I married into a wonderful yet bizarre family. They have the most peculiar and sometimes lovably quiry traits…all of them. One in specific leaves me quite dumbfounded. They all love to sing…and best of all…not many love hearing their singing in return. They’re quite tone deaf, you see. But that’s not the extraordinary part. The extraordinary part is that none of them can remember lyrics. Imagine car trips, filled with a bunch of tone deaf people making up their own lyrics. It IS quite amusing.
Now, I can understand you thinking, you don’t remember the lyrics to every song; and that frankly some songs are quite tricky. This is not the case. These people don’t know lyrics to songs they profess to be their favorites, or sung by their favorite bands. They own the albums even!
A favorite past time of mine is to sit and listen to my husband’s latest rendition of any given song playing on the radio at the moment. Some times, I laugh so hard at what he’s altered the lyrics to be that I can’t even turn the radio off & correct him [usually, I try to let him know what they actually ARE saying]. Some times, after that, he will not continue singing. Instead, he’ll mouth the words…even mouthing words when the music has gone into a guitar riff.
For example: Aqualung. I’ve heard (second hand) that in my husband’s rendition, Aqualung watches little girls with battered head; instead of bad intent. I’m curious as to what a battered head is, and why poor Aqualung has one. If that is the case, should he not be in the hospital, rather than on a park bench scoping out under-aged children? I digress… In any case, you get the point and it opens up entire realms in which to make fun of these poor people.
My sister-in-law believes Wonderful Tonight to be a beautiful and touching song, which leads me to believe she has no idea what the lyrics are. Someday, I’ll break the news to her that it is about a drunk, drug addict thanking his wife for seeing him home once again. Kudos to everyone who used this as their wedding dance song! BTW: in case you did this…be thankful you didn’t choose the Police's I’ll Be Watching you. Which only eeks out Wonderful Tonight in the wedding dance moronic creep factor. But, then again, maybe you intend to stalk your new spouse. Who knows? Just remember, every breath you take…I’ll be watching you. Ewww, pervert.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Beyond Thunderdome...
I’ve always found it endearing how much my husband loves me, and by me in this instance, I mean: my smell. We’ve slept on everything from cots, pull out couches, the floor, twin beds, you name it all the way on up to our now upgraded king-sized bed. It was always deliriously cute how he’d scootch over to snuggle and burrow his face into my hair, take a deep breath and sigh.
I realized it was my innate smell (similar to how a baby smells to their mother – sounds weird, but I can tell which of my kids wore something or used a blanket by its lingering aroma), one day a while back when I caught him napping. He was on my side of the bed, face buried in my pillow. It wasn’t my pillow you see – ours were the same. Couldn’t be that my side of the mattress was more comfortable…we rotate ours. Couldn’t be that side of the bed, which doesn't have a slanted ceiling – we’ve tried switching. It had to be my smell…he tried to get close to me even in his slumber. How freaking sweet! Captivating; even, that is…until last night.
Last night we had some massive thunderstorms roll through. I had already woken up. [sometimes it sucks being the only person in my house who doesn’t sleep like the dead] I was listening to the delightful sounds of the storm (I’m a T-storm junkie) and caught a few glimpses of lightning completely illuminating our bedroom. I slowly and begrudgingly drifted back into a peacefully contented sleep.
BANG! My head whacked my nightstand on the way down. “What in the hell?!?” I look over to find my husband, on my side of the bed, face once more submerged into my pillow. He had shoved me clear off the bed in his attempt to invade my personal sleeping space! This is not cute, it is not sweet, it is not endearing. IT WAS ENFURIATING! I went to bed late. I’ve been averaging four hours rest on a good night lately…and there he was mouth-breathing away into MY PILLOW. Christ, one of the reasons we got a king sized bed to begin with, was so that he could have a whole eight feet to himself and his gangly arms and legs, leaving me to occupy a measley 16 inched width and sleep hovering on the edge!
In a bold and rash move, I snatched the pillow from under his head and bashed him in the face with all the force my memory foam could muster. “GET THE HELL BACK ON YOUR OWN SIDE, MOUTH-BREATHER!” He sat up. He blinked. “My bad…” he mumbled. He rolled (and rolled, AND ROLLED – it’s a king sized bed, for God's sake) over and within another 60 seconds, he was mouth-breathing and snoring away. I fluffed my pillow and crawled back onto my soft cloud of heaven. I rolled. I tossed. I turned. Funny how that surge of adrenaline kept me up for another hour while he chopped broccoli until the cows came home.
In my fit of sleeplessness, I’ve discovered my ultimate end game. I’m going to stop showering. I may be dirty; but my pillow (and side of the bed for that matter) may just end up being mine after all.
I realized it was my innate smell (similar to how a baby smells to their mother – sounds weird, but I can tell which of my kids wore something or used a blanket by its lingering aroma), one day a while back when I caught him napping. He was on my side of the bed, face buried in my pillow. It wasn’t my pillow you see – ours were the same. Couldn’t be that my side of the mattress was more comfortable…we rotate ours. Couldn’t be that side of the bed, which doesn't have a slanted ceiling – we’ve tried switching. It had to be my smell…he tried to get close to me even in his slumber. How freaking sweet! Captivating; even, that is…until last night.
Last night we had some massive thunderstorms roll through. I had already woken up. [sometimes it sucks being the only person in my house who doesn’t sleep like the dead] I was listening to the delightful sounds of the storm (I’m a T-storm junkie) and caught a few glimpses of lightning completely illuminating our bedroom. I slowly and begrudgingly drifted back into a peacefully contented sleep.
BANG! My head whacked my nightstand on the way down. “What in the hell?!?” I look over to find my husband, on my side of the bed, face once more submerged into my pillow. He had shoved me clear off the bed in his attempt to invade my personal sleeping space! This is not cute, it is not sweet, it is not endearing. IT WAS ENFURIATING! I went to bed late. I’ve been averaging four hours rest on a good night lately…and there he was mouth-breathing away into MY PILLOW. Christ, one of the reasons we got a king sized bed to begin with, was so that he could have a whole eight feet to himself and his gangly arms and legs, leaving me to occupy a measley 16 inched width and sleep hovering on the edge!
In a bold and rash move, I snatched the pillow from under his head and bashed him in the face with all the force my memory foam could muster. “GET THE HELL BACK ON YOUR OWN SIDE, MOUTH-BREATHER!” He sat up. He blinked. “My bad…” he mumbled. He rolled (and rolled, AND ROLLED – it’s a king sized bed, for God's sake) over and within another 60 seconds, he was mouth-breathing and snoring away. I fluffed my pillow and crawled back onto my soft cloud of heaven. I rolled. I tossed. I turned. Funny how that surge of adrenaline kept me up for another hour while he chopped broccoli until the cows came home.
In my fit of sleeplessness, I’ve discovered my ultimate end game. I’m going to stop showering. I may be dirty; but my pillow (and side of the bed for that matter) may just end up being mine after all.
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