 Hell? Oh, Well |
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I do not know how I ever made it through the work day without Yahoo! Radio. In the past few minutes, I've heard "If I Were Brave" by Shawn Colvin (one of my favorite songs by her ever), "Thunder Road" (one of my favorite songs by anyone ever), "Hey Jesus" by Indigo Girls, "I Feel for You" by Chaka Khan, and "Against All Odds" by Phil Collins -- the live version. Really. It's too much! I love the Phil Collins live album. I think I still have the tape that I "borrowed" from Maryelizabeth in like tenth grade. Its version of "Separate Lives" -- just stop. It makes me writhe around on the floor in angsty pleasure. I've set it up to play lots of Lucy Kaplansky, Dar Williams, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Indigo Girls, Alison Krauss, Nickel Creek. I mean, it's like having all of my favorite songs in a surprise of an arrangement and one pops up and I clap with glee. And if a bad song sneaks in, I can just skip it and demand that it never be played again, which I just did with a deeply satisfying relish for that no-talent tramp Hilary Duff. I also have Chicago 17 set on "Can't Get Enough," and really, I cannot. Is it terribly, terribly wrong that I've been catching the Carmen Electra wedding show and I don't totally hate them as a couple? I might be going over the deep end. My dental adventures continue. Today I got some contouring on my teeth done that's allegedly going to make my bite better because more teeth will touch when I chew (read: grind) and the pressure will be distributed more evenly. It was most unpleasant, as I hate little else more on earth than the smell of ground-up tooth dust (remember the smell of getting the glue drilled off the front of your teeth when you got your braces off?), and it's inescapable because it flies off of your teeth right up your nose. The new assistant also kept catching my lip in the suction tube instead of my saliva and I would jump so vigorously that the dentist would have to massage my jaw to get me to relax. It was all very comedy routine on planet sadism. Of course my dental insurance doesn't cover occlusal adjustments, the cheap motherfuckers. This morning I woke up with a feeling in my arms not dissimilar to being beaten with a large heavy blunt object from doing arm weights yesterday morning and a brutal yoga class last night. I mean, I really wish I would see some benefits to doing weights, but clearly I'm not, because I still feel like the weakest person in my yoga class. And I still cannot get my back straight during plank pose to save my damn life. I can't even bear to look in the mirror to check my pose because I feel like Quasimodo, into whom I morph when I overcompensate my swayback arching and I end up totally hunching. I cannot achieve straightness. It is a quandary. We did so many transitions from there to here to here and then she tyrannically started trying to make us do push-ups out of this into this and I thought my wrists were going to snap in two while my upper arms simultaneously melted into quivery inflamed goo at which point I collapsed onto the floor and burst into deranged laughter at the sheer futility of it all. Luckily I was in the back corner so I just pretended that I was invisible and no one could hear my shrill hysteria. Speaking of "Hey Jesus," I have no desire to see the movie. Zero. Everyone I know who's seen it has found it very moving, and that's fine and dandy and more power to them, but it does not appeal to me. I think this really disappoints them, especially my mother, but what can I say? I love my parents, but how can I trust their judgment on this movie when in the same breath they were talking about how "great" Sean Hannity is?! I ask you! I go to the movies to laugh, to tap my feet, to fall in love. I don't go to be grossed out. And I know that's simplistic, and I know I just CAN'T UNDERSTAND UNLESS I SEE IT HOW DEEP IT IS, and I don't hate Mel Gibson or Jesus, but I just do not want to see it. I would really much rather stay home and rent The School of Rock. If that means I'm going to hell? Oh, well.
About this time in ...
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