What’s that you say?

Many years ago, Gavin Edwards wrote a series of books that collected misheard song lyrics.  My friend Amy and I once spent a ridiculous amount of time sprawled out on the floor of a Barnes and Noble hooting at these things.  I bought one of the books and later we saw in the back of it that you could send the author your own mondegreens (yes, there’s actually a term for this), so she and I set about listing our own listening errors.  At some point we came to the realization that we were essentially doing the author’s work for him–for free–so we just put the list aside and, most likely, turned our full attention to drinking.

So, for something like 18 years now I’ve had all these mistaken song lyrics that I’ve had no idea what to do with.  This blog seemed like a good place to share some of them.  Although I’m still not getting paid for my work.

–          Natalie Cole’s “I Miss You Like Crazy”:  I heard “I guess you like daisies” instead of “I miss you like crazy”

–          Everclear’s “Santa Monica”:  I heard “I don’t want to be your still pickin’” instead of “I don’t want to be your stupid game”

–          Modern English’s “Melt with You”:  I heard “Confucius, open wide” instead of “The future’s open wide”

–          The Pointer Sisters’ “Jump (For My Love)”:  I heard “You’re the perfect size” instead of “Your love burns inside”

–          Bad Company’s “Rock ‘N’ Roll Fantasy”:  I heard “Here come the Jetsons, 1, 2, 3” instead of “Here come the Jesters, 1, 2, 3”

–          Waylon Jennings’s “Ain’t Living Long Like This”:  I heard  “I’ve got that long, white beard” instead of “Ain’t living long like this”

–          The Beatles’ “Day Tripper”:  I heard “She’s a prick teaser” instead of “She’s a big teaser”

–          Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance”:  I heard “Red wine” instead of “RedOne”

–          Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance”:   I heard “And we’re all getting hoes tonight” instead of “And we’re all getting hosed tonight”

–          Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance”:  I heard “So many women without a bra” instead of “So many women without a flaw”*

*Clearly, I had a lot of trouble with this song.  The sad thing is that I didn’t realize just how wrong I had the lyrics until I looked them up online.

I know you guys have some great mondegreens of your own.  Post yours in the comments section so everyone can wonder what the hell is wrong with your hearing, too.


You’re not a member of ZZ Top

A few days ago I saw a baby with a moustache.  Okay, it wasn’t a real moustache.  It was a pacifier with a plastic, baby-sized moustache on top to make it look like he had facial hair.  Normal people would probably look at that and say, “Awwww!” but I just thought, “Really?  It’s come to this?”

This whole ironic facial hair thing is getting out of hand, people.

I’m not anti-facial hair at all.  My husband had a beard for many years, and I liked it.  He was sporting it when we first met and that was one of the things that attracted me to him.  However, I am anti-hipster dufus facial hair.  Handlebar moustaches, muttonchops, soul patches, dreadlock beards…I don’t care who you are, most likely if you have something like that on your face, you look stupid.  And some of these things just look absolutely filthy.  As my friend Alexandra said, some of those beards are “the kind where tiny rodents could take up residence.”  Since when did “vagrant” become a style?

If you’re like that baby I saw and can’t grow your own  facial hair but are too old for a binky never fear.  There is always the option of tattooing a little moustache on the side of your index finger so you can hold it up over your lip and look like you have one.  Because no one is tired of that whole thing.  I first noticed this phenomenon here about five years ago, which means that the rest of the world had been doing it for at least five years before that.  I think it’s time to let that one go, folks.  If you’re not ready to make that kind of commitment, there’s always the option of putting a moustache cut-out on a stick and holding it up to your face.  I’ve seen roughly 200 photos of people on Facebook doing this.  Or you could just get some face paint and draw a stache or beard right onto your face.  My daughter recently ran in a 5K and instead of the usual butterflies and rainbows the girls line up for at the face painting booth, tons of them were getting faux facial hair.  I gotta say, it’s a little disconcerting to see little girls with hot pink handlebar moustaches.

Apparently, facial hair isn’t just for faces anymore.  There are moustache earrings, cufflinks, ice cube trays, cookie cutters, and candy molds (because who doesn’t want to eat crappy chocolate that looks like hair?).

I leave you with this limerick by Edward Lear, who must have suffered through an ironic facial hair trend back in the 1800s:

There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, “It is just as I feared!
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!”

Legos: Little bricks of despair

My five-year-old was recently given his first “big kid” Legos (i.e., not the “little kid” Duplo variety).  And thus was ushered in a period of my life that will be marked by much gnashing of teeth, near-constant swearing, and heavy drinking.

I don’t like Legos all that much.  Someone gave me a set when I was probably around my son’s age and I played with them all of five minutes before putting them back in the box and never opening it again.  I just don’t get the appeal.  I’m not an anti-Legoite or anything.  I guess I just prefer building things with words rather than little plastic bricks.

Although my son could make things without much assistance with the Duplo blocks, these Legos are a bit more challenging for him.  Maybe because most of them are about the size of a baby’s fingernail and adhere to one another as if they were Super Glued together (unless when you want them to stay together, and then they collapse into a sad heap of multi-colored rubble).  Speaking of fingernails, mine have been reduced to jagged nubs at this point from prying the damned things apart.  I haven’t had a manicure since 2008, and I was thinking about having my husband spring for one for Mother’s Day, but as long as we have Legos around here, why bother?

It’s not only nails that fall victim to these insidious little building blocks.  Have you ever stepped on one of the fuckers in your bare feet?  I feel certain the CIA interrogates prisoners by having them walk across large swathes of scattered Legos.  And then makes them pry them apart for hours at a time.

Since Legos have come into our lives, I have been unable to drink an entire cup of coffee, complete a single e-mail, or take a shower without being interrupted at least a half a dozen times by my son’s wailing and whining due to some Lego-induced crisis.  It’s like he’s a newborn all over again, except instead of needing to be nursed, changed, or comforted, he needs help with his stupid Legos.

On a weirdly related note (weird because I had started writing this blog entry yesterday morning), last night my father-in-law e-mailed from Billund, Denmark—the home of Legos– where he traveled to on a business trip.  He wanted us to let his grandson know that he was spending a night at the Legoland Hotel and would we like for him to get some more Legos for the kid?  Why, yes, of course.  Because I still have a modicum of my fingernails, feeling in my feet, and sanity left.

And—I swear I am not making this up–before I could finish writing this, I was called away due to a Lego emergency.