Mark never gets the lyrics to songs right.
Not ever.
I listen to lyrics. I like words.
Mark always gets them wrong.
It’s not usually a big deal.
But then sometimes, it kind of is.
We’re in the car and Aerosmith’s Dude Looks Like a Lady comes on, and Mark starts singing all loud and lustily . . .
“Do me like a lady!”
I kid you not.
Stephen Tyler repeats that particular lyric about a thousand times, so I listen to a few repetitions of Mark’s lyric to be sure.
Yup, he is definitely asking to be fucked like a woman.
Snort!
“Ummmm, babe? Really? In front of our two small impressionable daughters?”
He bangs out the song’s drumbeat on the steering wheel and again sings out, “Do me like a lady!”
“Really, babe? Like a lady? That’s how you like it? Really?”
He is confused, “What?”
“The lyric is Dude looks like a lady.”
He looks at me, “What was I singing?”
I glance back at the girls, who are both happily plugged into their own music, “I believe you were asking to be fucked up the ass.”
“I was not! You are insane!”
But the song continues playing, and as the chorus comes around again, he mouths the words, “Do me like a lady,” and realizes what he has said.
He gets all flustered, “I just wasn’t paying attention. I know the words.”
I giggle, “Oh, babe . . . you are all Freudian-slipped up in here. Poor womanly you.”
Mocking is like my very favorite thing.
Sex. Then mocking.
That’s order of priority, by the way.
Not timing.
Because mocking after sex? Not a good idea.
I have heard.
Ahem.
So the next song that comes on the radio is Sammy Hagar’s There’s Only One Way to Rock.
This is not a good song. But Mark is singing all loud and proud to demonstrate that he does know the lyrics to this song and therefore he is indeed a man.
Hee hee!
He is bellowing about how there is only one way to rock (that would be the heterosexual, not taking it up the ass way, I am assuming), when Maj pulls her earphones out of her ears to protest . . .
“Daddy, this song is horrible! Turn it down! Stop singing so loud!”
Instead Mark yells out, “There’s only one way to rock! Did you know that, baby girl?”
Maj is all sarcastic, “I did not know that, Daddy. But luckily? This song is informing me. Does this song have any other words, by the way?”
Oh my god . . . I love Maj.
Speaking of music?
Last night? I am driving home alone. I am in the midst of one of those mild not-quite-panic-attacks in which I am overly aware of the extent to which I control my own destiny as I drive down the road. Yay!
Don’t you hate those driving moments? In which you become intensely aware of how small a decision would be required to not arrive home safely? How a simple lifting of the hands or a failure to turn the wheel would end it all?
No decision is required except the decision to do nothing.
What?
Anyway.
I am all white-knuckled at the wheel when I hear the last strains of a song on the radio. A high lilting female voice . . .
Got bruises on my knees for you
Something . . . something . . . something
Got pink and black and blue for you
What painful surface is she kneeling on to give this blow job? And how long must she have been kneeling to have been so grievously injured?
My panic attack dissipates as I consider the oral sex.
And then the song is over.
And I know that my memory is such that I am unlikely to remember to look up this song unless I write it down.
But I am driving.
I have no fucking paper and pen.
I would tap it into the notepad on my iPhone, but my just-fading panic attack makes this feel like an inattentive bad move as I am driving.
Bruised knees, bruised knees, bruised knees . . .
Well, I can’t just chant that all the way home. That’s like something a crazy person would do.
Oh, I know!
And so I bring my right fist down hard into my knee. Twice . . . three times.
Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to hurt for a while.
A short while later?
I type bruised knees into Google.
I am like a fucking genius with the mnemonics!
A band called Chairlift, and the song?
Is called Bruises.
But it’s not about oral sex.
Damn it.
Plus also? My knee hurt.
Annoying.
I needed tending.
Ahem.
And then I told Mark about the song and my bruised knee.
Sex. Then mocking.
Priorities, people.
Plus also?
GUEST POST ALERT!!!
I am over at The Red Dress Club today! Come check it out . . . the post is called All I Have to Offer.
It’s written by Kris. That’s me.
Duh.
OK, I am laughing so hard I don’t know where to begin… I knew by the name of the post where we would end up, ahem, but no idea how you would get there or where it would caroom off to from there. I needed this today (catching my breath now) as I’m off to the hospital to hold my husband’s hand as he tells them to start pulling life supports from his mother. So I’m guessing it’s going to be a while before I get to laugh again. Thanks, sister.
I am glad to have provided a giggle on this incredibly difficult day.
Be strong.
You know you’re crazy, right
Good.
{I have license to make that statement since I drive white knuckled sweaty hands on the wheel on a daily basis praying I don’t faint from forgetting to breathe…just another day in the life of the well adjusted with “issues”}
Even worse? Haircut this week, in which they force you to look at yourself in the mirror.
I.hate.that. Seeing the reflection back;;;;too honest and vulnerable and no hiding. This act says, “This is you? see it?”
I have a notebook with pen on one of those suction cup grips attached to the dash so I can write down songs to look up. Latest intriguing one was “The bus to Bogota.” no kidding.
I am so abnormaly moved by music, that I’m considering taking other music along to listen to so that the music from my youth they pipe into the grocery stores doesn’t send me to my knees with memories hidden in “sugar pie honey bunch.”
Ordinary people with stories.
I will address your points in the order in which you raised them . . .
I do know that I am crazy.
Yes, it’s mostly good.
You and I must never take a road-trip together.
You know what I think of haircuts.
And mirrors in front of others? ACK!
Mark would never in a million years allow me to suction-cup a pen to the dashboard. Not even. He would lecture me instead about how I should use the app on my iPhone that would have quickly identified the song for me. At which point I would try again to explain about the impending doom and death and destruction, and the impossibility of working the iPhone in this moment.
And I was at video arcade not so long ago with the girls, and they were playing all of the music of my youth. I wanted to just lie on the floor and weep.
Yes. Ordinary people with stories.
Love you.
Okay so I get the repetition of “bruised knees” I have to repeat things to remember them too. Like when I was dating and someone would give me their dorm or phone number and I would look them in the eye and repeat it, many, many times.
I have been told that it was quite unsettling for someone to look someone in the eye and repeat information about them over and over again. They said it was as if I was completely and utterly committing it to memory and if I were to lets say have amnesia or to go into a coma and I woke up. I may not remember my own name but I would know exactly where you are.
Whatever…some people’s unsettling habits are another person’s efficient ones.
So there.
Whatever…some people’s unsettling habits are another person’s efficient ones?
And now?
I love you more.
So there.
I am laughing so hard the tears are streaming!
I never knew the words to that song! I don’t know what I thought they were–I’m afraid to try and remember in case they too closely echo what Mark was singing–but I had no idea he was singing, “Dude looks like a lady.”
You know this will haunt me though. Damn.
On a slightly different note, my friend had the hilarious habit of purposely changing the lyrics when her kids were in the car. One of my favorites? “Do you want to make lunch, or do you just want to fool around?”
Definitely lunch. I’ll have peanut butter and jelly, please.
Ooooh . . . how pleased am I to have haunted you?
Hee hee!
Love that.
And your friend?
All kinds of awesome.
Love her.
I sold Joe Perry a tooth brush in high school. I was all pissed off because I was an angry teen and he walks in the door 1 minute before closing. So yeah he bought a tooth brush and had a prescription filled. And I was all whatever and couldn’t be bothered.
You are random and weird and fabulous!
Oh my god . . I am giggly!
You are me!
Hi!
Poor Mark… being the brunt of so many humorous stories may start giving him a complex, which just might result in even more humorous stories, so please continue.
I’m sure he’s all understanding of your need to share his ridiculousness with us, what with your bruised knees and all. Men are always much more understanding of, well everything, when bruised knees come into play.
Also? I am a super paranoid driver too, my husband would be lost in what to do with our kids if something ever happened to me. But my memory? Sucks. And I’m just not dedicated enough to inflect harm on my knees to remember lyrics. So, alternatively, most phones (and I think there’s an app. for that) have a voice memo recorder. All kinds of awesome. Except for when it comes to hearing the messages back, I don’t think there are that many people that enjoy the sound of their own voice… Maybe Nigel?
Mark is all fine with the mocking stories. He has put very few limits on my writing.
A few . . . but very few.
And the offer to bruise my knees in Mark’s honor? I can’t say that hasn’t been helpful.
I can be very convincing. Hee hee!
And I am not a super-paranoid driver. Not at all.
I just have occasional little panic attacks in which a teeny part of my brain focuses 100% of my attention on the absurdity of the whole driving thing.
Ahem.
And I mentioned in these comments that I have that iPhone song-identifier (Shazam, I think it’s called).
But this was not a moment for working my iPhone.
Seriously.
As for Nigel?
I am pretty sure that his voice (written or spoken) is worth a listen.
Pretty sure.
I do not sit around listening to the sound of my own voice, thank you very much.
I am far too busy ass-fucking myself while listening to Aerosmith to have time for that.
Thank you very much.
I am pretty sure that while you are ass-fucking yourself to the sound of Aerosmith?
A few sounds escape your lips.
And that you like those sounds.
Pretty sure.
Oddly enough, every time I’m fucked in the ass?
I sound just like Michael Bublé.
Weird!
I knew you were listening.
Also?
Did you know that Michael Buble sings Leonard Cohen’s song I’m Your Man?
Ack.
In my imagination? As you are ass-fucked and singing I’m Your Man?
You sound like Leonard Cohen.
That works better for me.
Hey, whose fantasy is this?
Oh, wait, I forgot for a minute there.
Everything revolves around you.
Now I remember.
See?
It all comes back to me in the end.
Wait . . . what?
I’m just letting this one go.
Before I get into trouble.
I’m going to wash over your conversation with Nigel, as that would just be asking for trouble, and just update you on one little tidbit.
I didn’t miss the comments previous to mine, I always read them up until the point where I comment. Except I hit reply much before these even existed, and was delayed with writing because of a serious trauma of an accidental Ariel in the garborator mishap. Don’t ask. So hitting submit had to wait until the situation was dealt with, and during this time? Other readers were feeling all commenty for you.
Just wanted to clear this up. Because I ALWAYS read your comments, and fear if you ever suspect otherwise from this long list of readers you have? You may stop participating, cutting back as you have in blog visits. And cutting comments would be oh-so-sad.
Nigel is always getting me into trouble.
He gets everyone in trouble . . . as you well know.
And guess what? I have not cut back on blog visits at all! In fact? I have been commenting even more than I was.
This Make Me Come thing?
Is working better than I anticipated.
Hee hee!
So no cutting back has in fact been done outside of Twitter.
And I was spending too much time there anyway.
And my comments?
I love answering these comments.
My very favorite thing about blogging.
Other than the money.
Yes . . . money and conversations . . . that’s why I do this.
Snort!
I am laughing so hard right now. And listening to the song about oral sex that isn’t about oral sex. I think I’m not smart enough to get this song or there is generation gap or something.
Also, I always thought the words to that first song were “Do it like a lady” maybe not much better than Mark’s version.
Clearly I should not be listening to the radio.
The song Bruises?
It is a way lame dorky song about doing hand-stands in the grass to impress a boy.
Ack!
No oral sex at all!
So annoying.
Long time reader, 1st time commenter… my wife got my reading you awhile back =)
Is it bad that while on Facebook I saw the title of your post today and thought “Oh I get to read about BJs today!”
Also? The answer?
It isn’t… :)
Love that you have commented today!
Thank you.
Plus also?
If a song has the phrase, “I have bruises on my knees today,” in it?
Somebody needs to be blowing someone.
Duh.
Who do I see about this false advertising?
Annoying.
I love it! If I don’t know the words I make up my own. Then mocking ensues from Clint’s seat buth I don’t care since my lyrics are always more entertaining.
That’s what Mark says!
He likes the music better than the words, and he just sings whatever the hell he feels like singing.
Whereas I always like the words better than the music.
Always.
I like words.
Alas, I am the one that never gets lyrics right.
And its really embarrassing to get mocked for such mistakes.
so take it easy, MOTHER who is “innocent and never does anything wrong.”
and I mean that with so much love
HA!
Ummmmm . . . I get a LOT of mocking over here.
A lot.
Mark just doesn’t have a blog with which to share these stories.
Snort!
Plus also?
If you are a man and you sing in front of me about the desire to be “done like a lady?”
I am going to have to mock you.
I just am.
you are only human. who could resist such an opportunity…
Exactly.
I am laughing so hard. Only because not that one song, but the Rag Doll song? I never could figure out what he was saying (because he says it so fast), so I used to sing it, “Rag doll, heebie jeebie jeebie”. Oh, I’m dying.
I also totally massacred Ignition by R. Kelly. The husband and I were driving down the road and I was singing “Then after the show its the after party, And after the party its the hotel lobby.” Okay, so I didn’t get “hotel lobby” and I might have said, “whole jaloppy”. But that was no reason for Jdaddy to have to pull over on the side of the road so he could laugh at me.
But I swear the best is my sister in law, who didn’t know it was “Sweet Home ALABAMA”. Her version? “Sweet Home MAMABAMA”. Ahh, good times.
I so needed a laugh today. Work is stressful.
That your husband pulled to the side of the road to laugh at you?
That’s what I’m talking about.
That’s some quality mocking right there.
Swoon!
Tell the people at work I said to leave you the fuck alone so you can read blogs.
And giggle.
Poor Mark. Although if you’re going to sing out loud. Loudly. Make sure you know the words. Totally his own fault.
However a good friend of mine, who was sure she knew the correct words. Belted them out in a packed bar. “do the Naked Lady!”
She’s still paying for that.
And the awareness thing? I hate that. Like suddenly being aware of your breathing.
Do the naked lady?
I am dying! Seriously . . . giggling like a crazy person all by myself over here.
Oh my god.
And yes . . . when I am aware of my own breathing?
That is way fucking annoying.
What if my constant vigilance is required from this moment forward to maintain what was, until just this moment, an involuntary act?
Sigh.
You think the breathing thing is bad?
Become aware of your tongue.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?
Now look what you’ve done.
Ugh.
Ok, I know we all know how twisted my wee brain is, but sometimes I’m just distracted.
Saw “Bruised Knees,” and in my brain that turned into “Skinned Knees” and I figured I was clicking into a post about childhood boo-boo’s.
Huh. No, not in the strictest sense, no.
Which made me think of a story.
We remember what I do, right? Did you know that medical SLP’s (which I mostly am) treat swallowing disorders? People who have strokes, parkinson’s disease, etc. Lots of need there, actually.
A colleague of mine had a patient who had a horribly over-reactive gag response, and she was trying to figure out what he might be suffering from.
It turns out that if you type “overactive gag reflex” into a search engine, you will get all kinds of things that have nothing to do with medical conditions.
And then you will have to go explain to your boss why he’s about to get a call from the company IT department.
OK, you knew I was going to head over to Google and check that out, right?
ACK!
Who does that sort of thing?
ACK!
My throat is all clenchy at the thought.
Also?
That you would go to Twitter to berate me for not responding to your comment in a timely fashion?
You are all kinds of bossy and awesome.
And so for you?
I will swallow . . . just this once.
My pride, sassy one. I will swallow my pride.
And apologize.
Ok, you totally won me back with “sassy one.”
And I totally get the not timely if you are dealing with, oh, life, kids, that sort of thing. You are not here at our beck and call just because we read your blog.
But you know, i was ready to take some people out for hogging your attention when I totally deserved it more.
And yeah, I’m lookin’ at YOU Mary P..uh huh.
Plus I had that awesome tantrum all ready.
I adore you.
And you are all sassy.
I am glad you did not need to use your tantrum.
Save it for another day when I am really annoying.
I am sure that day will come.
Hee hee!
I just stopped in from the Red Dress Club and oh my gosh you are hilarious!
I have a friend who frequently gets the words wrong to far too many songs to count. She introduced me to the website http://www.kissthisguy.com . It’s a whole website dedicated to the lyrically challenged.
Oh, I have been to that website before!
I have several lyrically challenged people in my family.
And I am so glad that you clicked through and came to visit!
Thank you!
“I listen to lyrics. I like words.”
Yes.
“I am in the midst of one of those mild not-quite-panic-attacks in which I am overly aware of the extent to which I control my own destiny as I drive down the road.”
Yes.
Do me like a lady?
Snicker.
Hee hee!
You and I have much in common.
Snicker.