleeps and blips. It was their Pablo Honey straight out of the 90s grunge rock, honeys.

I remember I purchased a ginormous Pablo Honey shirt only to be questioned by my peers, “What’s a Radiohead?” and giving them my best, “You just wouldn’t get it.” Gen-X face.

But then as I was walking down the hallway, this person pointed to it and said, “I like your shirt.” I looked up at him and I am pretty sure made some braying donkey noises and that is where my crush began.

He of course was older than me by three years, and when you are 15, that may as well be three million years. Once you reach your late 20s we are all basically the same age.

But anyhow. He was the Jordan Catalano to my Angela Chase. A series of awkward events were surely to follow, such as not feeling well and sneaking off to smoke behind the library one day during school and him being back there.

“Do you want to hear what I wrote on my guitar?” he asked.

This was also back when hell yes I wanted to hear what you wrote on your guitar because playing guitar is the cooolest! Now Anyone Can Play Guitar, and I don’t give a shit when they tell me that unless they aren’t a total boner.

So he plays this really pretty song, I don’t remember what it was. I was beautiful in my head so that’s all that matters, and all the while, I am a bit nauseous from not feeling well earlier that day and as he winds up the song, I look him in the eyes, and I say the most romantic thing a girl could ever say to a boy she thinks she is in love with:

“I think I’m going to puke.”

We got married and had 7 kids after that. No we didn’t.

I was never big into dances. Or anything school related for that matter. That’s not something Kurt Cobain would have done. But my friends and I decided to attend some spring dance. I don’t know why. I don’t even remember really any specific details on it, this seems like eons ago.

All I remember was Hootie & The Blowfish, “Hold My Hand” coming on and my CRUSH coming up to ask me if I wanted to dance to it. I am sure my heart beat out of my chest the whole time I awkwardly stood there trying to figure out how one dances.

Trust me I am still trying to figure out how one dances.

So that was the peak of my Jr. High life. And I have Hootie & The Blowfish to thank for it. A band that seriously has one of the most poorly named titles ever and their music is just as cheesy and lyrically devoid of any human life. Every time their music comes on in these stores I am shopping at I am filled with I need to punch something from how bad they suck anger, to wistful thinking of my youthful days when everything was so new and exciting and full of prospect.

Do you see how that can confuse one’s mind?

So here’s it is my friends. I think I’m going to puke:

I have decided to do the 30 Songs in 30 Days post that I have seen floating around. Some of them seem a bit redundant, and some seem a bit subjective for the period of my life that I was in when being axed the question, so this could change on a day to day basis, what the hell. WHAT THE HELL?

Day 1. My favorite song.

I have had many favorite songs in lifetime. But I am going to pick one of my favorite songs and hand over two versions of it.

I choose you Do Ya, by ELO. ELO has been one of my all time favorite bands as far back as I can remember. Nobody, and I mean nobody has walked this earth that can compete with them in my opinion. Everything was done with such orchestrated perfection and Jeff Lynne has sweet hair.

I curse the fact that I am too young (still olde though I promise) to have never seen them play. I even set up ELO Play One More Show! On Facebook. Well, it didn’t take off, but I still have hope.

Nuff said. I am usually not “that guy” but I kind of have a tendency to judge whether or not I want to be friends with someone based on how they feel about ELO.

Do Ya is probably one of the most beautiful love/lust songs I have ever heard. It doesn’t say, “Do ya do ya wanna hump,” or “Do ya do ya want to bone.” It’s Lynne listing off all of the things that he has seen and heard in his lifetime thus far in this world; things beautiful and things sad that have touched his heart in a certain way and stirred him emotionally. As he goes through his checklist, he ends it each time with, “But I’ve never seen/heard nothing like you.

Be still my aching loins if someone were to say that to me!

When he says, “Do ya do ya want my love…WOMAN” They way that he says woman is so pronounced, manly and forcible, like the question needs to be answered know. After that spiel, drag me by my hair into your cave buddy!

Let us not forget that the song just plain fucking rocks balls.

Without further aDoya:

For those of you who don’t know this, Jeff Lynne was in a band called The Move prELO. This song was originally done by The Move, and it’s kind of like the whole tomato-tomahto thing, but I am a bit more partial to the Move’s version due to the fact that who the hell can resist cowbell all up in your face?? If you can then you are deaf to the siren song of rock.

Here’s the OG version:

I spent years looking for the perfect vintage ELO T-Shirt. People kept either outbidding me or it just wasn’t the style and fit for me. A week ago, fate and destiny collided with my body after I won an ELO shirt that knew one day it would need to meet and marry me.

I think I wore it four days in row before I came to terms with the fact that it was not going to meld itself to my body. Regardless, the fit, material, print, was the closest I will ever get to touching the hand of God.

Next Holy Grail purchase? A vintage Hall & Oates shirt.

No shit. I went to bed last night at 3:30 a.m., and as I lay there drifting off, I had a very vivid dream that I got knuckle tattoos that said: |H|U|E|Y| |L|E|W|I|S| Needless to say, I was a very sad panda (or human being I guess) when I awoke to look at my knuckles only to see that they were still untouched by holy words. We will talk more about my affinity for Huey one day. That may take awhile though.

Lately since I’ve been on my death bed, only get to sit in front of the computer sick, I have had time to rediscover music in ways that I haven’t since the olden days of horse drawn buggies and Napster.

I tapped into a genre well that I have never quite played around in before, and that would be Mod/Pop/Punk mainly from the 70s and early 80s, and music started to spray all over me. It’s been an overwhelming yet delightful experience, regardless, I don’t even know how to start jumping for joy. For when I find one HOLY SHIT THIS IS AMAZING BAND! all of a sudden, another one crops up. It’s like I have lice, but the doctor assured me that it’s just a lot of bands thank God.

Say what?? There is more out there than just The Ramones and The Sex Pistols? Don’t get me wrong, those bands are great too and they were a definite staple of the punk scene, but telling people you like them is like telling people that Jay-Z is your favorite when you claim that rap music is your bag.

Generally most things that I have been drawn to have been out of the UK, Scotland, Australia, etc. But I recently came upon the Plimsouls, and Lord knows, I have listened to this song 3,000 times. I am pretty sure my house’s ears are bleeding right now. But it’s so solid. It’s so tight. It’s so rockin’, It’s just a little over two minutes. You know those songs. They leave you longing for more. You rinse, lather, and repeat. Over and over.  It’s called The Zero Hour.

The Plimsouls were formed by Peter Case who had been in the Nerves prior, another band I have been drooling all over. The Nerves by the way were the OG writers of the now infamous Blondie song, “Hanging On The Telephone.” Again, more on that later. These guys ar also, bless their I love their little souls, from L.A.!

Enough! Put some socks on and prepare to have them rocked off and listen to this bitch already! I have three times thus this morning.

No, not rock tit. However that does have a tendency to happen if you don’t wear a bra and walk down the refrigerated aisle at your local grocery store.

Or if it’s a hot summer day, you are wearing a halter top that doesn’t support bras, and your bring your chihuahua into Petsmart to get his nails trimmed and he misbehaves so badly that one of the ladies asks you to hold him while she attempts to trim his nails and you do and he gets that “going to his rape place” look in his eyes, and starts pawing at your halter until you flash all five people working behind the counter. True story.

But I digress. Rock T Summer started last year when I started the hunt for the latest and greatest t-shirts that I could acquire sporting a favorite band. I am big into the vintage originals, so it can be quite the hunt. At times in the past, I haven’t pulled the trigger for years until the perfect one manifests itself before my very eyes.

So here I shall start posting all of my favorite finds.

We begin with Eazy-E. Straight Out of Compton was one of my favorite N.W.A. albums to listen to when I was in high school. Well, skipping classes in high school that is. Yet, I could never find a girl shirt that had my man Eazy on it.

One day while at my local mall, I found a screen printing kiosk, and asked them if I went to get a tank top, if they would print him on there for me. They went for it, I went to Mervyn’s (now defunct right) came back and had this beauty made. It was about 10 years ago, but I have held tight to it ever since. It has since cracked and faded, but I guess now we can consider it vintage right?

You don’t even have to sign up for crap, just vote away and I will love you long time and make you a shload of cookies if I win.

See, I was always that kid who was about three years behind on trends. Living in Iowa,that set me back to at least six years behind. I never did get the Girbauds while they were hot of the jeans press or the slap bracelets that threatened to come out of their protective casing and cut your wrist until they were settled into the DI. For that reason, I never went to concerts or watched Beverly Hills 90210 when it first came out. I knew and loved MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice, and true to form, twenty years after the fact I was ready to see them in concert.

The mere idea that they were coming to Orem Utah on February 27th and only Orem Utah alone, no other tours, just this, blew my mind. Since I don’t get out of the house much, I had actually never been to Orem and had to prepare for this trip. This concert in my mind was going to be epically epic. Well before we made that drive Conor and I sat in the liquor store debating which kind of whiskey could be downed wihtout choking hazards.

We then made the one hour drive up there and arrived shortly before 8:00. I feared we were actually going to be late since the bill stated that the show started at 8:00. As I sat in the parking lot I started to fill a Coke bottle with Jameson. Then Conor and I were faced with the task of how we were to fill the flask. See they have these tiny holes and no funnel! Easy, the funnel was made out of the directions to get there.

We finished our Coke and exited the vehicle. I was greeted by a massive sea of people standing in a massive sea of lines all excited to get inside. Some were dressed up straight out of the 80’s, hardcore fans had steps shaved in their heads, and others appeared to be the curious onlookers of the night.

Just a few sips of liquid courage later, you know to get me warmed up while I waited in the cold, and I was ready to go inside and nail this concert. Well, the line proved to be longer and colder than anticipated. I sent Conor back to the car to retrieve the other Coke bottle. We were destined to smell like hobos for the night. He came back and warned me this was a strong batch, he also called out my manliness so I had to drink right along with him as he had left about 1/100 Coke and the rest whiskey in this one.

So a few sips became a few gulp, guzzles, pounds.

We finally found our way inside and explored the many tunnels of the McKay Events center. Hoards of people were gathered around waiting for the show to start, and it was set up much like a Junior High pep rally with dancers on stage and our favorite hits from back in the day blasting through the speakers.

We found the press room where we were excited to meet our men of the 80′s, and I decided to pose by the beautiful backrop that was glistening with washed up success reunited for just one night

I wandered upstairs and was beckoned by some men with a Playstation video game console up and running. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly, I haven’t played video games since the first Nintendo came out.” They convinced me to do so though and I picked your typical character for a girl, Wonderwoman, and proceeded to kick my video game loving friend’s ass. I was just that perfect amount of buzzed, you know the kind where you can bowl a great score? Oh I got a free t-shirt out of the deal, and that to me was as good as gold. I danced around a lot and said things like “SUCK IT!”

So then it sounded like something big was about to happen since it was about 9:30 and we ran downstairs to see if our Hammer or Ice was coming out. After a few minutes of just more amping up the crowd happened, and more opening acts, and more breakdancers, we confirmed it was not happening yet and went wandering (drinking) some more. This is where you are about to have that second game of bowling and you suck because you drank a lot more because that is supposed to make you double awesome.

In the process of going outside to have a cigarette, I put my coveted shirt in the door to keep it open. Security snaked up behind me and snatched it out the door and ran off with it! Luckily for cell phones Conor came and got me back in and we told my tearful story to the Playstation men who happily supplied me with another t-shirt. 10:30 rolls around. We have been here for hours, and no sign of the main acts. More people dancing around, Vanilla Ice’s dancers went up to Conor and asked when he was going to go on. He lied and said next. I think it was more wishful thinking than lying. Even Vanilla’s dancers didn’t know when the actual show was starting!

Yet more wandering commenced which led us into the media room. Alone. With a copy machine. Bored. Things that shouldn’t get copied got copied. There is still a photo copy of my boobs sitting in Conor’s car. I kept giggling and saying the 3-year-old phrase “Don’t look don’t look!!”

Finally, all the excitement, buildup, happiness about this whole event started to wane down. I had about as much fun as one can have in a media room and Conor even had to stop me from tearing down the tapestry to take home (with a lighter) and instead we decided on a chain that weighed about 150 pounds. I was also in dire need of water. This much need.

We had been in Orem for hours upon hours, we were out of things to do, and quite honestly I am surprised the gigantic crowd outside wasn’t rioting. We remained patient and loyal for as long as we could, and even adult beverages make me more patient that Mother Theresa. So the executive decision was made after over four hours of waiting for the hype to stop and the actual event to happen.

Sometimes awesome things are better kept a mystery, and the buildup in your head is far better than the actual event that unfolds before you. This decision was made as we walked out those doors and missed our epically epic event. Though somehow, it still turned out to be one of the best concerts I had even been to this year.

Afterwards some Iranian men bought me some much not needed shots which pretty much put me over the edge. I think I convinced myself that I was a hobbit and that this endearing fella was Gandolf the Gray because I wanted my picture with him and was dumbfounded that I was so short in comparison with his tallness. I don’t remember this photo being taken.

Along the way BACONATORS! was screamed. Conor thought it was a good idea too. I don’t remember that either. Nor do I remember falling flat on the floor the second me feet walked inside, but there is proof in photos of course.