Yeah, me neither.
But remember how, when you used to navigate to someone’s profile, they could have their “song” start playing? So’s when you creeped on your old high school boyfriend at your cubicle and forgot to turn the speakers down you got a nice earful of Hoobastank blasting for the whole office to hear?
(That was your punishment for being on myspace. Punk.)
I tell you that story to tell you this one: I’ve been walking around with a song in my head. This one (but only the first 15 extremely meaningful seconds). Which is weird, because I never listen to normal-people music. Assuming normal-people music is the stuff that’s so ubiquitous that it gets into your head when you can’t even remember having listened to it.
My iPhone’s iPod is stocked up with exactly five songs: our wedding song; Seasons of Love; James Taylor’s Millworker; Hungover & Hard Up by Eric Church; and the Rock Chalk chant.
I really only use the iPod because I feel guilty solely using the text function on my iPhone…I might as well have my old snicker bar phone with the awesome “in traffic” ringer. (Did these have text messaging?)
Sometimes, I whistle the Andy Griffith theme song to myself. But that’s the extent of my music savvy.
I figured, if something that odd had been in my head for that long, I should probably write a post that incorporates it. Exorcize the demon. Thus, I shall name this post after that genius refrain:
My life be like…
Herein I will tell you exactly what my life be like. This is what’s been in my head lately. The little things that spark me to shake my head and think, “this is what my life be like.” This is me…from the inside. The brain-side.
Now you’ll know exactly what I’m so dang busy with: I spend all my time playing exasperated babysitter to my over-stimulated yet under-utilized brain. (Somebody give me a higher purpose!)
MLBL: (Thinking thoughts…) why isn’t EVERYONE using wooden spoons? They’re so convenient. So gentle. So easy to break up chunks of ground beef with. And whack the dog in the nose when he tries to steal said chunks of ground beef from the pan.
(Paleo Pooch can do this, you see, because he is ten feet tall. See below for comparison to attractive, big, buff, attractive-sized
MLBL: (Thinking thoughts…) if toasted pine nuts aren’t Paleo, I don’t care.
That’s it for that thought. It was fleeting.
MLBL: (Thinking thoughts…) I’m OK with doctors not knowing everything. I’m NOT ok with them being unwilling to ADMIT they don’t know everything.
I’m even MORE not ok with them handing out bad advice in place of a thoughtful solution. What would be the harm in a doctor saying, “I don’t know what’s behind this issue you’re having. Why don’t you look for a nutritionist/massage therapist/therapist/Vampire Movie that could help you explore it?”
everyone Cave Husband think I’m a culinary genius. Even though it’s just zucchini, sausage, baby tomato and a little spicy Kasandrinos Olive Oil.
MLBL: (Thinking thoughts)…I freaking love eggs!
MLBL: (Thinking thoughts)...Bacon ends from Cherry Grove Farm are the only thing that matters. The ONLY thing.
I think we can all agree on this last point.
Aaaaand now that I’ve completely lost the entirety of my readership, I’ll off and work on getting something else stuck in my head. Like this compilation. Far more worthwhile. (Don’t click on it. Seriously. It’s a vortex. “My what a guy, that Gaston!“)