Yesterday morning I woke up with the Mighty Mighty fucking Bosstones in my head, which is obnoxious because I have never, ever, ever in my life enjoyed their music because it all sounds like blaring Kraft singles and growly, chain-smoking hamsters. That's the impression that I get.
But for thirty five seconds I had this lyrical couplet skittering through my brain--I'm not a coward, I've just never been tested, I'd like to think that if I was I would pass--and for thirty-five seconds I found them lyrical geniuses. Genii. Every single time I think of the plural of geniuses, I wish it were genii. Is this the appropriate spelling? Confer and report.
Then I showered singing Tom Jones (because you gotta sing Tom Jones in the shower, people. I been really feelin' Tom Jones, lately, because his voice is as bright and bombastic as the fucking sun). Went through my usual morning routine of creaking across the hallway in my towel seven hundred times to retrieve forgotten bathroom items, got dressed, made my hair look a little bit pretty, missed the bus, drove halfway to work, missed another bus, sweated through the hot wind, pulled my hair up because it didn't look pretty no more, got on the next bus, became absorbed in my book, missed my bus stop, walked two blocks back to work, entered the office half an hour late and all the morning sweat froze directly to my trembling body because it is fucking freezing in my office.
Someday I will live in a world where this every morning scenario will result in a meet-cute between me and my future not-husband (marriage is a gimmicky trick), who will hopefully have the rich, virile purl of either (a) Tom Jones or (b) MCA.
So was sitting at my desk, imagining myself traipsing around the heat-sensitive Predator-vision forest with lumberjack gangsta MCA (this is a go-to personal fantasy - if you try to knock me you'll get mocked), when it started storming outside and everyone in the office freaked out.
My phone rang. I answered. "So what'cha want?"
Co-worker Amy hyperventilated into her end of the reciever, "It is like thunder and lightning out there."
"It is. You need to come back here and see this."
"Gimme a few."
"Okay." She hangs up.
Phone rings again.
"Dude, are you looking out the window right now?" Co-worker Natalie rushed out before I can even come up with a interesting greeting.
"What window? I have no window."
"It is like thunder and lightning."
"Thunder and lightning, huh?"
"Yeah, it's like Thunder! Lightning!"
"The way you love me is frightening. Shit, what song is that?"
"You know. It's like thunder (thundah!) lightning (lightning!)...the way you love me is frightening!"
"I have no idea."
"Yes you do. Like a million people sing it. Goddammit."
"Whatever, just come look out the window."
"Fine." We hang up. The phone rings again, and I just pick it up and sing, "It's like thunder (boom!) lightning (crash!)."
"How'd you know from all the way over there?" my boss asked, laughing.
"This storm is all the rage."
"Yes it is. I need you in here in five seconds, JJO's got a question about the Floyds' Patron gift."
"Yessir." I hung up the phone and booked over to the corner office, watching the dark wind through the windows on the way, trying to remember that fucking song on the way, recalling details about the Floyds on the way.
Action Man has JJO on speaker, who's saying, "We need to get the Advisory Board to approve of that funding, knock on wood."
AND THEN I FREAKED THE HELL OUT.
"The Impression That I Get" by Mighty Mighty Bosstones (check out the microphone that guy is rockin - it looks like he's singing into a giant fucking Smith & Wesson)
"Knock on Wood" by Eddie Floyd
LATER EDIT: Just so you know, we have thunder and lightning. We have it in spades. But this was thunder and lightning with limited rain and a cloudless, yellow sky and 40 mph winds - where lightning spidered across the sky - the entire sky - and thunder lasted for twenty seconds at a time. This was some near tornado weather shit.