525,600 Minutes

Say What?

I heart music.  Unless it's country music ~ that shit makes me want to pierce my eardrums with a sharp stick.  Honestly, I just can't deal with it.  That crap ass song about slammin' screen doors and yer momma don't know makes me want to slit my wrists ~ just sayin'.

Because I heart music, I'm one of those obnoxious folks who spend hundreds of dollars a year on ringtones for my cellphone.  Ok, it's not hundreds of dollars ~ maybe fifty.  Or more.  Whatever.  I like to share my uber cool ringtones as well.  Most people aren't nearly as amused by them as me but most people aren't nearly as fun as me.  My friends will attest to that.  Won't you, friends?  Friends?  Hello?

So my latest ringtone is called "When I Grow Up" by The Pussycat Dolls.  Remember them?  Don'cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?  Don'cha?  That used to be one of my ringtones once upon a time.  Shocked, aren't ya?  Anyway, the first time I heard When I Grow Up, I was convinced that the refrain went like this:

When I grow up, I wanna be famous, I wanna be a star, I wanna be in movies.

When I grow up, I wanna see the world, drive nice cars, I wanna have boobies.

I swear to God I thought they were saying "boobies."  And I cackled in the car like a lunatic and turned it up full blast and made The Girl confirm that they did indeed say boobies.  Boobies.  Who the hell says boobies?  What the hell ~ are The Pussycat Dolls three years old for fuck sake?  The Girl confirmed they were saying boobies.  And then we howled more.  Aren't I a fine mother?  Don't answer that.

The next day, my world was shattered when one of the four Cowgirl's explained to my immature ass that they were saying "groupies" ~ not boobies.  Son of a bitch.  Boobies is so much damn funnier than groupies.  I damn near changed my ringtone at that point.  But I had already forked out the $2.99 for it so I decided to keep it.  And I say boobies anyway.  Cuz let's face it, we all do want boobies when we grow up, right?  I'm still waiting for my boobies and I'm 40.  But that's another story for another day.

So this little boobie debacle got me to thinking about songs lyrics that me or my loved ones have totally fucked up in the past.  My sister, BandCamp is the queen of the effed up lyrics.  I spent most of my formative years mocking her for singing shit that was completely ridiculous.  Let me share some of her greater moments with you.  This will be fun, promise.

Maggie May by Rod Stewart

"All you did was wet my bed and in the morning kick me in the head..."

Why the hell would Maggie May have been peeing in Rod's bed?  Wasn't he like 12 and she was about 50.  If anybody would have been pissing the bed, it would have been him ~ just sayin'.  But BandCamp was convinced that Maggie had some incontinence issue and poor Rod need one of those plastic mattress protectors.

Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks

"Just like the one we love, sings a song, sound, sound she's singing."

What the hell?  That's not even English for fuck's sake.  Song, sound, sound she's singing?  I know Stevie has spent the past three decades stoned out of her devil worshipping mind, but damn, I don't think she was that high.  Apparently BandCamp did though since she spent all of 1981 saying, "song, sound, sound she's singing."

Apparently my children have acquired the fucked up song lyric gene from my sister.  Remember the song "My Humps?"  You know, "My humps, my lovely lady lumps ~ check it out."  At the end of the uncensored song that my children know every word of, our boy Will.i.am goes into this mellow riff of, "So real, so real."  Here's what I hear coming from my backseat...

"It's on the grill, it's on the grill..."

What the hell is on the grill?  The lovely lady lumps?  That's highly disturbing if I do say so myself.  Not to mention, quite painful.

JillyD has a confession to make.  I jacked up a song lyric once.  But only once.  I don't even know why I know this song but it's Blinded by The Light by the Manfred Mann's Earth Band.  You know where I'm going with this, right? 

Blinded by the light, revved up like a douche, another runner in the night.

Douche?  As in Massengill Disposable?  As in, "Mom, do you ever got that not so fresh, crotch rot feeling?"  Here, let me share it with you...

That's so disturbing.  So. very. disturbing.  So I'm not exactly sure what the hell "revved up like a deuce" means but I felt better that they weren't being wrapped up like a douche.  Do you even wrap up douche?  Like a sanitary napkin?  I can honestly say that JillyD has never been anywhere near a douche bag.  JillyD has known douche bags ~ just sayin' ~ but I've never used one. 

Time for all my faithful readers to fess up.  Come on, you know you've effed up a song ~ at least once.  Share your story.  It will make my sister feel so much better.

She's Gone

My BFF is gone.  And my heart is broken.  I love you Jenni from the Hood.  Don't forget to remember me, ok?

Do You Serve Fries With That?

The Guolizhuang Restaurant is in Beijing. There are four franchises in the city
alone, and the chain is expanding: there's one in Atlanta, Georgia, and in Chinatown. The Guolizhuang menu is a broad introduction to the medicinal benefits of eating animal penises and testicles.

Let me remind everyone that JillyD's BFF, Jenni in the Hood is moving to Shanghai.  Which is in China.  Where apparently they eat weiners and nuts on a regular basis.  I think I'd rather die from whatever was ailing me then eat a weiner ~ just sayin'. 

 

Ox penises help manliness. They're cut along the side and shaped into little stars.

Ox penises help manliness?  What the hell does that mean?  If a boy eats an ox dick he'll be able to fart louder?  Or fondle his man parts more often? How does one measure manliness?  If you're JillyD, you measure it by the amount of money that's deposited in my checking account every two weeks.  Manliness is directly proportional to the level in which I can maintain my life of leisure.  No worries for the love of my life, Mach One.  He's manly enough without having to eat an ox schlong.  Thank God for small favors.

  

The yak penis is served with a dragon. In the Guolizhuang restaurant there are more than 30
different animal penises on the menu. And for very special guests there's a list of others.

Holy Mary, Mother of God.  Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death amen.  And how about an extra special prayer for the female yaks of the world.  Do you see the size of that thing?  Or were you too distracted by the dragon?  What the hell is that made of ~ cheese?  Or does the bed of wilted lettuce make it less obvious that there is a 3 foot long penis about to be served to you and a few of your favorite friends?  With friends like that, who the hell needs enemies?  That's all I'm sayin'...

 

'Henry's whip' is the house speciality at Beijing's Guolizhuang restaurant. It's a
sheep's penis on a stick covered in mayonnaise, sweet cheese, served on a bed of
lettuce.

Poor Henry has a pretty small whip, don't you think?  These things look more like Henry's balls on a plate.  Not that I want to eat those either ~ just sayin'.  Is it just me or do these look like mice?  And would you rather eat a mouse or Henry's whip?  Remember, whichever one you choose, there's always the tasty dipping sauce on the side for your palate's pleasure.  Any guesses as to what's in the sauce?  Seriously.

  

The penises are often dipped in soy or hot sauce. For women, eating penises is supposed to be good for the skin.

Raise your hand if you've heard that one before. Apparently the "good for the skin" rumor is a universal pick up line.  Who knew? 

Seriously.  That picture is just wrong on so many levels.  So wrong.  On so many levels...

 

Donkey penis served on a bed of lettuce: For Chinese guests, eating the sexual organs is not a test of courage, but rather a treatment for the libido.

The jackass dick makes the yak look like a small fry, doesn't it.  As far as the libido issue I have one word ~ Viagra.  Or Cialis.  Or celibacy.  All three are better options then deep throating Eyeore ~ just sayin'...

Special thanks to my pal, DixCGirl for sharing this one with me.  And how appropriate that the word "dix" is in her name?  I heart irony.

 

Saving the Best for Last

Softball season is officially over.  Damn, I hate when that happens.  I've mentioned that I heart softball, right?  Maybe just a few times.  It's not like I'm obsessed or anything.  Shut up ~ I'm not.  Just because I know the entire schedule of Team USA in Beijing over the next few weeks does not mean I'm obsessed.  I'm just an avid fan.  Is it just me or does avid sound like rabid?  Don't answer that. 

Our last softball tournament was in Petoskey ~ which is in lovely northern Michigan.  Like the effing Kid Rock song that plays every minute on the minute.  You know the one I'm talking about right?  I liked it the first million times I heard it.  Now I break out into hives when I hear the first note ~ just sayin'.  Anyway, back to northern Michigan.  Not only does Kid Rock smoke funny things in northern Michigan but Madonna and her man hands happened to be close by as well.  Have you seen Madonna's hands?  God God ~ they're like claws.  No shit.  Google Madonna's hands ~ I'll wait.  See, I was right, wasn't I?  Scary shit.  Anyway, Madonna was in Traverse City, wreaking havoc no doubt, and JillyD and her gang were watching The Girl and her uber cool team play a little softball.  Check out this field...

Breathtaking, isn't it?  I'm sure the dude who developed it has since been fired for putting a softball field on prime real estate property.  That was a dumbass move but I didn't mind.  It's not like I'm planning on living there.  I'd have to find another street corner to work if I did.  But it was very cool watching The Girl spank the other team with such a lovely back drop.

Look at the girl on third thinking that she's going to pick off The Girl.  She's all serious and shit in her ugly uniform ~ poor thing.  And is anyone else concerned about the toddler playing by himself on the cliff that leads down to Little Traverse Bay?  Just wonderin'?  Not a parent in site ~ I'm sure they were drunk somewhere.  Not that I'd know anything about being drunk.

Um, sweetie, that would be a strike.  Don't try to jump out of the batter's box and act like you're going to get hit and shit.  That's a strike and you need to be swinging.  Except for the fact that you're on the other team so we don't give a damn if you watch the third strike go by.  And what the hell is the runner on third doing?  Is she skipping?  I think she might be.  That's just wrong on so many levels.

These are my kids.  Aren't they cute?  And for those of you who are lucky enough to be on JillyD's Christmas card list ~ pretend you never saw this.  Because you'll probably be seeing it again in about 4 months.  Holy shit ~ is Christmas really four months away?  I think I just had a mini stroke contemplating that little fact.

Have I ever mentioned that that I like it really cold when I sleep?  Like if it's snowing in my room, I'm good.  My children have had to adapt their environment to my hot flashes.  Menopause is going to be a bitch ~ just sayin'...

See the ball in the upper right hand corner?  Yeah ~ the bee-yatch in the outfield saw it too.  And she felt compelled to catch it.  Whatever.  It was still a good hit and it made for a hell of a good picture.

So there you have it ~ our last tournament of the softball season.  I have pictures from the other five tournaments as well.  They'll be coming to a blog near you soon.  But for now, feel free to enjoy the beauty of northern Michigan.  Just make sure you're not smoking funny things, k?

Somewhere in Between

Here's a recent photo of The Girl.  She's somewhere in between being a little kid and being a big kid.  There are moments when she's definitely a big kid.  But there's a moment, late at night, before I head off to bed when I check on her one last time before a new day begins ~ and at that moment, she's still a little kid.

At least I don't hold a mirror up to her nose to make sure she's still breathing ~ just sayin'....

She'll be 12 in December.  I'm not sure I'm ready to be the mother of a 12 year old.  Rumor has it I'm not really responsible enough to be the mother of anyone ~ go figure.

I wish I could freeze time.  Like the Cassadines from General Hospital and their freeze machine.  I was probably The Girl's age when the Cassadine's were wreaking havoc on Port Charles.  Now there's a full circle moment.