boooblog

My sister Gina and I sit and talk online all day along while at our respective jobs, during which we'll stream Sirius Satellite Radio and comment on every song and artist that comes on the radio. It's not entirely unlike the two old men in the balcony on The Muppet Show.

Lately we've been stuck on the 80's channel where we have discovered our mutual disdain for Huey Lewis. A song of his just played, and the following conversation ensued:

Gina: i knew the fricken day couldnt go by with out having to hear this mother fucker
Josh: he's a cocksucker
Gina: well, it looks like they missed a couple of times and hit him in the chin

Oh, and in case that isn't funny to you, here is a picture of Huey Lewis:

My sister, Gina, on why she doesn't like the bookkeeping aspect of her job:

" If i had a calculator with blind person keys, the real big ones, i might feel a little different. but i got this little fucking thing you could probably fit in your ass, and i fuck the numbers up constantly and have to start over."

This is the new place. Notice the upside down coffee table resting on the couch. Since I had to do all of the moving, Matt gets to do all of the sorting. Some highlights of the move include:

• The Bad Parts
  • Working from 4p on Friday until 3p on Saturday with only two naps, each under two hours
  • The Dishwasher Incident (see below)
  • Twisting my ankle and falling out of the U-Haul
  • The fact that it took place in the swamps of Florida on an afternoon in late July
  • Toe blisters, various scrapes
  
  
• The Good Parts
  • Britt, Noel and Stephen (my friends who helped)
  • These divas from down the hall who helped carry things up to the new apartment and then invited me to get drunk with them
  • It gave me an excuse to order a Papa John's pizza
  • The bathtub in the new place has jets
  • It's over

Never again will I live anywhere other than the first floor of an establishment unless there is an elevator. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go take a jacuzzi bath.

One thing I learned this evening is that, when you run out of dishwasher detergent, you can not substitute dish soap. My kitchen is flooded, Brady Bunch style.

I love country music. Not so much the ridiculous crap of today (cough cough Dixie Chicks), but moreso that of the 80s and 90s. No other genre of music is so shameless in its subject matter and song titles. For instance, who can forget the time-honored Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beerholder by Chuck Wagon and The Wheels? Or my personal favorite, Joe Diffie's number one smash, Prop Me Up Beside The Jukebox (If I Die).

But I never cease to be amazed at the song You Never Even Call Me By My Name by David Allan Coe. He sings the whole song and it's pretty run-of-the-mill, but then he finishes it with a great big helping of awesomeness. Read ahead for the genius prose that became the final verse of the song:

(Spoken)
Well, a friend of mine named Steve Goodman wrote that song, and he told me it was the perfect country and western song. I wrote him back a letter and I told him it was not the perfect country and western song because he hadn't said anything at all about momma, or trains, or trucks, or prison or gettin' drunk. Well, he sat down and wrote another verse to this song and he sent it to me and after reading it I realized that my friend had written the perfect country and western song. And I felt obliged to include it on this album. The last verse goes like this here:

(Sung)
Well I was drunk the day my ma got out of prison
And I went to pick her up in the rain
But before I could get to the station in my pickup truck
She got run over by a damned old train

This half-eaten red velvet ice cream cake has been sitting on my counter since we celebrated Todd's birthday twelve days ago. If you look behind the perfectly preserved cake you'll see the coffee pot with the coffee that Matt made when he was home.

In June.