Gimme a break, gimme a break, break me off a piece of that...

I get songs stuck in my head a lot. At least once a day. And that's okay. Because I like music. I guess if I had my own talk show, I'd make the audience endure my singing just like Ellen does with her dancing. Mattie, who acts way too old for her young age, is constantly shooshing me in the car and in Target when I just can't help but break into song. "Mom, stawwwwwwp."

Not loud, mind you. I'm not quite that obnoxious.

Today of all days with all the wonderfully romantic love songs that could be swarming around in my big ol' head I get stuck with "Gimme a break, gimme a break, break me off a piece of that Kit Kat bar." Over. and Over. and Over. And you know, if it had made me run out and buy one, I'd say hat's off the advertisers, but all it did was annoy the heck outta me.

I blame Andy Bernard.

I just recently discovered "The Office." And it's my new favorite obsession. I have many, and there's room for many more. I am now DVRing the beloved series on 4 different stations, so I never know what's time period I'm gonna get to watch when I turn on the TV. The last episode I watched had Andy singing that song, and it's been bugging me ever since.

I guess I could turn on some music and see if I can affect a little mental song-switcheroo. My Itunes opens up so slowwwwwwwly. :( (..break me off a piece of that...)

Seriously Itunes, what's the problem? This is a music STAT situation. I need to replace this annoying (...Kit Kat bar....) song with something with substance and beautiful melody. Something that makes me think of perfect storybook love and not some second-rate, B-list candy bar. If there was a Milk Duds song, I'd be all over that.

Ahhhh....forget it. Bedtime. Surely, I'll wake up tomorrow with a brand new tune in my head, right? (I sure do hope so, and quit calling me "Shirley"). I guess we'll see then (...break me off a piece of that...KIT KAT BAR.")

Life is better with a little Gerard Butler

I watched Gamer tonight. Not usually my type of flick, but I make exceptions to my fairly stringent "no blood-n-guts shoot 'em up movies" rule when Gerard Butler or vintage Russell Crowe are the leading men. Home alone tonight with the exception of two 2nd graders upstairs playing some game they call "Sisters at Sonic," I have run out of things to do and read and watch. Well, to be perfectly honest, there's plenty to do (finish painting my bedroom, the parts up high that Jason was supposed to finish but hasn't yet screams the big orange ladder in the corner of my almost completely painted-grey room; or try and figure out how to put the new faucet in my guest bathroom even though I've already prepaid Tyler with gas money for that chore; or I dunno...thinking of all the things I need to do but am not doing is making me crabby), and there's plenty to read, as all the books I've been trying to put away on my new bookshelves can attest to, and there's even plenty to watch (I think our DVD collection now numbers in the 400s), but I've been itching to write.

I thought about a diary, but I'm so much better at composing my thoughts on the computer, plus, my handwriting stinks when I'm tired, and I think I'm losing my once-stellar spelling ability in my older age, and diaries don't have spell-check, plus, I want to add "blogger" to my ever-growing list of descriptive adjectives. I tried writing them all down, but that would take up too many lines of texts. So let's just plop "Blogger" at the end somewhere behind HalfMarathoner/RealityTVAddict/HaterOfInsuranceCompanies.

Gerard Butler...I'm happy to say "I called it!" I fell head over heels for this guy in that movie "PS, I Love You." And then this summer and fall, GB was EVERYWHERE. No homers for that guy, but who needs 'em with that smile and those eyes and that adorable accent. So everyone else, including Jen Anniston apparently, is on the GB Bandwagon. Good for her, I say. She deserves a hot, Scottish boy toy!

Pathetic to be drooling over this movie star, or so I've been told by an old friend, but I'll have you know that I don't have him as my screensaver, don't have any pin-ups of him on my bulletin board, and I don't even follow him on Twitter. I don't follow anyone on Twitter. I don't get Twitter. And I'm not sure, but I think they probably couldn't have come up with a more emasculating word to describe status updates on Twitter: tweets. Really? Maybe that's why I stay away. I don't want to cross that line when I don't even notice that "tweet" has become part of my regular vocabulary.

I wouldn't mind dreaming about the guy, though. I have these crazy vivid dreams--it's truly an alternate reality. One where I frequently lose my teeth and at least once a month forget about a math or science final in a class I haven't attended all semester. But I often find that I incorporate the previous day's experiences into my dreams, so a little preprogramming never hurts, right?

I still hear the 2nd graders giggling upstairs, and it's past all of our bedtimes, so I'm off to pull the mean mom "lights out" routine so I can get all snuggly warm in my bed and get some sleep.