Last year I did a Halloween Special where I talked about Peanuts and the Great Pumpkin and how I was surprised Charlie Brown did not become a serial killer. My children, the Things, have been nagging me about doing another Halloween Special because I did it last year and now, you know, it’s suddenly tradition. Crap.
Since I’ve already tackled the Great Pumpkin, I suppose I should get to the origins of Halloween. If you’ve read my other holiday origin posts, then you know I have done extensive research here, so get ready to be amazed.
As we all know, Halloween is Satanic, but what you might not know is how Satan came up with the whole idea. Well, first off, you have to feel a little sorry for the dude. I mean, he screwed up once and suddenly he’s demoted to manager of the bottom floor. I like to picture Hell as a giant waiting room in a doctor’s office. You sit for eons waiting to get a pitchfork out of your chest or for someone to treat your 4,000 degree burns. But guess what? No doctor is EVER coming. Unless you’re Catholic. Then you might get a doctor after a few centuries, but you can’t be certain if he’ll accept your insurance. Maybe you better just stay in the waiting room.
But I was talking about Satan. He’s got all these angry sinners moaning at him all the time about how the lady fell on the knife honest, or hey can you turn down the heat, or it’s been 6,000 years can I stop rolling this boulder uphill? Whine, whine, whine. Then you look up and what’s the Big Cheese doing? Hanging out with the easy good people and the cute little cherubs and stuff. They have air conditioning up there, and word has it, Cable. You’re bound to get a little resentful eventually.
So Satan figured out a way to get even. He’d come up with a holiday. It was only fair since the Great CEO already had Easter, Christmas, and Labor Day. But Satan, that wretched scourge of humanity, had to have a holiday that was seriously diabolical. He decided to encourage small children, those innocent little cherubs, to dress up in outrageously overpriced costumes modeled after figures in popular culture, which we know is evil, and then, and THEN he would have them go beg neighbors for candy to rot their teeth out. It was horrible yet BRILLIANT and parents fell for it, mostly because he sent his demons to place tons of advertising out well in advance of the holiday so the kids couldn’t possibly miss it. He’s still not as efficient as the angels who get out the Christmas stuff in August, but he’s getting better and better.
So just remember, each year when Tommy dresses up like the 5,000th Iron Man on the block, or Susie dresses up like a cute ballerina, that this is part of Satan’s plan. He knows that Iron Man is totally violent and that ballerinas often become anorexic and thus both are awful role models. He’s chuckling as you shell out your hard earned money for something the kids will wear for one night, or worse, insist on wearing FOREVER. Not only that, you’re going to have to spend Halloween night either taking the kid to some obnoxious carnival with bouncy houses, or dragging them door to door and hoping the people inside aren’t creepers. And don’t think you get out of it if you don’t have kids. You can turn the light off at your house, but the little punks will still come and ring your doorbell every five seconds until you lose your mind.
Now there are some parents who refuse to go along with the plan because they know Satan’s plan. But they can’t escape it either, for yea, Satan is everywhere. And their kids will whine that their friends get to do Halloween and why can’t theyyy and the churches will give in and have “fall festivals” that are really Halloween in disguise and you can’t go shopping without seeing the evil everywhere and there is no avoiding it unless you plan on moving to an Amish village or worse, some foreign country like France. So it’s best to just give in and let Satan have his day. Maybe then he won’t be so handy with the pitchfork when you die choking on a candy corn.
Thing One has had a hacking cough that’s been going on for the last six years, er weeks and has not abated. It goes like this HACK HACK HAAAAAACK HACKHACKHACK HAAAAAAAACK. As delightful and not at all grating on the nerves as it is to hear, I can only imagine how fun it is to actually have the cough that annoys teachers and students both but which you have absolutely no control over because CONGRATS you won the genetic lottery and got Mommy’s allergies. In two more weeks we’ll get a test telling us what we already know, ie that she has allergies, and she will probably still have the cough. This morning she had the cough. She took a breathing treatment. She still hacked her way to school.
Thing Two has snaggle teeth. Her grandfather is very obsessed with her snaggle teeth to the point of telling me I need to get her an orthodontist roughly every five freaking minutes. Yes, I know. What I don’t know is how I’m going to pay for it. He’s afraid people will make fun of her teeth. One kid noted that her tooth was crooked. Thing Two said, “You just now noticed that?” She has said appointment this afternoon and her grandfather is taking her and as far as I’m concerned, if he wants to chip in for that orthodontist to torture my kid for a few years, I am more than willing to LET HIM. This morning’s daily Thing Two emergency was a missing hat and it is Red Ribbon Anti-drug Week and as we were walking out the door SHE NEEDED A HAT DID I NOT UNDERSTAND THIS?
The same grandfather called me just this morning to inform me that Thing Two was in trouble with her teacher for me not going to her parent /teacher conference which you know she told me about THE MORNING OF THE CONFERENCE. So I didn’t go, because this was one of those stupid conferences they have just because not because your kid actually did something bad (which is kind of miraculous considering) but honestly, I have this little thing called WORK and with everyone being SICK it’s hard to have time off to go to something that is POINTLESS. But I was polite about it in the note in which I instructed the teacher to go hit up the kid’s father.
Thing One was making noise getting ice out of the freezer this morning and I finally was like WHAT ARE YOU DOING and she said oh someone left the door to the freezer open so the stuff in the freezer had melted so she was getting ice to keep her lunch cold. The stuff in the freezer had all melted. Hundreds of dollars of food . . . it was still cold. Wonder if I can risk food poisoning and just refreeze it. People refry beans, right?
You know it’s going to be a good day when all three females in the house are crying before 8 AM. I’m trying to pencil in a good time for my nervous breakdown, but I can’t seem to find an opening. I’ll get back to you.
If you haven’t already, see Part One here.
I fell apart. In all my worries, never once had I worried that my baby wouldn’t be healthy. I had to call my husband to take me home. He handled this news like he did everything else. Okay, we’ll deal with it. I did not handle it quite so well, by which I mean I FREAKED THE HECK OUT.
My counselor who was thinking “Great she’s doing better.” heard this news and actually uttered a curse word. He was in for it. I will always remember his kindness, because he saw me many, many times while I was expecting, often writing off my visits since I was poor. He kept me sane and out of the hospital. Sadly, he died just a couple of years later of a brain tumor. But I will never, ever forget him.
As it turned out, Thing Two’s brain was just fine – better than fine as we’d later learn. The specialist’s assistant looked at my belly, and then the specialist looked at my belly – and tried to walk right out of the room. I yelled at him to stop and asked how my baby was – after all I’d waited two weeks, fearing the worst but at last accepting that I would love this baby no matter what. He said in his thick accent, “Look like healthy baby girl.”
And she was, thankfully, very, very healthy. In fact, she was a soccer champion, kicking me constantly. My husband noted that she did this far more than Thing One because I complained far more than I did with Thing One. He also thought he should get to name Thing Two since I named Thing One. I told him, great, that’s fair, how’s about you also carry and birth this one? He shut up, but still refused to agree on a name with me.
As I got closer to the birth, weird things continued to happen. I started getting dizzy and short of breath when out in public. The doctors tested me for iron deficiency but I was just fine. Totally normal during pregnancy, they said. I also would sometimes get shooting pains when Thing Two shifted to certain areas, prompting me to simply stand where I was, trapped in some random aisle of Wal-Mart until I was rescued. This was also totally normal in pregnancy. I was fairly certain they would have told me growing a second head was also totally normal in pregnancy.
Thing One was very excited about the baby prospect, though she didn’t really understand it. I bought her a doll house and a family complete with a baby. She put the baby in the closet under the stairs, Harry Potter style. I would put it into the crib and she’d come back later, frown, and diligently move the baby back under the stairs. I was slightly concerned for Thing Two.
Labor was definitely different this time around. For one thing, I experienced actual labor pains. I did not like them. I went to the hospital, was told I wasn’t having good enough contractions, and sent home. Thing One went to her grandparents, but before she did she peeped over my hospital bed and said “I love you, Mommy” for the first time. I think I worried her just a bit.
Good thing she didn’t see me later. When I went back to the hospital after a few hours, I was in pain, and it was bad. The nurse put an outside baby monitor on me and said I was a big fakey whiner, essentially, because the monitor showed my contractions weren’t strong at all! I told her that the outside monitor didn’t work on my first child, so they used an internal one. Since my water had this time refused to break on its own, they couldn’t do that. So the nurse just rolled her eyes when I screamed bloody murder.
My husband finally related that you know, generally my wife doesn’t scream so loudly you can hear her down the halls of the hospital unless she’s actually, you know, in real pain. The nurse huffed and let me have some demerol, which was THE BEST THING EVER at least for a little while. My husband left to get a sandwich. About that time, the doctor finally showed up to check me and SURPRISE SURPRISE I had progressed from a 2 to an 8 with those teensy tinsey contractions! Go figure!
They hurriedly gave me my epidural and got my husband back upstairs. He didn’t get to eat his sandwich. Sadface for him. Since they waited so long to give the epidural, I found that it didn’t have time to actually work all the way. They still charged me all the way later, though. At any rate, I did manage to push anyway. At one point my husband said, look, the head! This was the point at which I decided I never wanted to see that part of me again, thanks. Minutes later, Thing Two arrived in the world weighing 8 pounds, a pound and a half bigger than her sister. And she was almost two weeks early. I am thankful I never went full term. I’d have had Hercules.
She had a bright red face and a shock of Pat Benatar-like black hair. After staying with me through that screeching labor, my husband declared “She can name the baby anything she wants.” I should have taken him up on that and named her something far out like Pocahontas, but fortunately for her, I chose a more suitable name. (Hint: their names are not actually Thing One and Thing Two, though it would not surprise me if there are real children out there with those names, considering there is a baby named North West.)
When we brought her home, we were told that I was not to carry the baby in with me so that Thing One would not feel like she was being replaced. So when I walked in and tried to hug my eldest, she placed her hands on her hips and demanded “Where is my baby sister?” Ah, well, so much for that. She thought Thing Two was the best thing ever invented, at least for a couple of years.
And you’ll be happy to know, she was never put under the stairs.
A long time back, I wrote about the baby story of Thing One. Thing Two has been most irritated that I have not written about her yet. There is a reason for this. A lot of that story is filled with OH THE HORROR but I will try to recall it for her sake.
Once we had Thing One a few years, we figured we pretty much had this parenting thing down. I wanted another one, because I had STUPID which makes one think BABIEZZ all the time. My husband was thinking more about diapers and money and our tiny house, but I was much more practical. I thought BABIEZZ. When we didn’t agree, I wrote a diary entry whining about how incredibly unfair life was. I also told several other people at a marriage retreat about my sob story. At this point, I was already pregnant, which people greatly enjoyed pointing out to me later. Ha ha.
I took the pregnancy test and bang I got just what I wanted so obviously I started to PANIC like crazy. What were we going to do? We couldn’t afford a baby! We had no idea what we were doing with Thing One! When in danger, when in doubt, run in terror, scream and shout. There was an entry in the baby book that asked what you first thought when you found out you were expecting the bundle of joy. Terror did not seem like a nice thing to put in a baby book.
My husband, in typical fashion, just took it in stride like he always does. Oh, a baby. Okay. Well, I have anxiety and depression, and combine that with pregnancy hormones and boy do you have a whale of a lot of fun. Speaking of whales, I didn’t show in my pregnancy with Thing One until well into my 5th month. With Thing Two, I was showing as soon as the stick turned pink. I tried on my old maternity clothes and they were already too small. Not a good sign.
In keeping with the animal theme, I was also sick as a dog, again, something I had conveniently forgotten about it. Only this time, I got to take care of a three-year-old at the same time. A three-year-old who had not yet potty-trained because hey, someone would change her diaper right? This is a theme that continues with Thing One. Why do it when someone else will eventually get around to doing it for you? Smart kid. For instance, she had a great way of letting us know she’ d like some juice, please.
We had a slight communication problem going on because, as it turned out, Thing One had a verbal delay. Her Sunday School teacher informed me about this, saying that by now she should be speaking in complete sentences. My husband and I just thought we were really lucky to have a quiet kid. Parenting Fail. So I took her to a school and had her tested and found out she was way behind in a lot of areas, at least according to them. “Hums herself to sleep as an infant” was not on their list. I thought their list sucked, but more on that in another post.
The plus side of this was that they were willing to take her in a preschool program without her being potty-trained. Hallelujah! Just one problem. I was so sick at this point that I couldn’t venture far without my good pal, bucket. Many times I was in debt to my mother, who drove 15 miles to take Thing One to school when I was too green to climb out of bed.
I was also a big, whiny lump. While pregnant with Thing One I managed to teach two graduate classes while also taking two graduate classes. She was born less than a month after I finished my studies. With Thing Two I was lucky to be able to walk from one side of the house to the other without either bawling or puking or some combination of both. Thing One was either blissfully unaware most of the time or she was ignoring me, it was kind of hard to tell at that point.
Once I got past the worst of the morning sickness, I thought, hey, maybe I can make it. We got a sonogram done, and I was anxious to find out what the gender was. The technician told me confidently that she had never not been able to tell the gender of a baby. She tried to get a lock on Thing Two, not knowing that my obgyn had tried that earlier and couldn’t even get a heartbeat because as soon as her stethescope touched me, Thing Two kicked her off and moved, then did it again, and again. Thing Two had attitude from conception, I’m fairly certain.
She kept her knees together stubbornly. The tech was determined though, and got her to turn over in my stomach. She did, keeping her legs together the entire time. Finally the tech gave up, concluding that it must be a girl because the boys liked to show off their, um, parts early on while the girls were more demure. Yes, demure, that sooo describes my Thing Two.
What I didn’t know at that time, was that they were also taking measurements and they found one they didn’t like. So I went back the next month, and later was told something absolutely terrifying. There was a possibility Thing Two might have down syndrome or possibly fluid on her brain. The doctor was new, and just told me this casually in her office. How would I find out? Oh, I could see a specialist. IN TWO WEEKS.
To be continued . . . but not in two weeks, promise.
When you saw this title, you might have thought, hey, this is going to be a post about the meaning of life, and how it’s a game, and like we’re actors on a stage flopping around like fish and getting bad reviews in the New York Times. Or something. But then you may have looked and seen this was written by Alice and gone, oh nevermind, she’s just going to talk to us about the actual game of Life and how goofed up it is.
And you’d be right! See the game of Life is supposed to mirror real life and it totally does cause most of us look like tiny pegs. Pink if you’re a girl, blue if you’re a boy. If you’re not sure there are no green pegs, sorry. And no one cares if you hate pink or blue, deal with it.
First off, you have to decide if you want to go to college or get a job. Just like in real life, it doesn’t really matter what you choose. When it comes time to get a job, you’re just as likely to make more money without college as you are if you go to college. So it’s just whether you want to borrow the money or not. Or you can always rob the bank while the banker isn’t looking. That also works, and it’s a possible career track.
Not really. Well, not in this game anyway. You’re thinking Grand Theft Auto. Anyway, if you go to college, you can land on stuff like “make the Dean’s list” or “Spring Break vacation” or “Cheat on your exams.” In the case of the last one, you get to move ahead two spaces, or you would if it was an actual option, which it really should be. The other two can get you Life tokens, which have different money amounts on the back. You get to add this to your total. So if you write the “Great American Novel” you get something like 100,000 bucks. On the other hand, if you write the “Great Shades of Crap” you get like a couple million.
There is a theme to this game. See, to succeed in the game of Life, you have to be the player with the most money at the end. Yups. Not the player who cured Cancer, or gives food to starving people, or even just raises a nice family. No, this is an AMERICAN game, folks, so he who has the most cash wins life. It’s best to teach this to kids early.
Whether you go to college or not, you eventually end up on the “Get a Job” space that so many young people try to avoid. But unless you are born wealthy (in which case you’ve already “won” hoorah!) you have no choice but to stop here. In fact, the game makes you stop, which sucks. Then comes the part where you get to randomly choose jobs and salaries. Because you have different cards for your job and your salary, this means you can be a really bad rock star making 20,000 a payday or a really dirty cop making 100,000. I like being the cop because I can fine people who spin 10 even though I almost always spin 10 because I speed through life. See how REAL this game is?
After you get your randomly selected job – and this will be a job you didn’t want but were stuck with (so familiar) – then the next step is to get married. Again, you don’t have a choice on this one. You MUST stop and find a spouse. When I played this as a kid, I had a friend who resented having to get married, so she’d sometimes put another pink peg in her car, or put multiple pegs in her car (future polygamist). This annoyed me because that was NOT the proper way to play the game. Did she not see the happy nuclear family (who is probably getting drugs from the dirty cop) on the cover? Sheesh.
So you get married to a random peg and hooray hope you’re happy because there is no divorce space in this game. You and spouse peg continue on a few more spaces and you get to buy a house! Once again, this is completely random. You choose blindly from three cards and MUST buy the house listed on the card whether you can afford it or not. Sometimes you go into major debt doing this. If you don’t, you’re stuck with something like the “split level” house that is actually built on a fault line – get it? Actually it kind of reminds me of the first house my husband and I lived in. Anyway, either way, you’re kind of screwed. This is so true to life it’s a little scary, isn’t it?
Once you have a house you can have a baby at any time. No birth control in this game, guys, so I guess everybody is Catholic. There are eight baby spots, one in which you have twins, and another in which you adopt twins. You don’t get to choose to adopt either, it just happens. When I was in high school, we played this game in Economics. One of my classmates ended up hitting every single baby spot. Since there are only six spots in the car, he ended up stacking his kids up on the top of the car like cordwood. He named each one something totally bizarre just for fun. Another classmate was sad because she never landed on a kid spot, so he was kind enough to offer to sell her his son Lightbulb for 50 dollars. A real steal.
My children (I landed on two pink pegs!) and I continue this tradition and name our husbands and children names with a theme like say toilet paper (Charmin, Angel Soft, Store Brand, etc). It makes the game more interesting. You need something to keep it interesting because trust me, after a while Life gets very, very dull. You keep doing the same old thing, spinning your wheel and collecting pay days as the days of your life diminish one by one, or by tens, if you play like I do.
Good thing real life is totally different in this case, right? Right?
Moving on, sometimes you lose your job and have to choose another. It’s a real pain going from being a cop making 100 grand to a crappy basketball player making 20 grand. Talk about your midlife crisis. Sometimes you have to exchange salary cards with other players, which I think is called extortion, but whatever. I rarely care much about the money thing because then I’d have to count my pretend cash and bo-ring. The girls and I estimate because this game is educational enough without adding Math to it.
As you get to the end of your life, you may become a grandparent, which is really weird if you didn’t have any children earlier. This is the point where you kick the spouse peg out of the car if you’re smart. Also you should really kick the kid pegs out too, but the game never gives you a chance to do this, so I guess they stay with you FOREVER, which is an incredibly frightening prospect. At last you end up retiring – you can either go to the lousy old folks home, or you can go to the posh one. But if you go to posh one, people can steal your Life tokens. So lesson learned – don’t go to a nice home, because people will steal your money while you’re playing shuffleboard. Best to stick with something like in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. No one will think you have anything to steal if you go there.
So now your Life is over, and you count up your money and see what you’ve done with your Life. Is that it? I think you’d be better off playing Sorry.
The next couple of songs I’m bringing to you are what I like to call “user friendly”. That’s the new PC name for, as twindaddy would say, “People with welcome mats in front of their crotches.” Now technically I’ve done this before under the “Chipper Cheatin’ Song” heading with songs like “Run Around Sue” and “The Wanderer” – hilariously sung by the exact same person. They certainly do fall in this category, and likewise the two songs I’ll introduce could fall into chipper cheatin’. But I just really wanted to use the phrase “User Friendly” cause I like it. Here we go.
First up is the 1995 hit “Macarena”. This is one of those songs so popular it not only was played on the radio until your ears bled, it also inspired a stupid dance craze! What was great about this dance was that anybody, no matter how uncoordinated, could do it, since it mostly involved hopping and slapping your butt. And they STILL play this song at weddings and other special occasions, so it’s not going away any time soon. Think of it as the modern day Chicken Dance, only more slut-tastic.
Our girl of the hour, apparently named Macarena, likes to dance with lots of men. If you’re good she’ll take you home with her. She might take several of you. Now she has a boyfriend, but she doesn’t really like him, so don’t worry about him even if his name is Spike and he bench presses large buildings for fun. So Macarena cheats on him, but she has a perfectly understandable reason for doing so.
What was I supposed to do?
He was out of town.
And his two friends were soooo fine.
Good point, there, Macarena. I mean, he was gone, but his hot friends were there, so what could you do? Wait, did she say his two friends were so fine? Well, if you’re gonna cheat, go all the way. Very impressive, girlfriend. Now her parts are the only ones you can understand. Otherwise we’ve got these two guys chanting in Spanish. I took years of Spanish but still can’t translate all of it except random bits like “thing good” but I’m pretty sure “she’s a tramp” is in there somewhere.
Now the video is incredibly inspiring, if your name is Britney Spears. Otherwise it’s just a bunch of girls in crop tops and spandex shorts bouncing around and lip synching to the song – I guess to prove that any gal can be Macarena if she just lowers her standards a lot. Then every once in a while you get those two old guys in suits on the album cover who chant the chorus. I don’t know why they don’t wear spandex shorts. Maybe even the Macarena has some sense of decency deep down. Deeeep deep down. Take a look.
Next up, just to be fair, is a user-friendly guy. Lou Bega brought us “Mambo No. 5” in 1999. This was another very popular song that was played over and over until people stormed the radio stations with sticks. Not really, but I would have liked to see that. Lou tells us his dating philosophy.
To me flirtin’ it’s just like a sport
Anything fly it’s all good let me dump it
Please set in the trumpet (from lyricsfreak.com)
That didn’t make much sense, so I looked on several other lyrics’ sites, because sometimes they don’t agree. But these all did. So he’s wanting to dump something and set in the trumpet. So is he going to sit in the trumpet, or set something inside the trumpet? What is he dumping? The world may never know. Anyway, like Macarena, Lou’s not all that picky. He lists all the girls he’s supposedly “flirted” with, much like Dion did in The Wanderer, only his list is longer.
A little bit of Monica in my life
A little bit of Erica by my side
A little bit of Rita is all I need
A little bit of Tina is what I see
A little bit of Sandra in the sun
A little bit of Mary all night long
A little bit of Jessica here I am
A little bit of you makes me your man
Uh, no thanks, Lou. After all those other girls, I might be afraid of “a little bit of Herpes” comin’ my way. Lou also lists dance steps, though I don’t think anyone bothered copying these. They were too busy trying to remember the names of all the girls Lou had hit. Hopefully Lou wrote all their names and numbers on the bathroom wall for the convenience of his friends.
I’ll just tell ya right up, this video makes the Macarena video look like something classy out of Masterpiece Theater. It is not safe for work, unless you work at a porn store, then go right ahead. I’m really not kidding here. Thing starts out normal, showing a bunch of freaky old mambo dances, then goes to our Lou with his magic marker stash peepin’ in on these women who are gyrating in their underwear (which covers almost half a butt cheek), over and over and over. This is probably the point at which I will lose most of my straight male readers who have left to check out Rita, Tina, and Sandra, so I might as well stop for the rest of us too. Be safe, guys.
The other post was a downer, but I’m feeling better today, cause, Friday. So I thought I’d share a little
horror joy with you guyz with some fun videos! First up is a holiday favorite, cause you can’t celebrate Christmas too early, can you? The joy and cheer of shopping till you cry, awful family reunions, and of course, nuclear meltdown.
Next up, because everyone was so excited about “Every Breath You Take” in the last video review post, I decided to post the video of that little romantic ballad about stalking. And to think he wrote this before stalking became so dreamy in the Twilight series! A man before his time, Sting.
Okay, and finally, since this IS Friday after all, let’s look at the cute little girl who tried to ruin it all. Don’t worry, this is the literal version of this little
twit’s prodigy’s video, so it is infinitely more bearable. It’s FRI-DAY, FRI-DAY, you guyz!
Disclaimer: I did not create any of these videos, except the Sting one because he is totally my boyfriend and we are in lurrve so he let me film it even though I think I was in third grade when this song came out.
One pill makes you larger
And one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you
Don’t do anything at all
Go ask Alice, when she’s ten feet tall
I originally started this blog because I felt my life was much like Alice’s. I never knew whether I was coming or going and nothing ever made sense. Such is life. But add a few chemicals to the mix and boy do you get fun, fun, fun! Soon you are chasing a rabbit down a hole. Or is it chasing you?
And if you go chasing rabbits
And you know you’re going to fall
Tell ’em a hookah smoking caterpillar
Has given you the call
To call Alice, when she was just small
I have been on antidepressants since I was a teenager. I once tried to get off of them and decided, bad idea. People have all sorts of opinions on this subject, but I’m not arguing that. I’m just talking about what’s happening with me, cause that’s what I care about, me. So anyway, if you’ve been reading, I have been going through some medication changes that have affected me just a tad.
When the men on the chessboard get up
And tell you where to go
And you’ve just had some kind of mushroom
And your mind is moving low
Go ask Alice, I think she’ll know
I was put on abilify to help with the other two, and then I was taken off of that cause weight, and then I was put on this one called cytomel (they all sound like alien planets) and then off of that, and then back on that, and just now I had a new shrink tell me that I should go back ON abilify because hey the weight gain will plateau. Or something. He had a thick accent, so I’m not entirely sure what he said. At this point, all doctors sound like these guys to me.
This was the on-call doctor after hours, who told me to tell my shrink that I should like, be on this pill. But now I can’t remember why I got on the first pill to begin with – lack of energy? Feeling all mixed up? Wait, that’s how I feel now. And the whole “it won’t be that bad, trust us” is a load of crap. I’m starting not to trust these people. Is it really paranoia if you’re dealing with shrinks who apparently must be nuts themselves in order to get a license? I don’t think so.
When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead
And the white knight is talking backwards
And the red queen’s off with her head
Remember what the dormouse said
Feed your head,
Feed your head
all pictures from Lenny’s Alice in Wonderland site
Have you ever been groovin’ to a song, then one day stopped and actually listened to the lyrics and realized you were happily singing along to a song about a creeper? I just noticed that the other day when I was singing along to Billy Ocean’s “Get Out of My Dreams” It’s quite catchy, if you just don’t think about what you’re singing. But my Thing One immediately ruined by groove by saying “That’s pretty creepy, Mom.” Where might she have gotten that idea? Let’s look at the chorus.
Get Outta My Dreams
Get Into My Car
Get Outta My Dreams (get in the backseat baby!)
Get Into My Car (beep beep, ooh yeah!)
Hmm. Okay, well, that is a little weird. I mean, sure, we’ve all had crushes and daydreamed about a person before asking him or her out. But . . . this guy wants her in his car. And I mean, like, right now. In the back seat. Like, whoa, hey, buddy – let’s slow the car down just a wee bit, eh?
I’m not sure I’d be super happy to hear that a guy had been dreaming about me and now wanted me in the backseat of his car. Not only that, he wants her to “touch his bumper” so they can “make a deal.” Jeez, Billy, why not just ask her to get in the trunk? Anyway, being the good parent I am, I started making up my own lyrics with stuff like “let’s tie you right up” and “stick you in my trunk (beep beep ooh yeah!)” etc.
Thing One found this hilarious, of course. So yes, I am officially much more disturbed than Billy Ocean. But it’s not just the song that’s messed up, but the video. Remember this was the 80s, so people dancing around randomly with awful hair and clothes is a given, though part of the time Billy looks like he’s wearing a long white robe which is odd even for the 80s. We’ve also got that innovative use of cartooning over film which sucks now and sucked then. It doesn’t even have anything to do with the song. We’ve got a duck running alongside the car with a boombox, and occasionally the light fixtures become mouths, and other psychedelic imagery that I don’t even want to think about. Despite his obvious delusions, the girl hops in the car with him anyway. I’m guessing she showed up on Unsolved Mysteries pretty soon after that. Check it out.
Moving on. The next song is an oldie but a goodie by Elvis, who is definitely not a creeper even if he did pick up his wife when she was like 12 or something. The song is “Stuck on You.” Stop snapping your fingers a moment and listen to the lyrics.
You can shake an apple off an apple tree
Shake-a, shake- sugar,
But you’ll never shake me
Heh, heh, yeah, mmkay, how’s about I just get a handy little restraining order? What do you say to that, Elvis?
Hide in the kitchen
Hide in the hall
Ain’t gonna do you no
good at all
Okay then. Well, that’s just great, Elvis, if you don’t mind I’m just going to um . . . RUN! But hey, there’s no runnin’ cause this guy is gonna “stick like glue” cause he’s you know “stuck on you.” I’m picturing handcuffs here. I mean, you’re great and all Elvis, but if the girl is hiding in the kitchen and the hall, maybe she’s just not that into you. Just a guess, here. We’ll all just wait till Elvis leaves the building. While you wait, have a look at his video. Just watch out for his hips – they’re armed and dangerous.