My sister got the PayPerView of the Barenaked Ladies concert at the Roseland Ballroom which took place in November, the day George Harrison died. The last time they played the roseland was New Years' Eve five years ago, or, as Steve said "Five years ago before we sold out to tha man."
Linda taped it for me and sent it to me recently. After I got back from Chuck E. Cheese's (yep. I went there after coffee with Naomi. You didn't think I would, but... I did. It was worth it except Geoff was sad when I split. But the dog got to go for a nice ride).
Anyway, I digress. Recall, if you will, the nerdy girl. The one in the wizard hat who danced like a spaz the entire concert when I saw them in Portland. Well, they get a full on shot of her laughing and dancing at the Roseland show. yup. She's there. Her shirt, remember I couldn't read it, it said "I Love" something. Well. It's "I Love Beer."
I'm got of her for you so you get to see it. I still totally want to meet this girl. Hell yeah now that I know she loves beer! My kinda friend! Damn! (by the way, if you ARE her, email me. I want to know where you got your wizard hat).
Doug is convinced that Ed and Steve are gay. They kiss on stage and often talk about gay stuff and porn. So he's sold on the concept.
Perhaps they are.
They still kick ass.
As if Gay Guys can't kick ass. Hello? Can you say Rob Halford? My sister and I used to totally yell out in these deep loud metal voices "Clean Cut!" when we'd see him in Judas Priest because all the other metal guys like Dave Mustane and Metallica and them were all hairy. Clean Cut was cool, and little did we know, so gay. It was the 80s. No one really cared yet. He rocked. Still does damnit! So rock on Gay America! Rock on for Rob!
Okay, where was I. Yeah BNL. It was awesome, and I so enjoyed seeing Kevin dancing on the keys of his keyboard because you so know how happy I am he beat cancer. Or at least has done so to this point. Thank you Leukemia and Lymphoma Society of America. Guinness donated the proceeds from that BNL PayPerView to them, and more people like Kevin can get past cancer. Hurrah!
Coffee with Naomi is always fun.
Not only does she just have the coolest accent on record, she's got a lovely sensibility that is refreshing in a world of nutcases. I do enjoy her presence. Should make a plan to get together with her more often. We went to a little bagel shop in my down town, not much of a downtown really... but there is a bagel shop and that's pretty awesome. Two women were there with their combined four little girls. They let the kids have the run of the place, allowing them to put stuff on all the tables, save for the one I scored for me and N'omi to sit at. They were cute for a minute. The moms talked over coffee, and the kids tore the place up.
Remind me not to be a rude SAHM (that's Stay At Home Mom) for those of you at all confused. Seriously. It's nice to have some adult conversation when you go out with a friend, but pay attention to your damn kids. The world is NOT their play place so you can have a moment of peace. Good lord.
Naomi said something funny to me. She suggested that I go to seminary and become an Episcopal priest.
Uh, hello, I'm laughing on the floor over here. I think my ass fell off because I'm laughing too hard.
I said to her that she had to go get a spinal tap or something just for punishment for suggesting such a thing. She insisted that she thought I'd be the best Episcopal priest on earth.
I told her that when I was at my evangelical Christian college they passed me up no less than six times to be a resident attendant in the dorm because I wasn't what they expected in good Christian leader. I mean, I swear. I joke. I have a sense of humor. I'm not beating people about the head for Christ. I don't remember the four thingies that you suggest to people when you're witnessing to them. How would I make a good priest. I mean, it is crazy enough that Sinead O'Connor thinks that she can be a priest (she's so insane), and become Sinead Mother Bernadette Maria, but I refuse to make a mockery of the position, catholic or Protestant. At least, not anytime soon.
I've actually entertained the thought, but I could never do it. I thought that it could be cool, I'd be like the Vicar of Dibley, Dawn French's Character from one of my very favorite Britcoms. I could be understanding. Eat chocolate. Try and give it up for Lent. But no. I'm not suited for the service. She's a tv character, and doesn't seem to have a hard time getting out of bed on Sunday mornings the way I do. Plus, I have a hard enough time remembering who has to be where when for what, like doctor appointments or field trips. I'd be doomed trying to serve an entire parish.
It's a thought. But I'd have to pay to go to seminary. Doug would LAUGH at me, and it wouldn't be worth it in the end. If going to a Christian college got people to make fun of me and accuse me of being like Jerry Garcia meeting the pope, taking it to seminary would be like Marilyn Manson having a sit down and chamomile tea with Christ himself, right?
Although I DO think I'd look smashing in the robes with the groovy sashes that hang down 'round the neck. The collar and a hip cross that is third world and hand painted, not something ostentatious and big and gold, or platinum or something. Ooooh, and the rope round the waist. I dig that look. I thought I looked awesome in just a choir robe. Wearing the full frockage of servitude would rock.
Amazing that I'm entertaining these concepts. I must seriously be lacking direction in my vocational path.
Speaking of college, I talked to my friend Steve earlier tonight (hi Lisa if'n you are readin' this). He reminded me of some ridiculous events in our lives when he and I dated, and we boy do we have some funny stories. But one of the funniest has to do with Jessica, long after both of us were married. I was coming back from the coffeehouse one night, very late, and very pregnant with Geoff. It was late November, about a week before I had the preterm labor experience with him. Jessica had eaten more than her fair share of chocolate chip cookies, and she hurled all over the back seat of the car. All over it. She was drenched in puke, and my car reeked to high heaven and subhell.
We were about a block from Steve's house. He was married to my friend Carrie, and I knew between the two of them, or if one of them was there, they'd sure help my sorry ass out by letting me throw her four and a half year old pukey face in their shower.
Well, I got there, and knocked on the door. No answer. She was sitting in the back seat of the car, crying her ass off... begging me to take her home.
I thought I saw someone sitting on the front porch of the house next door, and called out to them for help. They didn't respond. It was a stuffed dummy that they had sitting on their porch from Halloween... Damnit! I was so pissed. I didn't know what to do, then I saw the garden hose.
They hadn't put away their garden hose yet. Here it was, mid-November, and the hose is in the yard.
I turned the water on, and it wasn't turned off at the source in the basement either, Thank You GOD!... I took all Jessica's clothing off. It had to be about 40 degrees max out. It was chilly. And I laid her clothes in the driveway and hosed them off. She's crying her eyes out (since her ass had already been cried off...) and I then took her washed off shirt and wiped her face, arms and legs.
I was all ready to take my own shirt off and drive home in my bra, when I remembered the trunk. Doug's police uniform and a change of clothes were in the trunk. I took what was in there, a T-shirt, and his uniform shirt, and put them on her. I wrapped her legs up in the pants, didn't even bother trying to put them on her. I hosed off her shoes, wiped her feet with the not-clean-anymore shirt she'd been wearing, hosed it off again and threw the whole bunch of sopping wet clothing into the trunk.
I called Steve and Carrie when I got home and had bathed Jessie to explain why there were chunks of food in their driveway and why the hose was unraveled and why I'm an amazing freak who is so glad they hadn't turned their hose off, and thanked them profusely.
Later, Carrie told me where the spare key was. I was inches away from it and could have taken her in (to the dismay of their schnauzer) and washed her up, but it all worked out in the end.
I think of that night every time I drive past the house. Steve lives there still, Carrie's a town away from here. I'm going to see her again on Wednesday morning. I'm glad I'm still friends with the both of them, and that we can look back on stuff and it all seems funny.
And I'll leave you with this little gem.
Doug just called to me from the living room to let me know that on Sunday night at 8pm EST, Country Music Television (CMT) will broadcast a show called "Cross Roads," which couples a country star with an artist from a ... different genre. Cross Roads this week will make us all writhe in pain with the musical stylin's of with Hank "Bocephus" Williams Junior and KID ROCK. Perhaps they'll do a hip hop ode to football preparedness:
"Hey Hank, You ready for some football?"
"Kid, you mean like a Monday Nite Par-tay?"
"Yup, we got Dennis and Al and Dan, we're gonna git it kick started. Pour a 40 on the curb for our friends who didn't make it to the big dance, know what I'm sayin?"
"Kid, I sure do. Like you always say "Word to Your Mother." "
"Hell, Bocephus! No jive. That's Vanilla Ice. Don't quote his $#!^ at me! Give me some damn credit."
"Sorry Kid. Well, we better get ready, better sit tight, cause all my rapper friends are here on Sunday Night."
Sorry. I couldn't resist. You can bet I won't be watching. Thank Goodness Rob washed his hair and took off his ridiculous hat for the show though. Oh what the hell, perhaps I'll watch. Stranger things could happen in the universe, like me being the right Reverend Christine Amusings! HA!