Reflections on the Release of Britney’s New Album and Tour Dates

Britney’s new album came out on Tuesday. My verdict: I LOVE IT. I haven’t loved one of her albums like this since “Oops! I Did It Again”. That is not to say that “Britney”, “In the Zone”, “Blackout” and the greatest hits album were not without their charms. But I haven’t loved every song on the disc since “Oops”.

Concert dates for the Circus tour were also released on Tuesday. By using a special code, you can get really good seats for a slightly cheaper price. Sadly, I do not have the amount necessary to acquire some tickets at this time.

I considered throwing a fit to eclipse all fits; begging my parents for a loaner; and even considered taking out a loan on my 401(k). I didn’t do any of those. Throwing a fit doesn’t work anymore and besides, who would I throw it at? I’m not going to beg my parents for a loan for concert tickets, and I don’t want to take a loan on my 401(k).

Instead of bitching about tickets that I don’t have, I’m going to (attempt) to be grateful about things I do have, and not think about the tickets.

For example, I’m not going to think about how my car payment, which coincidentally posted to my account on the same day that tickets were put on sale, would have easily been enough to purchase two tickets. Instead, I’m going to think about how much money my new car saved me during the summer months when gas was well over $4 a gallon. I’m going to think about how much I like not stressing about my car’s “health.”

I’m going to think about how pleasantly surprised that my vintage Sgt. Pepper record miraculously had the cutouts intact. That’s pretty uncommon for a used Sgt Pepper record and it considerably ups the collector value. My kids might get to go to college.

I’m going to think about excited I will be to attend Britney’s concert, even if I wind up with nosebleed seats, because no way am I missing Britney’s comeback tour. I’ve been to two of her concerts and she puts on a good show. It’ll be way fun and I’m already looking forward to it.

Funny how Britney’s new album and tour dates are making me just a little more grateful for stuff, huh?

*PS – I’m not going to lie: when I’m up in my nosebleed seats, I’ll probably still be a little mad that I didn’t get the good seats that I want. I’ll probably glare down at the people who were lucky enough to get my seats. But I’ll glare gratefully. XD

Boo-yah.

I will be so proud if my kid...

I don’t have any kids right now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have high hopes for any future progeny of mine. And, unlike hopes that one day they’ll rule the world with an iron fist (although that would be wicked cool); I think these aspirations are actually attainable. Let me explain.

1. Every year in church, the kids from ages 5-11 put on a program in church. I hated doing this program with a passion, but never actually had the guts to make it known just how much I hated the program. That being said, since I had to suffer through the program year after year, little Scooby and Chicky-babe have to suffer through it as well. However, I would be the proudest mother in the congregation if little Scooby or Chicky-babe were to do the program with vampire fangs stuck in their mouths. Or if they wanted to go the whole hog and wear glasses with eyes attached to slinkies, that would be okay, too. Of course, I would have to act mortified in church, but, oh man, Christmas would come early for any child of mine who had the stones to do something like that in church.

2. If my kids could learn how to whale on the guitar like a rock star, and not like the pathetic wannabe like I am (please refer to a previous post of mine), I would be so proud of my little Guitar Heroes. If Scooby or Chicky-babe were to become so proficient on the guitar as to make it big in the rock world, well, then I’ll be right there to borrow money from them like the good sponge..errr, I mean, mother I’ll be someday.

3. I would be tres exultant if one of my spawn could belch the entire alphabet in one go. YES, I know it’s gross and I would be horribly mortified and humiliated if it were to occur in public, but let me ask you this. Have you ever heard a little kid actually belch the entire alphabet? I have and I nearly gave myself an aneurysm, I laughed so hard. It was hysterically funny and I decided then and there that if I had a kid that could do that, it would be pretty kick ass. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that it is possible that I would have a kid who could do that. Future Granddad has some prowess in that area, so Scooby (preferably) has a good chance.
There is a silver lining to this gastronomical feat: if a child of mine had the lung capacity to actually belch the alphabet, then that kid is getting signed up for voice lessons because clearly, I have a potential opera singer on my hands or at least, be able to belt out Bohemian Rhapsody, falsetto and all.
(I feel the need to reiterate the fact that I do NOT want my child to exhibit this particular talent in public. Save it for the frat house, Scooby.)

4. If my kids are smart-asses to me or Future Hottie-Husband, they’ll find themselves in a world of hurt. But if Scooby or Chicky-babe can deliver an attitude worthy of Shannen Dougherty at her worst, to someone who needs to be taken down a peg, then I shall call them Mini-me and we will sing “Just the Two of Us” duets just like Doctor Evil and HIS Mini-Me.

5. A debate can be aptly described as choreography of words, the dance of death. (Excuse me while I wax poetical.) I would be so proud if Scooby or Chicky-babe can hold their own in a hardcore debate. I’m speaking, of course, of the fine art of the rap battle. I would love to have my own little rapper who can throw down with the best of them while keeping it clean. And if I get this response after I tell my kid to pick up his crap for the tenth time or else it’s going in the trash: “I’ll pick it up cuz I ain’t no punk beeyotch”, I will reply with pride “Word.”

Of course, I’ll be proud of all of Scooby and Chicky-babe’s accomplishments, big or small. These are just a few of which I would feel compelled to brag about.

However, if when asked what Mummy wants Daddy to get her for her birthday, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, anniversary, Boxing Day, Valentine’s Day, or any day that ends in ‘y’ gift and Scooby or Chicky-babe say “Mummy likes diamonds”, then that kid gets an all-expenses paid trip to college for four years.

I know I’ve left something out, so if there is something particularly funny and praise-worthy that your kids have done and you feel that it’s something I should be proud of if my kid did, let me know! Or just feel free to brag about your talented little genius.

Today, I criticize health care (and also I refer to three movies and one song)

I’m up late because for the past few days, I’ve felt like some demonic little troll has been stabbing my left side with a pitchfork from the inside of my body. Whenever I move, the evil bugger stabs me double time and has literally made me double over in pain, gasping and cursing. During one such internal stabbing attack by the troll, my boss even noticed something was wrong. It was then that I decided a visit to Urgent Care was in order.


I spent all of Friday morning at Urgent Care, where, incidentally, my doctor was MAJOR eye candy (seriously, seeing him almost made it worth having to be there), only to be told that after various tests of my bodily fluids and five X-rays, Hottie Doctor couldn’t see anything wrong with me. (I almost asked if X-rays are to trolls what mirrors are to vampires, but then decided not to, as I didn’t want Hottie Doctor to think I was crazy. One MUST keep up appearances, you know.)

OW!

Not wanting to question Hottie Doctor’s intelligence and medical degree but at the same time wanting to be rid of the damn troll inside of me, I (shamelessly) turned on the waterworks.

You see, this Urgent Care visit was merely the latest doctor’s visit in the long line of doctor’s visits this year. I, who up until this year never went to the doctor, have been in and out of my doctor’s office at least twice a month since December 2007. I kid you not. I have had a range of tests over the past few months: a CT scan, thyroid ultrasounds, “fluid” tests (I will NOT elaborate on that one), and X-rays. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had blood taken. I’ve been exposed to so much radiation that even Hottie Doctor was worried about doing today’s X-rays. His exact words: “Poor thing, I’m surprised you’re not GLOWING from all the radiation.” (Oh, I was glowing, baby, but not from radiation. It was his fine self that had me glowing like Robert Downey Jr.’s chest thingy in Iron Man.)

Sadly enough, my testing days are not done. Lucky me, I get to go have a thyroid biopsy. What does that entail, exactly? Well, grasshopper, that means that I get to have a needle (which in my imagination equals the size of the one used in Pulp Fiction) shoved in and out of my poor defenseless thyroid. Is it any wonder that I’m procrastinating on scheduling this particular appointment? Given the choice, I’d much rather cut my own Achilles’ tendon with a dull and rusty razor. (Did you just shudder? I know I did. But I really don’t want a ginormous needle going into my throat.)

Getting back to today’s visit: I usually don’t cry at the doctor’s office. I’m a big girl now, and according to Fergie, big girls don’t cry. But today I summoned up some tears, hoping to garner sympathy (or possibly a little cuddle) from Hottie Doctor. (it didn’t work. Well, actually, it did a little. But not the cuddle part. Damn.)

I don’t understand why these ridiculously expensive tests and doctors with years of schooling and fancy medical degrees can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. Don’t get me wrong, man. It’s not like I want something wrong with me, because I certainly don’t. I would have been happy to go the rest of my days without knowing what it’s like to get a CT scan and I REALLY would not mind if the words “thyroid biopsy” were not part of my lexicon. But since something is wrong with me – I’m sure most normal people don’t have angry, angry trolls inside of them (unless your name is Rosemary and you’re in a movie called Rosemary’s Baby and in which case, dude that sucks) – I would really like it if someone could tell me what’s wrong with me.

On the up side, I did get a prescription for Lortab. On the down side, I got a hideously bruised arm and tape residue.

And you know something else? I don’t like how 49 flavor jars of Jelly Bellies always load up on the bellies that taste like caca. Peanut butter, buttered popcorn, caramel corn, and mango – I’m looking in your direction.

Boo yah.

**Update: Please note that this is for entertainment value only. I am not looking for sympathy, attention, or threats to go medieval on the doctors. There are so many more people who are worse off than I am. I have had time to gain perspective and see the amusing side of the situation. I only wrote about this in order to help myself laugh about it, and to perhaps remind everyone to count their blessings.

I'm a Rock Legend!

I love hearing the crowd yelling and chanting. I love feeling the crowd’s energy, the anticipation of hearing their favorite songs played just for them. The lead singer has let me choose what we play. I look over our set list and choose our first song. The crowd gets louder as they realize the show is about to start. I pick up my guitar and get my fingers ready for a workout. The lead singer plays with the jazzed-up crowd, gets them worked into a frenzied excitement. My drummer taps out the beat of the song and I hit the first button.

Hello. My name is Melodye…and I’m addicted to Guitar Hero.

Man, that feels good to get off my chest. I play Guitar Hero every chance I can. When I listen to music, I see green, red, yellow, blue, and orange dots scattered across a fret board, running across the screen of my mind. I even, occasionally, okay OFTEN, find myself strumming on an invisible guitar controller.

I’m sick, I know.

I finally acquired my own Wii, so I don’t have to camp out at my friend’s house and invade her family, in order to satisfy my Guitar Hero craving. People have asked me if my newly purchased Wii was for my kids. Shamefully, I duck my head and mumble some affirmative-sounding yet incoherent answer and hastily change the subject. But I lie. I have no kids. The Wii was for mii.

I was shocked, but pleasantly so, when I discovered that I had almost all of the playlist for Guitar Hero III on my iPod. Of course, nothing would do but to immediately go to iTunes and purchase the few remaining songs I did not have, just so that my Guitar Hero III playlist would be complete. I was also pleasantly surprised to see that I have most of the playlists from Guitar Hero I and II on my iPod. I have not updated my iPod as of yet with the remaining songs, though, as I am not made of money, and music gets expensive on ye olde iTunes.

I would really love it if they would make the other versions of Guitar Hero for the Wii system. Guitar Hero I, II, and Guitar Hero Rocks the 80s. I want to acquire the Guitar Hero: Aerosmith game and guess how excited I am that they are developing a Guitar Hero: Metallica game? So excited! If the Beatles ever licensed their music for play on Guitar Hero, I would be out of control.

I need help.

I feel guilty when I play Guitar Hero, especially since I should be practicing my real guitar or possibly even studying. But it’s so COOL to play along to Metallica, Guns’N’Roses, Weezer, The Who, Cream, KISS, Alice Cooper, and Muse. I like to feel like a rock star, not to mention the warm and fuzzy feeling I get inside when I beat Slash at his own game. Hmmm, it might not be so much warm and fuzzy as much as I want to slam the controller on the floor in the manner of spiking a football, and yell “IN YOUR FACE” to Slash, then do my own version of an end zone victory dance.

Speaking of Slash, am I alone in wanting to ask him what the hell he was doing in making that battle of his so damn difficult? Holy CRAP that thing is tricky. Slash doesn’t want to battle; he wants to punish me for thinking I’m big enough to run with the big dogs and trying to play HIS game. And so, when I battle Slash, it usually takes four or five times, maybe even six, and by then I’m huddled on the floor, broken and sobbing, screaming “Why, Slash, WHY do you hate me so much???” The computer people in the audience yelling “You suuuuuuuck!” and “Get off the stage!” don’t help matters and I don’t care how many times you tell me that it’s just a game, I’m convinced that Slash is laughing at me after he’s kicked me to the curb a few times. Then the game gets to the point where even it thinks the whole thing is pathetic, and wants to put me out of my misery by offering me the choice of wussing out or continuing with the carnage.

Of course, I know that Slash has no ill-will toward me. He doesn’t even know me. (I think. Wait…maybe? Nah, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know me.) I have no enmity towards Slash as well. It’s just that when I manage to beat him, victory is sweeter than honey pie. I’m not a gracious winner, I want to rub it in his face and see him cry. And if I ever meet Slash in person: I WILL rub it in his face that I can beat him at medium-level. However, since I cannot rub it in, I will settle for playing “Welcome to the Jungle” with Slash. (On medium.)

But I love Guitar Hero. I’m so addicted and I’m not going to lie: when I get home tonight, no matter how late it is, I’ll try to sneak in some Guitar Hero.

My name is Melodye, and I’m a medium-level Rock Legend. Nice to make your acquaintance.

Boo-yah.