In Which Stephanie Saves Christmas-ish

At the annual SMS Christmas party, Santa Claus makes one final stop before heading back to the North Pole; the chicken wings keep him in town overnight.

One of the kids insists that he hears bells (the noise for signaling an approaching Santa) and of course all of the other children have an instant reaction and come running into the garage.
And of course, you have to sing REALLY LOUD so Santa can find the house and come in with presents.

"Singing Loud for all to Hear"

While the adults are still drawing straws over who assists Santa this year, the kids are about to explode and we’ve already sung Rudolph and Jingle Bells.
Knowing that Santa’s helper has not yet been coursed (and with a couple of beers under my belt) I suggest that we sing “The 12 Days of Christmas”; being the longest Christmas song I know.

Things are going well.
“… two turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree!”, as we sing off-key. “On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, six… um…”
“Six… uh…”
“What’s six?”
“I don’t know!”
“Ladies dancing?”, I suggest.
“NO! Um… GEESE! Six geese a laying!”
And everyone joins back in, “Five golden rings!”
Jumping around, we finish the verse.
“On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me… seven… aw geez…”
The kids look around, confused…
“I’m so sorry. Santa’s going to be late now that I suggested a song and didn’t know all of the words and if he’s not here on time, it’s totally my fault…”*
“‘sokay Stephanie!”
“NEAT! Seven, seven, seven SWANS A SWIMMING!”
We finish that verse and thank goodness Santa shows up.

* Knowing very well that the adults have finally stopped fighting over who was going to swallow their pride this year but preparing takes time.

The Important Thing is That I’m not Broken. I think.

Section 106, Row 1, Seat 4

What’s that?
You didn’t have me pegged as a Metallica fan? I get that a lot.

Anyway, Steve’s cousin won a grand (but not The) prize from the local “rock” station and karma made sweet love to Steve and I.
The important part is, we were FRONT ROW FOR METALLICA.
You’re either jealous or “What’s a Metallica? Is that off-Broadway?”

"You get put in the box for two minutes to think."

Yup, that would be the lock on the box at the hockey arena… we were where players hang out.

Blue Line

Damn near center ice.
After running around Casa Mak, trying to get dog poo out of the carpet before the limo came to get us left me forgetting to pick up the PnS. So Cameraphone had to suffice.

singe

We lost a fair amount of arm hair, being so close to pyrotechnics and all.

Everyone get together for a group shot.

awesome awesome awesome

It’d been 15 years since I last saw Metallica and I totally forgot how great of a show they put on.

So, after the last song, Kirk (the long haired guitar guy) is throwing handfuls of picks into the crowd. And well folks, that smelled like competition.
One comes hurtling towards me and lands at my feet.
I turn, crouch and someone else sees the same pic and pretty much bum rushes me into the armrest.
However, I was the victor and our gracious host now plays home to the pick.
Today the injury is slightly worse than it was when I was drunk excited and there’s a fantastic bruise line that runs from the middle of my elbow to the middle of my tricep.
Thank heaven for ice packs.
And Metallica.

“It’s be better for us if you don’t understand…”

Ugh.
Monday.
You ever have those weekends where it seems like even though you get a (seemingly) lot done, you look back and you’re like, “WTF! It’s Monday? Again?!”

Friday things started innocently enough.
Steve decided to clean the garage and was finishing up when I got home. I took a scraper to the frame of the garage; which has been bubbling/peeling for the better part of a few years.
At this point, we decided that we should just replace the whole frame, seeing as the other side had unfortunate run-ins with the lawn mower. Yeah, don’t know who would have done that…. hmmm…
After dinner found me with a FANTASTIC headache and I was out for the count by 9.
Party up at Casa Mak!

Saturday found me springing out of bed at five-to-ten because our ride was going to arrive at ten-thirty.
“Yeah, I was just watching the clock… it was getting later and later…”, he casually mentions as he stretches and gets out of bed.
Our ride arrived late, which wasn’t a big deal, seeing as the show wasn’t slated to start until 8pm anyway.
(see, there’s a “no tailgating” rule, so you show up wicked early, claim some lawn and lawn-tail-gate.)
Things were going along swimmingly, I was having a lovely time soaking up the vitamin D, nomming on a sub, having some Molson and a darn good time, as evident by Exhibit A:

Exhibits B and C have been burned eaten by the dog erased from the memory card as I’m sure PETA would have been up in our shit about beaching whales.
Let’s just say, had I been served drinks (rather than opening the cans and pouring them myself) I probably would have sent my cup to the lab.
I was feeling good, went to pee, came back and instantly did not feel Very Good At All.
Skipping the embarrassing details (at  least it wasn’t a spectacle) and two songs in, I was back in top condition.
Oh, right, here I’ve been going on and on about this event and I haven’t told you what it was.

We went to see Tragically Hip!
Granted this isn’t from our show or the new CD, but it’s one of my favorites.
(The Hip is very popular in this area… they sold out four nights at a local outdoor amphitheater and something like six days in Toronto)
Seriously, I can not tell you how many times I’ve seen The Hip, but we’re seriously talking about 20.
No. Really.

Sunday found Steve having better days.
‘lissa and I had coffee and breakfast, I went grocery shopping, finished my laundry and by 10, I was ready to punch out.

So, here’s my question.
Think of a band that you really like, but they’re obscure… you have no more than three songs to play for someone who has never heard of the band before.
What (up to three) song(s) do you play for them and why?

Today’s Repressed Memory: Doctor’s Office Music

hey, it’s cheaper than a shrink.

Due to circumstances far beyond my (and Mom’s and Dad’s) control, as a kid I spent too much time in doctors offices.
Seemed like no matter which doctor we went to see, they all played the same station.
The Soft Rock Station.  (perhaps today, it would be “all of your favorites from the 70s, 80s and today!”)
Not wanting to go in the first place and then sitting though “Against all Odds” (Phil Collins), “Daniel” (Elton John), “Sara” (Starship), “Kokomo” (Beach Boys), “Baker Street” (Gerry Rafferty), “The Things We Do for Love” (10cc), etc. which when you’re under ten is as bad as having to do spelling homework.
Perhaps it’s all those afternoons spent with people poking and prodding, stabbing and slicing that makes the “Adult Contemporary” station so hard to listen to.  Even now.
So if we’re in the car and I say I hate Billy Joel, I mean it.

(nowdays I’m an “OH MY GOD! IT’S A TUMOR!!!” or “Meh, the bleeding will stop. Eventually.” kind of girl)

Thoughts About the VMAs, Before Bed…

* Steve: Do you think that Taylor Swift is related to Stephanie Swift?
(Note: Stephanie Swift is an asian porn actress)

* WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?  What is a Paramore?  What’s a “cast of Twilight”?

* Realization- Jonas Brothers:NKOTB (back in the day, natch)

* Who hasn’t made fun of GWBjr?  Oh, that wrinkly old dude… he probably hasn’t.

* WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?

* Why isn’t that “Million Dollar Man”, whoever he is, actually wearing pants?  What’s the point?  For serious.

* Where the VMAs always this freaking annoying?  Oh.  God.  It’s because I’m “old” right?  That Miley Cyrus, um, kid/tween/dressing-way-to-old-for-however-old-she-is, would totally put me in a home.  A third-rate home.

I’m going to watch Scary Movie 4.

GO GO GO GO GO GO GO

Yes, I know I just got back from vacation/holiday.
However, Friday morning, we re-packed and eight of us caravaned to sunny Cleveland Ohio because I had a very important date with Trent Reznor (not a pseudonym).

Now granted, I’ve had a crush on this man since 1988.  For real.
He’s hot like this (circa late 90’s)

However, sobriety does a body good and, well, yeah.

Teh Hottness.

being an arm girl myself, well,  yeah….  ‘cuse me for a few.

Okay, right, got that taken care of.

Anyway, the show was PHENOMENAL.
Visually stimulating (light-show-wise) and I didn’t want it to end.  They played something like 32 songs (granted, one of those was like a prelude and four of them were instrumental).
Oh, and when he sings this song, Dicipline, he’s totally singing it to me.  It’s my jam yo.
Am I still tough enough?
Feels like I’m wearing down
Is my visciousness
Losing ground?
Am I taking too much?
Did I cross a line?
I need my role in this
Very clearly defined
I need your discipline
I need your help
I need your discipline
You know once I start I cannot help myself
And now it’s starting up
Feels like I’m losing touch
Nothing matters to me
Nothing matters as much
I see you left a mark
Up and down my skin
I don’t know where I end
And where you begin
I need your discipline
I need your help
I need your discipline
You know once I start I cannot help myself
Once I start I cannot stop myself

Oh, see, Goth Old Stephanie makes a guest appearance and well, yeah.

So many, many beers later, we order pizza (green peppers and sausage for the ladies, “belly buster” for the gents) and contemplate ordering “Lots of Filthy Sex” from pay-per-view.

Second Verse, Same as the First
Saturday morning we drive back home (three hours), have a sammich and then go to Buffalo Brewfest.
Brewfest is where a whole crapload of local/area breweries come together and serve their wares in three ounce servings.
Last year, I threw up.
The year before, I threw up.
This year, I was designated driver.  I enjoyed a lot of bottled water.
The drinkers did not enjoy the fest this year as it was a new venue and was WAY oversold.
So we split.

Second Verse, Same as the First
We come home, pick up Bailey and head to our friends house where the men play volleyball and Melissa and I have interm-Catty-Thursday.
Melissa, British Import and I start a bonfire.
Steve is driving home and I look at the clock.  It’s 11pm and we were the last two to leave.
Getting old is lame sometimes.

Dude, can I tell you, I am more tired after this week of vacation then from the regular grind.

If Only I had Listened Closer…

There are a number of crystal clear memories I have of my childhood.
Many of these memories are uncovered when I hear a song I haven’t heard in years (or decades).
One of those memories came back to me this morning while listening to XM44:Fred- the “New Wave” station.

Dad used to be a computer technician, back when computers had to be repaired, via cottering (sp?), instead of having boards changed or replacing the entire unit.
I don’t remember much about his job in particular, except that more often then not, it sucked and made him frustrated.
We always used music as a form of therapy and I clearly remember there’d be times when Dad would BLARE “Birth School Work Death” by The Godfathers, over and over and over and over again, yelling just as vehemently to the first playing as the twenty-seventh.
I remember being at the “School” phase and thinking “Yeah, so what’s the big deal?”.

Now I am at the “Work” phase with a “Death” phase closer then I’d like to acknowledge and now I know what the big deal is.

This is life does not match the “Adulthood is Fun!” pamphlet I was given during childhood.

So I present, for those of you who do not know said song….

“Birth School Work Death” by The Godfathers
Been turned around till I’m upside down
Been all at sea until I’ve drowned
And I’ve felt torture, I’ve felt pain
Just like that film with Michael Caine
I’ve been abused and I’ve been confused4
And I’ve kissed Margaret Thatcher’s shoes
And I been high and I been low
And I don’t know where to go

Birth, school, work, death
Birth, school, work, death

And heroin was the love you gave
From the cradle to the grave
Boys and girls don’t understand
The devil makes work for idle hands
I cut myself but I don’t bleed
‘Cause I don’t get what I need
Doesn’t matter what I say
Tomorrow’s still another day

Birth, school, work, death
Birth, school, work, death

Yeah I been high and I been low
And I don’t know where to go
I’m living on the never never never
This time it’s gonna be forever
I’ll live and die don’t ask me why
I wanna go to paradise
And I don’t need your sympathy
There’s nothing in this world for me

Birth, school, work, death
Birth, school, work, death

Birth, school, work, death
Birth, school, work, death
Birth, school, work, death
Birth, school, work, death

“Present” E: Entertainment

In the summer when I turned 10 (that’d be 19 years ago for those of you playing at home), I was supposed to see Debbie Gibson and Tiffany at the local amusement park.

Fate, as it ends up, was in the air, along with the thunder and lighting and eventual raining out of the event.

So, in the fall, Dad took me to see…

With special guest

Now, this was back in the day of “Arena Rock” (Generational translation: Bands playing, NOT LIP SYNCING, in sold-out areanas where sports are played.  Elaborate stage shows, fireworks, fire pillars, giant inflatable props, flshing lights…)

And we’re sitting in the only area where we could get tickets, The Nosebleeds.
“Daddy?”
“Yes hun?”
“Why are those guys behind us sharing a cigarette?”
“Uhhhh…”
And I’m sure he came up with some elaborate story about it (it wasn’t a cigarette as much as it was a joint), much like they first time I found a condom.  (“It’s a static bag for my chips for work.”)

Thus, changing the course of my teenage years forever.  I wonder what would have happened if I would have seen Debbie and Tiffany instead… I’d probably have a minivan.

“Present”: A

Seeing as I didn’t want to attach any significance or ranking to these posts, I guess letters came close…

Setting The Way Machine to the mid to late-1980’s……………………….

Saturday mornings, Mom would wake up early to go work at Silo (think Best Buy but in browns and yellows, circa 1980’s, microwaves as large as a countertop).
Dad would do his paperwork for the week and we’d listen to records.  For you youngings, “records” are pre-iPOD, pre-CD, Pre-Cassette and Pre-8 Track.
Some mornings, we’d hop in the Chevelle- Green on the outside, lipstick red on the inside- and drive around to garage sales.
Usually I’d get a toy of some kind and I don’t really think it’s that we were looking for anything in particular, it was a chance to get out and spend time together.
Pretty much whenever I hear Van Halen or Yes, I’m transported back to driving around Buffalo, hand out the window, letting the wind move my hand in the current with the faint smell of what what was most likley a gas leak.
These trips would usually culminate with a trip to Mighty Taco, Anderson’s (ice cream) or TCBY.

Drunken Blogging = Regret on Monday Morning

(many Sam Summer and some Molsons later)

Some people make booty calls when they’re drunk.
I sing “Kenya”

and I dance to Kenya.

Complete with wobble.

I am the most bestest bartender eva.