I just went downstairs to wash the load of (fucking) laundry that I had previously washed and left in the washer to acquire basement funk. In fact, it’s the third time this particular load of clothes has been treated to a wash cycle.
I will probably forget about it before the evening is done. Theoretically, at some point, I will have washed it so many times that it will be nothing but a glurp of wet fibers and lint. Sometimes you have to set your mind to something to see it to fruition.
I have a very shameful secret.
I like the music of Avril Lavigne.
I kept that to myself, for the most part, breaking out into an angst-ridden rendition of ‘Complicated’ in the car because it was in my range. So I told myself, anyway. And then I liked the song ‘You’re With Me’ because of the line ‘it’s a damned cold night,’ which I liked because of the poetry and the meter. Because I’m a wordsmith and can appreciate fine lyrics. No. Really. That’s all.
Except that as she releases more songs, I find myself liking them, nay, looking forward to hearing them on the radio.
So fine, time to stop fooling myself. I’m ready to march in the Avril Pride parade.
So when her newest came out, I was very excited. Look! She is growing as a musician! She’s no longer living up to Amy Poehler’s caricatures. My little Avril’s all growed up! In fact, this one might just be my favorite Avril song ever!
I sing along with it on the radio at the top of my lungs. ‘Since you been gone! I can breathe for the first time!’
And then I learned that it’s actually by Kelly Clarkson. The girl who won the first American Idol.
For the record, I do NOT like Kelly Clarkson. She’s the product of a media machine. I am not a Kelly Clarkson fan! Also, I was totally hoping that Justin would win. Also, she has really fug highlights.
Avril’s just perfectly in my range. That’s all.
Just ignore the play count on my iPod. It’s a filthy liar.
I feel like listening to Nine Inch Nail’s ‘Closer’ twenty times in penitence. If anyone brings up the Dashboard Confessional thing, they are dead to me.
After dinner (saut’ed scallops and garlic parmesan tortellini, which contrary to most of the food I mention making on this diary, was very meh), Esteban was throwing on his Mannel (a coat made of especially manly flannel) and I reminded him ‘Don’t forget to clean up dinner.’ Because our little marital agreement is that if one person makes dinner, the other person cleans up.
‘Yup, I will. There’s not that much to clean up.’ He shrugged, putting on his gloves.
‘You know, in the real world, ‘cleaning up’ would also involve putting the dishes in the dishwasher, and you know, cleaning up.’ I said, because yes, I am completely impossible to live with.
Esteban started to walk out of the room and then did a convulsive dance, shouting ‘Ok, but first I have to take care of this stick lodged halfway up my ass!’
Even when he’s being a jerk, he’s funny as hell.
