Take Me, I'm Yours

The Wedding Present is making me go deaf in the mornings.  Okay, perhaps it is not them, and it is more due to a refusal to turn down the volume.  I can't stop listening to Bizarro while driving (okay, it's just been since Tuesday night, and I've barely been in the car--stop contradicting me).  I've stopped listening to NPR so I can drive recklessly and loudly sing garbled lyrics to myself.  I find this all extremely satisfying.

Bizarro is an album I should have had as a teenager.  I would have copiously quoted from it in melancholy lovelorn letters to all those boys who never returned my affections.  Or, at least, never kept returning them.  Wikus introduced me to the Wedding Present when I was in college, and instead of taking a positive position of thank-goodness-I-am-listening-to-this-excellent-band-now, I take the why-the-fuck-did-I-not-listen-to-this-before-college. My glass is always close to empty.

Imagine being a 15-year-old listening to these lyrics in a car on a rainy night:

That must've been a knowing look
Oh when you moved to pass your friend his book
And oh that feeling
When your hand returns to mine
I think I might as well stay out here
Oh but, can you kiss me just once properly
Well of course I mean it! I think about you all the time

Oh won't you put that down and take me, I'm yours
When will we have this chance again
Oh please just put that down and take me, I'm yours
We might never have romance again

Warm hands and things you say
You get lovelier everyday
Warm hands and things you say
You get lovelier everyday

                                                                        --Take Me!

Alas, I am a 35-year-old and it is just silly for me to write those things these days.  However, I am crafty and put them here for nostalgia's sake.  Sure, the words are no longer applicable at this time in my life, but it doesn't mean I can't rock out to them, and think of times when one could get away passing lyrics (or a mix-tape) to a boy in hopes that he would finally, truly understand how you felt. 

I'm trying to find some suitable lyrics from Bizarro that I can dedicate to The Boy; sadly, David Gedge mainly writes about heartbreak.  I'm sure I could find something if I mined all his songs, and took bits out of context.  But I do have actual work to accomplish, and he knows how much I love him (even if the Ambien sometimes makes it so I  have no idea if we had sex or I had a really great dream).

Ahem.  Please don't ask me where I was going with that.  The cedar and mold have been kicking my ass, and I fear my brain has once again turned in to snot-jelly.  Yes, SNOT-JELLY!  Oh, you think that is really gross and an unfortunate combination of words?  THEN JUST THINK HOW I FEEL!

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The past three nights I have had the pleasure of being in C's presence (remind me to call her something like Cowhide from here on out).  I've also been in her attic (we both heard that fucking scratching and squawking, I swear!), and slept on her couch (when was the last time I stayed up to 4am, especially after a Christian Slater double-feature?).  We enjoyed ourselves immensely at IKEA (dude, they are actually selling cowhide there, and wouldn't you know that branding marks are an "inherent characteristic?"). 

OMG!  New Lower Price!

There was also all that making out that we did, but I swore to her that I wouldn't release the details because she is totally shy about it.  (Call me!)
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We had new windows put in this week.  The house is a disaster zone, and it makes me agitated just walking in the door.  It needs to be pulled more apart before we put it back together--hardwood floors are being installed in the bedroom and office on Monday.  The weekend will be spent going through my clothes, and moving furniture.  Who's coming over to help?  Or at least take my cast-off shirts and underwear?