Some Can Take It Or Leave It, But I Don't Want To Let It Go, Or Just Right For Long Weekend Fun Music, by Allison

Thundersnow? Bogus. No School? Bogus. Snow Custard? Disgusting. Otherwise known as, I Am Worst Snow Day Person Ever, Except The Shining Dude, by Allison

So, we have snow day. 

Otherwise known as, in a Christmas Carol/It's A Wonderful Life style Allison, WHEEE!

In current life Allison, is more like "Is school out? Ug. Is it enough good snow to make snowman or snow princess (depending on which kid)?

Will that snow thingy person be melty Jabba the Hut, Wicked Witch, Mommy can't build a snow anything?

 (Note: When V was little, her first glimpse of "Mommy is really not good at this" was when I tried to make a snowman/thing with her, and I guess I forgot the caveman rules of how to roll something into a ball, so we had a blob, and I tried to decorate it with the winter camellias, but they were kind of peaked at that point, plus I had no carrot nose.
So it was slushy gross blob of melted goo with half-dead camellias, chocolate chip mouth, and radish eyes, and it looked so insane blob was pathetic enough that when Matt got home he was all
"What in the world is that monstrosity?"
And Indignant Bad Snow Sculptor But Still, You Try It When Also Wrangling Toddlers Allison was all
"Um, you get what you get and you don't pitch a fit.
Toddler law.")

Last night we had alleged "thundersnow", and I am still not buying that as a real thing.

That is like, the second backup singer for Jem, who is truly outrageous. Truly, truly, truly outrageous.

(Note: I babysat for a little girl who was all about Jem. Do not judge.)




Aside from totally fab/awful animated horror girl band references due to made-up ridiculous weather precipitation nonsense, snow days mean this:

What? No, Sorry, Am Busy Dancing. Or, Most Deliciously Fun I Cannot Stop With The Yay Music, by Allison

So right now I cannot stop playing this song and dancing around like lunatic (Spoiler!! But not as lunatic as the girl in the yellow jeans in the video) to Robert DeLong's song Global Concepts.

I may have been hypnotized by it and am in a trance. I'll buy that, as it is deliciously most excellent electronic/drum rave-up.  Awesome addition to add to my playlist of "What? Sorry, can't hear you, dancing right now, no, not turning it down, am busy with the joy and fun and all."

And I may or may not have (Spoiler!! I totally did) blared it really loud last night while dancing around until my children requested that I stop because they were trying to go to bed.
(Note: Don't be alarmed, do not call child protective services, it was early, they were just using that as an excuse to escape their rooms and not go to bed)

And I may or may not (Spoiler!! Totally going to) obsessively listen to this nonstop as much as I can because, it is good for me. Why? So many reasons.

To name a few:

First, dancing is cardio.

Second, dancing is fun.

Third, dancing to awesome songs is extra fun.

 Fourth, music soothes the savage beast, that is like a proven thing. (Note: savage, maybe, beast is metaphorical term here, fyi)

 Fifth, again, is excellent song. I dare you to sit still when listening to it.
 Double dare.

And finally, because I really want to and again, it is fab.

As always, I am benevolent benefactor:

Robert DeLong's "Global Concepts"

So Sold Out Means I Can't Get In? Are You Sure? Can We Work Something Out? Maybe Also I Get A Crown Or Something? More Proof I Have Superpowers, by Allison

So, I am thinking it is official that I have superpowers, in case that was still open for debate.
Latest evidence?
I submit:

1. Saturday,  Matt and I wrangle the girls to the gym's Parents' Night Out, in which the gym kindly exercises, swims, feeds, and makes our children drowsy while we do something fun.  The girls trot along, swim bags and jammies all packed, and we bolt.

2. Our first stop of fun is to lovely wine lounge otherwise known as, Really Cool Place That Agreed To Change The Name Of The Cocktail I Like Because I Did Not Like Its Original Name And I Was Vocal And Bratty About It And So It Is Now Named After Me.

 (Spoiler! This is what is known as foreshadowing, in which I hint at my eventual, meandering though very, very interesting pathway to Proof I Have Superpowers, Volume XIV.)

Is seriously fun place and I have written verification of drink name change, they made me a sign for my birthday and I saved it. 
But note: My objection was not that the original name was not named after me, I am horrible and brat but I honestly do not expect the entire world to cater to my every whim or march to tune of All About Allison.

 (Or Do I???? More foreshadowing, I am literary scholar here)

My issue with drink name was that the original name was a bad name I did not like and found derivative and lame.
And guess what?
I garner more vocabulary words and adjectives as evening goes on, until after maybe my third visit in which I consume lovely beverage while decrying its awful name, it is agreed upon/I am so tedious they give up, and new name!
And yay, sure, I am the one who fought the good fight, like  Karen Silkwood or Norma Rae or other 1970's movies ladies with terrible hair protesting radiation poisoning or unfair labor laws, except not any of that at all, but still, if name suggestions are asked for, I have some thoughts.

3. We next venture down to movie theater to see Les Miserables. I am super excited, because I am triple extra geeky fan.

Who cries like a lunatic every time anything Les Miz gets within ten miles of me, starting with seeing the musical on Broadway in early teenage girl wearing bad velvet dress era.

Is family lore, The Time Allison Had Meltdown At Les Miserables And Embarrassed Us All.

Matt has been warned, both by family anecdotal history, me agreeing with said history, and me crying over the recent Entertainment Weekly issue that had a picture in it of Anne Hathway/Fantine looking like bad stuff was happening to her.
(Spoiler: Very bad stuff, and I cried.)
So yay! Super fun tear fest hours long sobbing adventure ahead!
Allons-y!

4. But when we get to the theater, the movie is sold out.
The guy says so, to Matt.

I choose to disagree.
 I was all, "No, no it is not sold out."

I have no idea why I thought that was a course of action that would lead to the movie magically becoming NOT sold out, but somehow I was very, very certain, or at least, really, really wanted to see the movie and therefore was focusing very hard to remember Jedi Mind Tricks even though I have not actually ever watched any of the Star Wars movies in their entirety and only know "this is not the droid you are looking for" or whatever by osmosis.

5. I peek around Matt's shoulder to discuss the issue with Ticket Guy.
 I tell him it is not sold out.

Matt is trying to drag me away, like he did at The Avengers when I started being awful because the costumes were silly.

But I was ready to see this movie.

Awful or Awesome, Pop Quiz, Extreme Edition, by Allison

So, my recent six weeks or so has been a very widely-veering series of experiences that were either Super Fantastic Awesome or You Have Got To Be Kidding Me Awful.

For the easiest quiz in the known world, I present the following:

Awful or Awesome?:

1. Stupid yuk dentist-surgery type thing being lame and painful and unfun and RUINING my planned five concert week of fun music with Matt and friends:

Answer: Awful.

Like, capital A awful. I do not like to be in pain, physically or emotionally.

(Note: Missing all those excellent shows HURT. Matt took time off from the hospital! I love those bands! Was going to see fun friends too! Instead, the total opposite involving NO concerts, NO fun friends)

And as aperitif of Awful, having to bicker during prep for yuk surgery type stuff that the music piped in was offending me, both as a music freak and a person about to be messed with surgically.
Because I do not lie, “Cuts Like A Knife?” , “Hurts So Good,” “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”, “Wanted: Dead or Alive” and a Meatloaf song that was not gore involving but I do not care for his theatrics?

While removing the non-working laughing gas mask (more on that in a minute) I politely (ish) pointed out that pain songs were a bit of overkill in this situation, and please can I have my iPod back, this is horrible pre-yuk stuff music PLUS, this laughing gas is not working.

I know it is not working, I am not laughing at all, and the thing going on involving harvesting is NOT fun adventure in autumn with crisp leaves.
I would like my iPod and working meds now.

Apparently, my approach of music complaints and drug seeking was not working, and as I write this, it sounds WAY worse, I was only asking for them to turn the laughing gas tank on.
It was not on, as I was not laughing, giggling, festive in any way.

Also the music was pointedly poor form.

And FINALLY, after they got sick of me complaining about music (Note: that is not all that rare of an thing, I know) and telling them to turn the wheel on the laughing gas tank or push a switch or whatever, the technician goes, “Huh, you’re right. This wasn’t even on.”

And I was like I TOLD YOU THAT PLUS I HATE THIS MUSIC.

So Matt gets report in waiting room that his wife is bitching about the music and asking for pain meds. I am sure his response was, “Yes, that sounds about right.”
So, Awful.

Dull Versus Mean, Punk Versus Pop, Blonde Versus Blonde, Yay! It's Another Lesson in Music and Girl Talk and Changing The Subject, by Allison

So in the car, I've got it on First Wave satellite station (which by the way, is very liberal in their inclusion into what does or does not make it into First Wave category to the point of unironically playing Sting, not The Police-era, but Tantric Sting "Love is the Seventh Wave," when, honestly, that is truly Seventh Wave not First Wave and I was going to do a rant about that but it was like serpent eating its tail and I could not be linear) and Blondie's "Rip Her To Shreds" comes on.
And I do not listen to that song enough, because it is awesome and I am huge fan of early Blondie, Debbie Harry is complete badass and known gritty-punk-glam-you want me and you don't want to mess with me-chic icon.

But then I realize, girls are in the car, can I remember the lyrics?
Do I have to do a thing on "artists can do extreme things in art or music creatively to express an emotion we feel but we do not say in words at school" talk, otherwise knows as How Allison Justifies Mumford and Sons "Little Lion Man" and qualifies Jay-Z's "99 Problems" as a love song?

As am pondering, and remembering lyrics and how much I loved the microphone Debbie Harry used back in the day of yore, uphill, in the snow, E goes "Oh. Well, she's not being nice about that other girl."
And I gather myself up for Lesson In Music, Girl Fight Edition, E solves it for me.  She's like, "It's like the Taylor Swift "Mean" song."

Whew!

Saved by the kid!

Because she is totally right.

And honestly, it is war of the blondes here, because while Debbie Harry's "She's so dull, come on, rip her to shreds" is harsh and we are non-violent here, it is an expression, not a call to war, or so I think.

Dear John Taylor, A Thank You, Fan Letter, Book Review, and First Letter I Have Written To John Taylor That Is Not Purple With Hearts On It, by Allison

Dear John Taylor,

 (Note: Ha!!
 I have not started a letter with that opening in quite a few years, and this is not pink stationery with purple ink and i's dotted with hearts!
But I am sure you will remember me,
was probably only 14 year old girl with pastel papered,
twenty paged,
adjective-laden Odes To Your Awesomeness.)

Thank you for your lovely autobiography.
It was a very thoughtful birthday gift.

Having recently seen you and the other Durans in quite impressively maintained gloriousness in concert,
and then I waxed poetic about my longstanding fandom and your very important status as My First Pretend Boyfriend here:
http://www.iwantanintern.com/2012/08/dont-say-prayer-for-me-now-save-it-til.html

It was totally obvious to me,
as I am both deranged and narcissist,
that you wrote your book and timed its release right for my birthday out of appreciation for the sheer quantity of posters,
pins,
illicit video collections that were confiscated in two seconds but still,
my self-proclaimed full time job as PR and Promotions Person for Duran Duran,
They Are British And Musicians And Awesome Have You Seen Their Hair PS John Taylor Is Mine
.
I am nothing if not devoted and loyal to my Pretend British Musician Boyfriends,
I most certainly can't quit you.

And in fact,
you kind of created a forevermore category of What Allison Thinks Is Awesome:
Tall, Floppy Hair,
British, Brooding,
Musician, Play Instrument,
Guitar Of Some Sort Preferred.

So kind of,
it is your fault I am this irrational,
and possibly have not progressed emotionally since age fourteen.

It was the least you could do, to write a book for me for my birthday.

I was totally freaked out by the title, In The Pleasure Groove,
 and very concerned I would be reading many chapters on exploits with groupies who were not middle school girls who wrote you letters on pink paper with purple pen.


I kind of lingered in the early chapters,
 in which you were charming nerdy music geek named Nigel

(Which?  I already knew, because I am Best Fan Ever,
and used that in the duel at dawn type showdowns I had with foolish,
uninformed persons thinking they were Better Fan.
I also used the bar you all started in,
Rum Runner, ha ha!!!!!! to the seven girls named Jen I trumped in Who Is Best Fan Ever And May Get To Marry John Taylor Contest,
but it was super fun to read all about it instead of memorizing details from creepy fan magazines from Japan that this music store would order for me,
and I would make notepads full of vital statistics in case of  possible duel at dawn coming up)

And loved reading about the art and fashion and music that influenced you,
because that is actually very interesting and cool to learn,
 and there was no giant whiff of
This Book Was Totally Written By Ghostwriter Otherwise Known As,
Person Who Wrote This Whole Book And Has Not Even Met John Taylor.

I realize I am biased,
 as you were my first Pretend Boyfriend,
and started a whole thing,
 that anyone who has known me then and since has to deal with,
which is probably very cumbersome for all of those people,
seeing as:

1. I did have a clipboard and would quiz fellow fans with inane trivia facts in seventh grade

2.  And I was relentless in forcing everyone I was friends with to become Giant Fans.

But guess what, that totally worked, and you are welcome.

You did return the favor you probably didn't quite realize you owed me -

By being Guardian Angel Pretend Boyfriend,
steering me eventually to my Actual Husband Matt,
who is tall, has righteously excellent hair,
plays bass guitar too!
(Note: He is not British,
very rarely broods,
which is probably good for the emotional climate of our home anyway,
since he is professional kind cancer doctor and handler of me,
and I think you need to have a calm demeanor for both of those jobs he has permanently,
full-time taken on.)

So, the (number of years redacted due to author's vanity, mine, not yours,  JT) of You Having Permanent Status As My First Pretend Boyfriend,
shaping my core value system on What Is Awesome,
and then you writing me the book and everything,
I really wanted the book to be fab and not squicky "pleasure groove" meaning stuff on vans and things I do not want to know about at all,
I was busy memorizing your favorite toothpaste back then.

I was kind of nervous to get past the "let's get a band together" part.

Why did I doubt you, First Pretend Boyfriend John Taylor?
You are not gross!

Instead, hurray!
I was right all along!

You are awesome!

I mean,
awesome in that you tactfully referenced but did not discuss in squick format anything squicky, talked about your drug use and how you overcame it without under or overplaying it, which is hard thing to do,
did not go into huge juicy detail over various breakups of the Durans and acknowledged that it was kind of lame not to tell all about it,
 but that you all had long-standing relationships with each other,
good save on that.

And tons and tons on the music!
Videos!
Lyric Inspirations!
How My Most Favoritest Of Your Songs Came To Be!
Info on Hair!!!!!!

Honestly, it was quite a generous birthday gift, John Taylor.

And you are sweet about your wife and daughter,
 and not in a way in which I think that your wife actually wrote those chapters and handed them to you,
seemed genuine.
And also, pictures!
Some I haven't seen before!

Sigh.

I may have to source out some pink paper and purple ink pen and old-school Write a Document ,
an Ode of Thanks on such a lovely walk down your memory lane,
which was my yellow brick road,
except I am not Dorothy OR Elton John,
and you are not weird little dude behind a curtain wearing garish green ensemble.
You are wearing black,
or otherwise dark,
awesome rock star outfit,
I am sure. 

And I have learned a bit of sartorial knowledge since middle school,
and no longer wear Panama Hats in your honor
(But you wrote about that hat in the book!!!!!!!!!!!!
How the hat came to be!
I almost wept with nostalgia for a hat,
and reached for the phone that does not exist,
 because it is in a house in which I no longer live,
 and it plugs into a wall that probably doesn't have your face plastered all over it anymore)

So yay.
I am happy when Awesome remains Awesome.

And I find it not all that surprising that as I tote around your book,
my daughter E has got "One Direction, Our Story" earmarked on the pages about Harry.

He is tall, you know.
British.
Best Hair.
He seems kind of smiley and not sure if he plays an instrument,
and I think their songs are written in a labratory by psychologists trained in the psyche of tween girls, but it is a start.

xxoo,
Your Bestest Fan Allison