Tag Archives: Kid Rock

New Year, New Me


…As if I really needed to improve on me in the first place.

I did decide that I need to be a little bit more focused, but oooh! Look at the pretty Christmas lights across the street! OK, so being focused is something I might really have to focus on. At least I’ve realized that much. It is hoped that becoming a mother this year may help in that department just a little. I do not wish for my son to see me as a flaky person. (I shall do all in my power to hide the fact that I am from him.)

As far as my blog goes, I know how much of a disappointment I have been in the past year, and I resolve to do better. No more all-day marathons of Glee or The Tudors until after I have written on my blog. And just to test me, Netflix has found it necessary to make ten seasons of Friends available for viewing. Bastards.

Too, I find it necessary to finish writing at least one book this year. It would make sense for said book to be the one I’ve gotten the most work done on; however, I feel that authoring and illustrating a children’s book may be in my nearer future. But, since I have no child-like inspirations that come to mind as of yet, I resolve to work on my already-begun book for now, at least two hours a day. (Two hours is many hours for me to stay focused these  days. Perhaps after the Babe is born, I shall jack it up to four hours a day.)

As most normal people do, I ,too, resolve to lose weight this year. The really awesome thing is that I get to wait until April to work on this one. (The second-best thing about being pregnant.) To ensure that my initial goal to be the hottest mom ever is reached, my Rockstar’s Daughter has hinted that she believes I will forever be fat after the baby is born. (Perhaps only in hopes that she can have my never-worn, too-small little black dress.) After telling her how rude such a sentiment was, I silently thanked her for reinforcing my intentions of amazing hotness.

I thought that perhaps I would choose a resolution that would make me a better person- namely, to be kind to those certain individuals that irritate the piss out of me. I then thought better of any such ridiculousness, as I am not so good a person that that objective would ever be met; too, it is just so much easier to ignore such peoples. Luckily, one of these unfortunate souls is no longer employed at my place of business, so any behavior considered rude by my scorning of this person is forgiven already. Yay me.

For my last resolution, I do so intend to be the book whore I so claim to be, with the help of Amazon’s list of 100 Books to Read in a Lifetime. I was a bit saddened that I had read only twenty-nine of these life-changing books, but I intend to make a good-sized dent in the remaining seventy-one. I was, however, excited to find that though I hadn’t read many off the list, I own a surprising number of them. Yay me once again.

As for you, my fine readers, I have found this video to wish you all a wonderful New Year. (My Rockstar has a man crush on Kid Rock, and laughs his ass off at this video.)

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Baby, I Don’t Think We’re in Sturgis Anymore


Some people long for adventure. I happen to be one of those people.

I daydream often of spitting off of the Empire State Building, of sacrificing a human being to the Sun god on the top of an Aztec ruin, of standing on the rail of a doomed ship holding my arms up and screaming, “I’m the King of the World!” just before it hits an iceberg and my fat-ass girlfriend refuses to share her floating driftwood and I freeze to death before sinking to the bottom of the ocean; my remains fodder for Jaws, the Great and Powerful.

Perhaps I am descended from Gypsies, though I’ve not heard of any statuesque blonde Scandanavian gypsy folk, or perhaps my apartment is so crappy that I simply have the urge to go anywhere that isn’t home. Whatever the case, I feel that I do not have to justify or explain my desire to lay eye on the biggest motorcycle rally in the country.
My Rockstar finds this desire to be completely insane and ultimately the  source of my imminent demise. While I would find it interesting and quite exciting to grab a beer with burly men (and women) sporting leather chaps and Harley bandanas, my Rockstar is convinced if we were to venture and stay at the designated campgrounds that millions of people stay in every year during Bike Week,  we would surely be designated as bait for any motorcycle gang initiation rites. Luckily, Kid Rock is playing at said campground, so after three years, I was able to convince R that a good time could be had by all, no gang rapes or ass branding included.

After spending last Sunday planning our choice of poison, which included going to see Kid Rock, the Black Crowes, Jackyl, Jasmine Cain, and Vince Neil, my Rockstar received a phone call from his brother, and informed him of our plan. Little did I know, his brother was intent on ruining our perfect childless-friendly getaway. Rockstar hung up the phone and said the words I never knew I would dread to hear- “He say nobody should go into those campgrounds after dark.”

My heart dropped. Was I thinking of what a gang of horny biker dudes might do to someone with buzooms of my size or someone with such an irrestistable ass as my Rockstar? No. I was thinking that I might never know, and that my Rockstar needed to quit being a pussy and suck it up. What fun is life if you never have to worry about getting your ass kicked by a 250 lb. woman who looks like a man?

Anyhoo, I threw in the towel. I realized that my Rockstar may just not be woman enough to want to run for Miss Broken Spoke 2013, and making him surround himself with the Sons of anarchy before he’s ready would just be an incredible waste of my money. So we’re going to Vegas for my birthday in October instead, where the women are cost exhorbitant amounts of money,  and the men are showgirls.

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