I might be holding Rick Springfield responsible for my latest brain malfunction.

All of a sudden, although that might be inaccurate because he's been kind of lurking assertively for a couple years now, and actually never really totally went away... Rick Springfield has become ubiquitous. He is so everywhere right now that this blog post involves my mom, my sister Sweetie, and my husband Jethro, Dave Grohl, and Jack Frisco Wagner Jones. See?  Everywhere!

Clearly, I'm not sure when the saturation started, or re-started.  I know I saw him on a talk show at some point discussing his memoir, which I would probably read if I weren't so darn lazy.  (Seriously my unread book pile is becoming dangerous.) I was thinking the ol' feller's looking pretty good.  He's like, 63 now.  Considering all the bad stuff and meltdowns and problems maybe a few mugshots and serious nasty depression problems...  I think it shows on him.  Not in a bad way.  He just has the look, to me anyways, of a person who's been through some crap and dragged himself through it.

Funny thing is, I generally find older men better looking now.  Either I'm getting old (yup) or men look better with some age on them.

Also, he's taking on the Depp look.  Well that always works, right?  Haha.  

Anyways.

I can't talk about this without bringing my mom into it.  As most of you know, I live with my family in my parental home.  I am 42 years old and live with my parents.  One big happy etc etc.  We'll get to my mom, but first, my childhood memories.  If you were alive in the very early 80s, you remember Rick Springfield.

We were visiting some friends of ours, back in the day, and the evening had progressed to the stage where dinner had been eaten, parents were upstairs talking about mortgages and car repairs, and now that I think about it, probably waiting to talk about us kids until we were down in the rec room goofing off loudly enough to hear none of it.  One of the girls was older than me and so super cool.  She was showing me her new posters and records in her bedroom.  One record had a really cute picture of a dog.

"I asked my mom for a Bruce Springsteen record, but she got this one by mistake, but I don't mind because it's pretty alright."

Okay, so that's the 80s.

Now, we're back to 2013.  Is your head spinning yet?  No? Oh, just wait.

It was a quiet winter morning.  I'd been out to the barn and come back into the house to do those other chores. I upended a basket of laundry to fold, because I have a weird affliction that prevents me from folding laundry unless I have the TV on.  And I fold perfectly.  While watching crap on TV.

Well isn't that good ol Rick Springfield on The View.

Sure enough... there's a guitar behind the couch!!! He picks it up and starts playing. Just to make sure we know this is live, he sort of stops playing for a second and says something, then starts again.  It's a little trick performers use.  He wound't have had to; he's old enough that he comes from an age when musicians had to ACTUALLY PLAY MUSIC AND SING because editing and tuning required 2" analog tape, razor blades and scotch tape. (Do not get me started...!)

He plays that riff we all know and love.  And laments about his covetous lust of his best friend's girlfriend.  And he was good.  He was really good.

But it doesn't stop there.

So I get into the house after getting Bucky at the bus stop.  Grandma is watching the Ellen Show. I walk past the living room, hear about the secretive jealous longing, and take two steps back to get a look at the TV.  Yep, there he is.  Cuz she's watchin' him with those eyes, yeah she's lovin'im with that bodyahjustknow it.  

And then... one camera angle caught the drummer.

"Is that... Is that Taylor Hawkins???"

"Who's Taylor Hawkins?"  My mom's not up on popular rock drummers.  It's ok, it's not her job.

"Foo Fighters."

"Oh.  Okay."  She does know who the Foo Fighters are.  She's hip.

AND THEN.

"Is that... THAT'S DAVE GROHL!"

This, people, lead to my first moment of Springfield related brain malfunction.

Not only could I not figure out what the connection would be, but at the end of the performance, Dave Grohl, prolific songwriter, great singer, bitchin guitarist, enthusiastic supporter and collaborator of fellow artists, recording enthusiast, studio owner, and absolute nicest guy in rock and roll, threw his arms up in an "I'm not worthy!" gesture and grinned at Rick Springfield like he was saying to the world, "Dude!  That's RICK SPRINGFIELD."

Jethro later informed me that this little collaboration has something to do with his new favourite movie, SOUND CITY, which is about a recording studio going out of business and Dave Grohl deciding to make a documentary about it.  Oh yes, that guy is also a documentarian now.  Also, used to be in Nirvana.

And... has jammed with Rick Springfield!!!!!!!!!

(If it hasn't already, that name is going to start sounding really funny to you soon.)

So now back to my mom.

It turns out my mom might have had a little crush on the man too, back in the day.

You see, Rick Springfield didn't just have a music career, he also had an acting career.  He was on General Hospital, which my mom used to call My Story as we were growing up and now calls My Show or simply GH.  She has this thing on the DVR and watches it with gleeful scrutiny. I don't have a show.  Although I think New Girl is hilarious.  But since I share a house with my mother, I often end up seeing My Show when I happen to be indoors, a process I call Not-watching.  On rare occasions I quit not-watching which I call not-not-watching.  For some reason my sister thinks this is odd.  But the two of them call each other at least once a day to discuss what happened/ is happening/ will probably happen on GH.  This results in Jethro and the kids and I referring to My Show as... wait for it.... It's Getting Really Good Right Now.  Because THAT is what we hear Mom and Sweetie saying to each other when they're talking about Their Show.

Stay with me, I'm getting to it.

So It's Getting Really Good Right Now is throwing itself a big 50th Anniversary Thing.

Over the last few months they've been dragging out every actor who's ever been on the show and who is still alive.  This has resulted in shameful and embarrassing amounts of me not-not-watching.  I can't help it.  Some of these people were around in my childhood.  And some of them look like they've been pumped full of plastic and hair dye.  But you can imagine how It's Getting Really Good Right Now has been a huge conversation topic for awhile now.  (Actually, as I write this, they are discussing it RIGHT NOW!!) Well, except for the vampire/ insane lady storyline, which had them rolling their eyes and groaning about how they'll be glad when that storyline gets resolved, but I was like, hey, vampires and insanity?  Time to start not-not-watching full time!  But then the rest of it started irritating me so I went back to not-watching.

BUT WAIT.

Guess who showed up to attend the Nurse's Ball / Opportunity To Do A Makeover On The Mousy But Secretly Hot Young Nurse / Oldies Reunion?  Yep.  Dr Noah Drake.  Rick Springfield.

How come none of my doctors have ever looked like beleaguered rock stars?


In the time honoured tradition of actors who are pop stars on their shows becoming pop stars in real life - well I really only know of two and I'm getting to that right now but I figure that's time honoured enough - Jack Wagner showed up to do a thing at the big soiree which is a good excuse to dress everybody up and have their characters perform while we suspend our disbelief that most people don't even have the nerve to Karaoke unless they're sloshing drunk.  I'm not sure what the Frisco Jones character supposedly did for a living other than go off on some kind of top secret excursions on the other side of the world when he wasn't Being A Pop Star. As one does when one is a soap opera character. But it's a paying gig, I guess, so there he was.

I was suffering some cabin fever at the time, and being a weekend night, got the sudden urge to go grocery shopping with Jethro.  If you know how I despise grocery shopping, you'll understand how much I did not want to be a part of the Frisco Jones experience.  But alas!  He started into his "hit" before I managed to get the guys mobilized and car keys located and shoes on.  My eyes must have been bulging.  Poor Jethro.  I'm gritting my teeth and trying to whip my coat onto my flailing arms while hissing, "This song sucked 30 years ago and it's even worse now."

That safely out of the way, I figured I could be in the house without much more of that.  But It's Getting Really Good Right Now wasn't done yet.

I was doing whatever it was I was doing, probably folding laundry - there's so much of it - when I heard somebody on the TV introducing... "MR RICK SPRINGFIELD"

(Oh wait - before I go on, I have to report that just now, over the phone, Mom and Sweetie are discussing "who else will they bring back?  Have they had everybody back yet?  Oh, Blackie."  Now this perks up my ears because "Blackie" was John Stamos and I'm not even going to pretend that he wasn't the reason I watched that damn show when I was a kid.  I watched every day looking for him.  Big time crush.  Still think John Stamos is the bomb.  Hated the show with all the kids but I confess to watching one of those other hospital shows - oh dear hospital shows forehead smack - and if he shows up on It's Getting Really Good Right Now I am definitely going to not-not-watch!!!!)

Okay.  Sorry about the digression, I'm just having so much fun live-blogging the discussion here.  They should get paid to discuss this show so thoroughly.

Anyways.

"MR RICK SPRINGFIELD"

This is where my brain snapped.

Jack Wagner was Frisco Jones, but Rick Springfield is Rick Springfield.

Whaaaaaaaaaaat....?

And there he is, taped this time of course, Jesse is a friend, you know he's always been a good friend of mine.  Damn that song holds up.  A monster hit is a monster hit.  Did you know he won a Grammy for that?  Yep he did.

But I was sitting there in disbelief, most likely with a handful of socks, I couldn't figure out if there was some kind of fourth-wall-breaking artistic license going on, or if we're supposed to just give up and go, "aw what the heck, we all know who the heck he is, doctor? Who are we kidding, okay" or if like, somebody on the team of writers forgot that THIS IS A TV SHOW AND IS THEREFORE FICTION AND WHAT THE HECK WITH THE REAL PEOPLE NOT BEING THE CHARACTERS THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO BE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH THIS I WRITE FICTION THE PEOPLE IN MY HEAD ARE NOT REAL OR OH MY GOSH ARE THEY??!!!

I'm okay, by the way.  I haven't totally resolved this head problem of mine but I'm dealing with it by reminding myself that my grasp on reality isn't real strong to start with so why should this cause permanent damage, am I right?

So back on It's Getting Really Good Right Now, once Jesse's Girl had been run through the tape machine, haha, one of the female characters in her fancy dress walked up to Rick Springfield who was no longer in his rock star uniform of black leather jacket and guitar, but rather his doctor at a fancy dinner thing uniform of tuxedo and bow tie.  She said to him something like, "Dr Drake!  I had no idea you looked so much like Rick Springfield!"

He - whoever he is - looked at her incredulously, and said the only reasonable thing, which was...

"You're kidding... right?"

Twitch.  Twitch.

Well they're off the phone now and It's Getting Really Good Right Now is back on.  The party's over and people who aren't Rick Springfield are having heavy conversations about who they weren't supposed to sleep with or who recently returned from the dead.  I am not kidding.

I guess we're going to be watching Sound City this weekend.  Did I mention this movie features Dave Grohl and Rick Springfield?

Have we repeated that name enough now that it's sounding ridiculous?

Rick Springfield.


Rick Springfield.

Rickspring.  Field.  

aaaarrgghhhhhhhhh

I have laundry to fold.  

What I'd be blogging about if I hadn't become such a slacker

AS IF IT WASN'T BAD ENOUGH THAT I CRY AT DOG FOOD COMMERCIALS

Way to go, Budweiser.  Of course I didn't watch the Superbowl.  Although I did hear it got in the way of a fantastic Beyonce concert.  I heard the Ravens won the game. Or maybe it was the Cravens.  Or the Jetsons.  Anyways.  The next day on Canada AM there was the recap of the commercials.  We were warned to get the kleenex out for the one about the Young Feller who raises a Clydesdale colt.

We can assume an orphaned colt since there's no mare and the guy bottle feeds the Little Youngster.  Well, young Fella starts training Youngster and he's a bit of a brat, wiggling his way out of his nice red halter and other such coltish shenanigans, and soon becomes a magnificent creature who likes to race young Fella's Ford F150 on the way out of the lane.

Then the big Budweiser horse trailer comes along and Youngster steps up and leaves young Fella's life.  Heidi weeps.  See, I'm doing it right now.  THREE YEARS LATER Fella is having a beer, sorry, a BUD, reading the paper.  The Budweiser Clydesdales are coming to the nearest big city!  He gets in his F150 and shows up to see the parade.  There he is.  There's Youngster, gorgeous powerful Youngster, in his show harness.  Heidi weeps.  Fella walks away after the parade with a lump in his throat. But Youngster wiggles his way out of his nice show harness and races down the empty barricaded streets, just like back in the day when he raced the pickup truck down the lane, and the soft part of my soul wants to believe that Youngster wants to see the Fella one more time -  damn you tingly nose and watery eyes -  and Fella, being a guy who knows what to do when faced with a large running horse, gets out in the middle of the street, calm and zen-like but quick as a cat, arms up and out.

Youngster stops and the young Fella wraps his arms around the horse's neck and I cannot even speak as the tears roll down my face.  I am silently sobbing right now.

Cute dogs grinning at the camera?  And now THIS?  Sigh.

Oh did I mention, the song in the commercial is Landslide by the Dixie Chicks.  See, now you're weeping too.  Budweiser is friggen dangerous, man.





SKELETAL REMAINS CONFIRMED TO BE THOSE OF KING RICHARD THE III

Two things about this:

1) Oh boy, when I was 13 I wanted to dig ancient things out of the dirt for a living.  How cool would that be?

2) This guy had some wicked debilitating scoliosis.  I feel so much better about my own crooked spine. Popular mythology-history has painted him as a villain.  Well I know how much my back hurts on a daily basis.  Maybe we'd all feel murderous if we were shaped like that.





THERE ARE AWARDS SHOWS GOING ON

Without me!!!!

And there's this kind of stuff happening!!!!

Claire "Hot Damn" Danes

Lena "Grade 8 Graduation" Dunham

I've never watched her show and probably won't, but she looks great in that dress, despite looking uncomfortable and making the mistake of not practicing walking in heels.  BUT I actually enjoy her goofy honesty about the whole thing.  

Kate "Whaaa??? Wow!!!!" Hudson

Jessica "Forehead Smack" Chastain

She's one of those unfairly lucky redheaded and cheekboned women who can and should really look good for these events but roughly half the time gets it all wrong.  This dress.... What's with the fun bags?  They're not very fun looking.

And of course, I didn't watch or blog the Golden Globes this year and missed my opportunity for an immature boob joke.  Too bad she didn't wear this to the SAG awards.  Which I also did not watch or blog.  Really off my game.  And such rich material here.  

Mayim "Amy Farrah Fowler" Bialik

My son refuses to believe it's the same person.

Nina "I want that pink dress" Dobrev.  

On second thought, I'll let her wear it.

Kelly "Kelly Osbourne" Osbourne

She's always been cute in a bratty way but she's become gorgeous.  I don't get the dress but I love her lavender hair.  Why was she at the Golden Globes?  I don't care.  She should be at every party, simply to shake things up a little.  

I'm really looking forward to the Oscars this year.  

People, it's going to be even crazier than that time somebody put sweet Anne Hathaway onstage with crazy James Franco.  This time, some deviant genius decided to let Seth Macfarlane host the gig.  Clearly, there are people in charge of the Academy Awards who weren't aware that BRIAN THE TALKING DOG is going to host the Oscars.  

You're thinking, look how cute and charming and baby faced this guy is!  But don't let him fool you -- this is a deeply disturbed individual!  

It's going to be hilarious.

And likely troubling.

I can hardly wait.

AND SPEAKING OF AWARDS SHOWS

The Grammys are coming up too and that's a national holiday around here, so it's time to get out the Grammy decorations and the Grammy tree.  

Also, we have to wait two more stinking weeks for Juno nomination announcements.  

Good thing I'm too distracted to really obsess about all this stuff.  

IT'S REALLY HAPPENING... JOHNNY DEPP IS GOING TO BE IN A COWBOYS & INDIANS MOVIE

I'M SORRY I CANNOT TALK RATIONALLY ABOUT THIS RIGHT NOW.

AND FINALLY... I BOUGHT A NEW WINTER COAT.

Here's how it differs from my most recent winter coat, which I wore for about seven years or so:

-it's purple instead of drab olive

-it's fitted instead of huge and bulky

-it's a women's coat instead of size small men's which was still waaaaay too big for me

-it has dainty little pockets just barely big enough for my hot pink multicoloured mitts

-but I have a big purse so I can stuff things in there

-except when I go to a rock concert and don't want to bring the purse, and this new coat doesn't have any inside pockets since we assume that all women carry big purses around with them

-seriously don't coat designers think about where we're going to put our ID and earplugs and cash when we go to concerts?  It's not good to carry a purse at those events

-no it's not weird that rock concert survival is part of my coat- buying criteria

-I have a husband with pockets

-have you seen the guy?  Nobody's gonna attempt to rip off anything he's carrying

-it's an actual ladies coat, like from the women's clothing department at the store

-it has a hood with fake fur around it

-aaaaand.... PURPLE! 

So there you go, a week's worth of blogging in one post.  Maybe I'm not so much a "blogging slacker" as I'm simply becoming "more efficient" about it.  Yeah.  I'll tell myself that!

WHAT?! 2012? Now I gotta make new file folders. Pfft.

Happy New Year!

Yesterday I went to file a chunk of receipts I dug out of Jethro's wallet and realized that it's not December anymore.  It's not 2011 anymore.  Darnit, I just stopped writing 2010 about six months ago.  Grumble grumble paperwork year end grumble mumble.  Geez when did I become a curmudgeon????

Oh, I know.  About a week ago, when I turned forty-ONE.

So I'll be over here in the corner, stacking paper, shredding stuff from the seven-years-ago folders, rearranging the filing cabinet.  Well, cabinets.  There are two.  Why, why, why, did we decide both of us need to be self employed?

Oh, I know.  Because we are both almost incapable of following orders from other people and therefore poor candidates for traditional employment.

Wow, I just answered two of my own questions in a row.  Hey, maybe I'll start getting smart this year!  Yay!

Coming up: The Hick Chic Best and Worst of 2011.  Also known as the Annual Hick Chic Awards.

Worth waiting for.

(Where's my friggen letter opener?)

How can turkeys stay awake....

I mean, I ate turkey three days in a row and I'm so sleepy. And they're like, MADE OUT OF TURKEY! Like, wouldn't they just fall asleep ALL THE TIME?!




(my daughter added this to her collection of weird/ dumb things said by her mother)

It's not that I don't care. It's that I don't remember.

I'm in hermit mode.  I don't really feel like talking to anybody, I sure as hell don't want to go out shopping, and I kind of don't want to think much at all, about anything.  I just want sink into my own imaginary world and then write about it until my wrists and hands scream at me, begging to be freed from the keyboard.

I'm forgetful and scatterbrained at the best of times.  Add some stress - and we all know there's plenty of that to go around - and maybe some emotional turmoil - heck that's just normal for me - and I won't remember where I put my feet let alone my glasses.  I find myself yanking the twine off a hay bale, cussing that I forgot where I put the damn scissors, and then find the scissors ten minutes later while bending over to push the wheelbarrow through the gate, when those scissors jab me in the ribs because I put them in my coveralls pocket.  I'm in the kitchen yelling frantically that I can't find my keys when somebody calmly informs me that they are in my hand.  I walk into a room and stand there frozen in mid-step because I can't remember why in the hell I'm in this room, what I wanted to get or do, or even if I actually live in this house.  I lose track of money and time.  I feel like a constant mess.

I know everybody feels like that sometimes.

I feel like that pretty much all the time.

These last couple weeks I've been kind of anti-social.  Yes, I have avoided running into people I know in town.  I'm not proud of it.  But at the time it seemed a lot better than having to make small talk and pretend I've got the whole thing under control.  

And speaking of small talk, please do not ask me if I'm ready for Christmas.  Assuming you mean, have I done all the shopping, the answer is NO.  I haven't started.  Haven't spent a dollar.  If you mean, am I ready to relax and celebrate the birth of my spiritual king in a place of squalor and poverty, heck yes.  Bring it on.  But please don't ask about holiday plans because I'm not exactly sure if we even have a plan.

I have to focus very tightly right now.  It's alright.  It's just how it has to be right now.  It means I won't be sending out that great end of the year Christmas letter I used to send out (somewhere around Valentine's day) for about a decade, up until last year when it just sort of didn't happen.  Cards?  Nope.  Decorations? Sure, but first I have to dust and then I'll have to water the plants and of course I'll dribble some water on the floor and I probably should mop, but that means moving some furniture out of the way, and oh wow, here's that report card I couldn't find!  That'll lead to a trip upstairs to the filing cabinet and once I'm up there, I might as well just get my boots on and head outside because that's where I'd rather be.

So you see what I'm dealing with here, right?

I do care.  I care about my loved ones who are probably wondering how we're doing, or even where we live right now.  I guess I've been a hermit longer than just this month.  I dropped out of sight.  Not really intentionally.  I just forgot to tell everybody where we are.

I kind of feel like there's not enough brain space to allow me to remember.

I think I can still pull off my Christmas blog party.  It's a lot less work and planning and buying than an actual party with invitations and people and stuff.

Meanwhile it's a nice mild winter day, and that corral isn't going to clean itself up, and going out to the barn means blissfully forgetting all the other things I should be thinking about.

Wasn't gonna blog about the American Music Awards, but then Chad Kroeger got a haircut and J Lo showed up, and....

I have to write about this.  I mean, it's bedtime.  I should be turning off the lights.  But it's already Tuesday and if I leave it till tomorrow it's no longer relevant, and I have to write about this.  CHAD KROEGER. HAIRCUT.  This is the kind of news I need to spread!

SHOCKING!

Honestly I don't even know why this show exists.  It's not the proper Grammys, it's not the wack-job MTV awards.  Two of the big stars there are Canadian and at least one was British.  I think they should go for the all out, stoooopid, ridiculous, I mean totally Gaga-esque showbiz vibe.  Why not?

It's going there already. The show opened with a Nicki Minaj thing involving a robot suit, or something similarly uncomfortable looking.

I think I like this girl.  She's cute and charming, entertaining, and she has great hair!!!!

At some point we were treated to a Bieber thing, and I'm sorry, I sort of tuned out.  I got tired of doing that game we always play in our family, "Is It Live Or Is It Track" and then I got bored, and I have a mild loathing  - okay fine, a strong hatred - of insincere Christmas music, so I folded towels. 

The Band Perry have an odd name.  But I liked their performance.  I'm pretty sure they were actually playing it but I could be wrong.  I'd like to think they were.  

Check out the dude on the right there.  He's debating how low he can hang that bass and still be part of a country band.  I say go for it.

Somewhere after the towel-folding job, Kelly Clarkson did a ragtime/ newsboys/ swing performance while wearing a very snug red dress.  I think she's a monster talent, and I'm so happy that she's not trying to be skinny.  That's why I yelled to Jethro in the other room, "Get out here and watch, Kelly Clarkson is wearing a red booty dress!"  We're big fans of a good backside in this family.  Big bottoms drive us outta our minds.  Kelly looks fantastic.

It's bordering on Jessica Rabbit territory, which actually isn't so bad, mostly because this lady can actually sing.  (If she wasn't singing for real I don't want to know.)

I was getting tired.  I considered packing it in for the night.  Did I really care about the rest of the show?  Nah.

But THEN.

Nickelback came out to present an award.  Just present, not perform.  And holy smokes, I could not believe my eyes.  CHAD CUT HIS HAIR - HE NO LONGER HAS THE NICKELBOB!

(That's him on the far left.  In case you didn't recognize him.)

I love this picture.  They're all making funny faces.  That's great stuff.

Now here's the thing: I've been brewing up a weird love/hate for this band over the years.  I think to myself that I don't really like them, but I should cuz a) they're a rock band, and b) they are small town boys, much like every guy I went to school with, and I can relate.  But then, I hear a song, and find myself rocking' out, and by the time I realize I'm enjoying Nickelback, then I'm like, wait, I'm a rock snob and I can have intelligent conversations about the musical stylings of Rage Against The Machine... I can't like Nickelback!  They only write songs about driving and bad breakups!  I've declared that I don't like them!  But.... I think maybe I kinda do.  

THERE.  I said it, okay???

Anyways, I've been disliking the Nickelbob for some time now and I am sooo happy that it's been shorn.  I'm sure this comes as a surprise to you, faithful blog readers, because we all know I love a scruffy-pretty man with long hair.  I'm weird that way.  But I just did not love the Nickelbob.  

I think he looks good! (But does he look like Chad?  Who the hell does he remind me of???  Is this how he reminds me????)

However, and this is important: I am very concerned about the lack of belt buckle here.  

This is alarming!  No belt buckles??  Noooo!  This is Nickelback - they're supposed to have buckles almost the size of their guitars!  You KNOW I love belt buckles.  What's not to love?  They look awesome and hold your pants up!  (If you're built like me, with lots of caboose and not much of anything else, you need that belt to keep the waistband of your jeans from turning into a backwards kangaroo pouch.  Not good.  Belt it up.)

It just... they just... this doesn't look right.  Maybe busting out the new hair the same day as the belt buckle disappearance is a bit of a shock.  I like the hair.  Lookin' good.  Please wear the belt buckles again.  For me.  I need the inspiration.  

Seriously, who does he look like now with that short hair?  Help me out here, willya?

I was beat.  That squealing over the demise of the Nickelbob wore me out.  I announced that I was going to bed.  Then the TV told me that Jennifer Lopez was coming up and damn, how can I sleep when I know J Lo is going to do... anything??

Wow, she did not disappoint.

Did anybody else fall for it at the beginning when she was all serious and then, the downcast eyes, the pressing her hand to her face like she's holding back the tears... No!  Do not tell me she's gonna weep! 

 

Ha!  With a grin and a wink her transparent dress flew apart and she was slightly more naked than when she came out on stage.  

J Lo will not be reduced to whimpering!

She will wear an outfit made out of gold tinsel and she will RULE THE WORLD.

Nobody can catch her in her getaway car!  Which she sings in.  If you turn the A/C fan on high enough, it becomes a wind machine, handy for looking fantastic while driving.  And singing.  "Singing."

(Heck I do that all the time.  I call it "60 mph air conditioning" which is a standard feature on 23-yr old pickup trucks.)

But.  She wasn't naked enough yet.  

She's all like, oh yeah?  42 years old, grew two babies at the same time, wearing nothing but a skin-coloured suit and sparkles!  I RULE THE UNIVERSE!  She should develop a slightly evil cackle.  

What really cracked me up was that Jethro and Bucky were both on the couch with their iGadgets and almost missed this.  Of course Jethro had to grumble about the lack of a battery pack on her costume, and how that mic on her face is not the kind of thing you sing into, or something, honestly I sometimes try not to listen to these things because every now and then I actually want to buy into the illusion.  I want to believe that J Lo can do all of these acrobatic fantastic feats while singing exactly like she sounds on the record.  But really, singing?  Who cares.  Who even noticed she was singing?

This is not singing.

This is... well, I'm not sure, really... is this legal in public????  Although Jethro had no objection.  You know, talk about mud flaps, my girl's got 'em.  That kind of thing.  

But awkward!  Cuz that dude would later do a performance with the ex-Mr-J Lo and whoa, I sure hope it doesn't go this way, I mean, wouldn't that make for some serious jealousy issues?  

Well in the meantime, she got swung around by dancers wearing giant fuzzy stilts.  Look, I know it doesn't make any sense.  Words fail me.  Stilt leg warmers?  Pole legs fringes?  Ridiculous-awesome?

AWDICULOUS!

I just don't know what to say about this.  

Except, it knocked me out.

I crept upstairs and fell into my bed.  I no longer cared that there would be more J Lo, some Katy, and a Hasselhoff.  I was worn right out.

I'm lucky I didn't have nightmares about J Lo fronting Nickelback for a song about drinking in the front seat of a Fiat while wearing a sparkly nekkid suit with a giant belt buckle.  

Although that would be interesting... 

Never thought I'd be the person whose life goes totally sideways without my cellphone....

...but holy heck I just had a tricky couple of weeks here.

Long story short, we are now a FOUR iGADGET FAMILY and I have a brand spankin' new, not hand-me-down, all mine iGadget.

Long story long, I am officially one of those people: useless without my damn phone.

I held off on having one until two years ago, when I no longer had a land line.  It's taken me this long to really get the hang of it.  I have finally figured out how the "contact" section works and how to copy things in email and how not to text a message meant for the husband to the farrier instead.  (Good thing it was just boring stuff like what came in the mail today...)

As of two weeks ago, the family situation was like this:

Jethro - newish iPhone 4 with a sticky home button that sometimes worked right.

Me - his previous iPhone 3GS (whatever the heck that stands for) which I really liked even though there was a little dark spot in all the pictures it took.

Bucky & Annyong - his first iPhone, 3G I believe, which I thought was totally adequate in the first place but apparently not bell- and-whistly enough.

He'd given Bucky the old Gadget to use as an iPod, since Annyong already had a nice iPod.

Then the two teenagers landed a babysitting gig which they traded days... and the family has no land line.  I had awful thoughts about a kid breaking an arm or something and one of my kids out there beside a corn field needing to cross a busy highway to use a neighbour's phone to call for help.  So after a long discussion about responsibility usage and blah blah blah we activated the old Gadget.  No data, no email, just text messaging and calls on weekends and after 9pm.  Bucky gives the Gadget to Annyong when she goes to work.  And they'd have to each come up with some cash for the phone bill, what with them being employed and all.

It was working halfway decently, this system.

About two weeks ago this thing started.  My phone didn't work.  I missed a call from a student and wasn't here when she showed up for a lesson.  OOPS.  She was cool about it but I was getting worried. I wasn't getting calls, I wasn't getting messages, I was afraid I'd lose all three of my riding students!!!

Turns out it had to do with Jethro getting really sick of that wonky home button.  So he went out and got a new iPhone 4GS SS R/T whatever the heck acronym that phone's hauling around.

Everybody moved down a phone.

He spent a whole afternoon talking to the phone company to get us all four set up, get a number for each kid's phone, set up the data plan, bitch about the astronomical amount they're charging us and getting a better plan and oh man it was hardcore boring.

I walked away from that with two teenagers packing cellphones, something I'd vowed wouldn't darn well happen for a long time yet, and a newish iPhone 4 with a wonky home button.  I spent a couple hours setting up all the apps - which I find amusing because in my world the Apps are out in the field grazing and swishing their tails over their spotted rumps - making sure everything had moved over to the newish phone and recording a new voicemail greeting.

I also had to do some damage control with my students.

At least I had some peace of mind knowing that if one of the kids missed the bus or something, I wouldn't be driving all over the county and the town looking for a lost teenager.

Well one night Bucky decided to upgrade my iGadget to OS 10 or 10.5 or man I am not good with numbers.

THINGS LOOKED DIFFERENT.  AGAIN.

Like, I'm easily confused.  If it looks different it's like I've never seen the damn thing before.  Every time Google changes the email page I almost cry.  I'm lost.

I'm like a horse who walks into the barn one day and there's a DIFFERENT COLOUR BUCKET IN THE STALL and I cannot go in there because clearly, that is not my stall.

But Bucky 'splained it all and I was getting hip to the whole thing.


About a week into my new relationship with Newish iGadget, that sticky wonky home button just gave up.  I was on email and I had to turn the damn thing off and turn it back on again to use the phone.

Know what I hate more than trying to figure out something new?  I hate when things don't work.  I just want things to work, dammit.

I found myself at the Apple store 40 minutes away from home, relieved that it wasn't further away than that, with a young fella in a blue T shirt telling me I'd be getting a new phone.

Which resulted in a frenzied discussion with the teenagers about whether or not Daddy backed up all the crap on my gadget with the computer.

A couple hours later, I was in my bed, calling Bucky over to my room because... EVERYTHING WAS BACK TO MY OLD KIND OF DIFFERENT AGAIN AND ALL THAT STUFF I PUT ON THE DEFECTIVE PHONE WAS GONE OR SOMETHING.

I don't remember what happened next.  I think it involved recording a new voicemail greeting that might end with me giggling because Bucky tickled my foot on his way out of my room.

I'm liking my new gadget, I must say.  It's NEW new.  I got a bright pink bumper to put on it.  The screen is perfectly clear, even to my 40 year old eyeballs.  It doesn't dim enough for those eyeballs but I just look at it sideways and it's ok.  I've got all my favourite head banging tunes on it.  At some point I will again organize the pictures into albums like I did on one of the other iterations of this thing.

All's well, right?  We can put the techno-drama to rest for a time now?

Nope.

Last night the computer got upgraded from Liger to Lion.

LOOKS DIFFERENT DIOFWEHFSOIDJ.  Really slick and awesome, but different.  And of course in the morning my gadget and computer are all like, "Dude, who?  Man I don't even know you."

I try to scroll down the computer screen and it doesn't move.  Ohhhhh.... turns out it scrolls the same way the gadget does.  Backwards.  Ok.  Sigh.  I'll get used to it.

I've got all my little pictures (icons?) on the iGadget screen in the right order again.  Some time I'll reorganize the photo albums for the third time.  And delete duplicate contacts out of the phone list again.

I am pretty sure all my students can reach me if they need to.  But then, how would I know if they couldn't????????


When I go out to the pasture to visit Phoenix 1.0 and Oakie 1.0 and Copper 1.0  I'll be quietly pleased that all I need to do to upgrade them is go at them with a brush and a bottle of ShowSheen.

DIY DETOX DAY 29: Things I Learned While Suffering the Cold Quit

As of Day 29 here, I'm almost, almost normal.  Well considering this is me, "normal."  I can stand having the curtain open during the day, I can speak without my head exploding, and I don't get the shocks every time I move.  Just sometimes.  And the shocks are only in my hands and face now.  I can walk without feeling like I'm about to fall over.  This morning I woke up at 6 am and haven't gone back to sleep.  I'd like to.  Boy would I ever like to have a sleep.  But I'm awake.  It's kind of good to be awake.  Yesterday I went out to the barn TWICE and today I took the dog for a walk about a quarter of the way around the yard.  (It's about an acre of yard.)  Hey I even cleaned the toilet today.  Progress.

I'd like to forget how horrible days 11 to 13 were.  I'd like to never ever think about the physical agony and mental torture.  I don't want to know how awful I was to live with for awhile there.

I just want to get my strength back, get my horses back in shape too, and man, I seriously have a whole novel to write, I'm not kidding.

I don't think I ever will forget how awful it was.  I had my doctor's supervision, I prepared myself, I knew it would be bad.  But, and this is the whole reason why I did it this way, I won't be weaning off for six months of mid-grade misery.  I will have a summer.

So... while I was spending a week or a month or however the hell long it was up here in my dark quiet bedroom, I had to occupy my brain.  I couldn't read or listen to music or even look at a TV or computer screen.  It was just me and the pain and my brain.  Wow.  What a combination.

I have a few things I'd like to share.

1) SASQUATCH IS REAL!

 It's true, I saw him in a dream I was having.  I was walking down a dirt road through the bush, not anywhere familiar, just a regular dirt road with trees on each side.  I looked down at the hoofprints on the side of the road and wished I was riding instead of walking.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a big brown furry thing heading into the trees, so I did what anybody would do. I followed!  I had my iGadget out and I was ready to take a picture as proof because that's also what anybody would do.  As I was fumbling with it I looked up and I was face-to-face with Bigfoot!  And no, it wasn't my husband.  He was doing the deer-in-the-headlights look and I said, "Dude, I need a picture of you," and he said, "I don't wanna have my picture taken!" and I was all "But nobody believes you're real" and he was all, "I don't wanna be real!  You're not real either!  Or something!"  Frustrated, I told him he would just have to go on being imaginary, after which I drove somebody else's giant pickup truck into a snowbank, parked it at a house which my sister-in-law does not live in real life, then got lost, and stopped at a garage where they were doing free hoof trims while you wait.  So yes, Sasquatch is real.  You heard it here.

2) WRITING SONGS IN YOUR DREAMS IS REALLY UNPRODUCTIVE

Man, I had these words that just broke my heart and mended it back together.  They fit together beautifully.  I even had a melody to go with it and that's something I've never been able to do.  That's why I am not a songwriter.  I was going over those words, singing them to myself to try to remember them, and thinking, "I am not going to remember how this went when I wake up, and that's a damn shame cuz when I'm awake I'll be thinking about how I'll never know if these songs are actually really good."

3) IF YOU LIE ON YOUR SIDE FOR A LONG TIME YOUR EAR GOES NUMB

Unpleasant.  Especially when the other side has already been numbed.

4) WHEN THE DRUG LEAVES YOUR BODY IT TAKES A WHOLE LOT OF EMOTIONAL CRAP WITH IT.

It's like the mood-stabilizer did the stabilizing it needed to, by suppressing a few things, and when the drug goes, it all comes flooding out.  It's good for the rest of the family to go see a movie when this is happening.

5) BOB DYLAN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY IS AWESOME.

I was reading it when I started off on this little vision quest.  I finished up about Day 8 or 9 or thirty-seven or whatever.  Just as it was getting too painful to read.  Bob.  Bob loves music.  Bob thinks too much.  Bob speaks in poetry. Bob's memory for detail is stunning, microscopic, and vivid.

6) BOB DYLAN IS THE REASON I DISCOVERED... wait for it...

FINNISH TROLL METAL!!!!

Flow chart of discovery:

Reading CHRONICLES: VOLUME ONE

V

V

Look up a few details on Wikipedia, on account of Bob having extraordinary details for some things but not so clear about other things, like chronology, which was fine but I was curious.

V

V

Follow link to learn about Woody Guthrie, Bob's hero.  (Who, by the way, was stricken with Huntington's Disease, a horrible incurable evil horrible condition.  His second wife started what is now the Huntington Society, to help families and victims.)

V

V

Woody Guthrie is like, the godfather of folk music.  

V

V

What exactly is "folk music?"

V

V

Well there are all kinds of folk music.  There's even, gasp! a sub-genre called folk metal!

V

V

You think I see a link for FOLK METAL and I'm not gonna follow it?  

V

V

(and yeah, this took all day, accounting for eyeball rest breaks)

V

Wow!  Wow wow wow!  A link for TROLL METAL!

Well this is just too good to be true. Turns out there's this band called... ohmygosh this is brilliant... FINNTROLL, and it turns out this is a THING, and it's been going on without me knowing anything about it, which isn't shocking since I pretty much live under a rock, but still!  

So they're Finnish, but the lyrics are in Swedish, because the vocalist was from the minority of Swedish people in Finland?  In my slightly altered state this was just the best, funniest, heaviest, headbangin'est, craziest most rockin' and rollicking thing EVER.

Not only is this possibly my new favourite song, but it also proves that there are, in fact, a few less-than angelically gorgeous people in Scandinavia.  

Now I've got to share this around, because just as I was going into the worst part of the Cold Quit, this cheered me up like you wouldn't believe.  Sometimes I'd lie there with my jaw clenched and think, TROLLHAMMEREN!  Actually the one night when I was trying to explain this to Jethro and the kids I started laughing so maniacally I was in tears, like sob-laughing, and it sent sharp shooting pains all through my upper body but I couldn't quit.  They were borderline alarmed.  But come on.  Seriously.  They're Finnish, but the words are in Swedish, so now any future vocalist has to learn to growl in Swedish, and I still can't understand a friggin word of it!  It's BRILLIANT!  It is seriously brilliant!

Warning: if you are offended or grossed out in any way by dirt, cellars, rowdy consuming of fermented beverages, dreadlocks, windmill-headbanging, scowling, growling, or large angry looking hairy dudes dressed like Friar Tuck, do not watch this video.  But DO LISTEN because this is awesome.  

And that's how Bob Dylan made the whole experience just slightly bearable.  Thanks, Bob.

Last but not least...

8) BAD TIMES LIKE THIS CAN LEAVE A PERSON OPEN TO SOME TRULY WONDERFUL BRAIN EXPANSION.

...because what else was I going to do?  

I'm going to go do some more recovering now.  Catch ya.

INCOMMUNICADO: So far the drug withdrawal isn't as bad as I expected...

Might not be hearing much from me this week!

That's because last Tuesday I decided (with the help of Dr Santastic) to get off the Effexor, or as I like to call it, Side-e-ffexor.  It never seemed like the right thing for me. Although it did do what I needed it to do, which was to stop those awful thoughts I was having.  Those kind of kill-kill-die-die thoughts.  The too-hard-to-live thoughts.  The just-fall-down-and-die thoughts.

If you've been reading Hick Chic since the beginning, you might remember the Celexa withdrawal.  Then the drug-free years.  Then the admission that all my carefully learned techniques for mental health weren't cutting it anymore.  That's when I knew I had to GO GET SOME HELP and if that's a trip to the family doctor and a new prescription then that's what it takes!

Let me repeat: IF YOU NEED HELP GO GET IT.  Never be afraid to ask.

So that was three years ago. Last summer I totally lucked out and landed in the office of DR SANTASTIC!  He is awesome.  I feel so fortunate to finally find a pshrink who Gets me.  He figured early on that this ain't the right stuff for me.  The constant low-grade nausea and intermittent mild zapping shocks through my skull were solid indications.

I hope this isn't boring to read... i just feel it's important to share this stuff.  If blogging has taught me anything it's that I'm not alone with this stuff.

In January Dr Santastic started me on Wellbutrin.  So far so good.

We have talked about the whole tangled mess of ADHD and depression and a life without a diagnosis of  either/ both and all kinds of other heavy stuff...which I won't be sharing here cuz it's mine and it wouldn't help you anyways.  For various reasons we agreed to stop the Effexor and later try something for ADHD.  Last month we tried just lowering the dose and slowly wean me off of this but that just dragged it out and was fixing to be a long drawn out stretch of HELL.

I have a severe sensitivity to drugs.  All of 'em.  It took, like, 5 months of small agony to clear out the Celexa.  I can't do that.  Don't want to either.  A whole summer of misery and lost income...here's where I confess that I haven't been teaching... or even riding.  That's when you know there is something wrong with me.

Short story long:  I'M DOING THIS THE HARD FAST WAY.

Not exactly Cold Turkey.  Kinda room temperature turkey.  Yuck.

(Just so you know,  I'm not saying this is the way to go.  It's just the way I decided, with my doctor's advice.)

Last week I took out the morning dose.

Okay... not as bad as I thought...

Seriously I expected worse.

I was all set up for full on rock star level, Keef Richards style, sweating and puking and shivering on the floor of a hotel bathroom, chewing my own skin off horrible withdrawal.


Hmm.  Okay.  Don't want to eat but I've been like that for over a month now.  Shooting pains?  Yeah.  I've survived that before.  I reported it to Dr Santastic and he told me it's up to me to decide how I can take this...as I sat there with trembly hands and numb lips, trying to finish sentences... no I did not drive myself there.

I said, you know what, screw it.  I've washed the bedding, I pulled weeds, I wrote up lists of things the kids have to take over for me and warned the family.  I'm pretty much never alone in this house; if I got any withdrawal-induced psychotic ideas I'll be stopped.  I'm taken care of and if I'm gonna do it now's the time... Let's just DO THIS.  I wanna get it over with.


Saturday I cut out the last dose and here I am.

I feel pretty much medium-grade miserable.  Every time I move I feel sharp pains shooting through the back of my skull and often right through to my hands.  If I hold still I'm okay, sort of.  I sweat my way through the night.  I don't really want to eat at all.  I'm dizzy.  My hands are shaky and I'm a little off balance.

BUT 

it ain't as bad as I expected it to be!!!!!

I don't know how long this will take.  Weeks?  Months?  A couple more days?  Hey man, we'll get through this!

But dudes, people, readers, cyber pals.  Typing is kinda not happening right now so I don't think I'll be blogging much.  Just wanna drink water and read (when my prickly eyeballs can tolerate it) and not have that zapping pain every time I hit a key.  I'm in a surprisingly decent mood.  Can you all just kind of keep the party going in the comments section for me?  I'd appreciate that.  I'll check in sometimes.

SEE YOU ALL ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS! 

I actually DON'T gotta get down on Friday.

Hey everybody, it's time for another Friday Brain Scramble!  I'm indecisive and ferhuuddled and easily distracted. Like, I can't even remember what I planned to write here - that's how confused I get.

Anyways.

My week has been mostly involved in my Great Corral Renovation Project.  I will write a whole big series of posts about the topic, but for now I'll sum it up like this:  Two weeks ago I had a 100' by 60' patch of sticky clay mud and deep s*** which became a hill of runny yucky stuff in the pasture field and then turned into a rectangle with some uneven gravel in it.  Now instead of sinking up to the pasterns in the yuck, the horses are tiptoeing across the rough stone, but not often, because I've been keeping them out of it.  I don't want to shovel manure off the gravel.  Are you kidding me?  Why not try to dig a hole in a box full of packing peanuts? NO.  The Project isn't done yet.  It will involve a few more tractor jobs.  Have I ever mention that I really like tractors?

Also my week has been full of lethargy and apathy.  It's like the ambition part of my brain just does not care.  Somehow I've been getting things done, but it takes a lot of catching up after that two hour nap before noon.  Hey gimme a break!  I wake up at 5:30 or 6 every morning to go take care of critters and young people!  I need that nap!

Speaking of which: I grind my teeth when I sleep and I'm not happy about it.  I got some little mouth guards, thinking I'd like to keep what's left of my tooth enamel.  If I put them in upside down I've got a Bubba Gum.  Be the capn of a shrimpin boat.  Tiger shrimp.  Buttefly shrimp.  Cajun shrimp.  When I take the thing out in the morning the little ridged plates that sat between my molars are all mangled and malformed and damaged.

I don't know where I was going with that.  Just thought I'd share.  You're welcome.

I hope nobody phones me.  I'm having phone phobia.  I hate when that happens.

Unrelated note: This weekend we'll be going to an auction sale...  I have such incredibly mixed feelings about these events but I cannot stay away!!!  I'm insane too.  Wanna know why?  I mean, shy specifically?  It's because I'll be there to see what stuff sells for instead of buying anything.

It's one of these auctions:

WE'RE GONNASELL EVERYTHING ONTHEWAGON and then we're gonna SELL THE WAGON.

Only tomorrow it'll also be:

WE'RE GONNA SELL EVERYTHINGON THE FARM and then we're gonna SELL THE FARM.

We don't have 20 G to put in the auctioneer's hand tomorrow.

I'd really like to buy a hay wagon.

Plus there's a nice John Deere 1120 with a loader bucket.  I could really use that.  You know how I like tractors.

So we're basically going to an auction to torture ourselves and watch stuff we like/ could use get bought by other people.  And I'm telling you, if that little 6 acre farm sells for a low price I WILL CRY.  Yeah I'm not kidding.  Cry.  Even though it isn't the perfect place for us, it's really cute and I could love that quirky little old farmhouse.  And the small hip roof barn.  And the crick.  The place has a crick.

Anyways.

What?