Yup, Feral is rambling again. Put your feet up and sip your java juice, it`ll maybe help you follow along my goofy mental paths even if the coffee is decaf.
Now you might be wondering how boobs and Billy Joel go together, aside from the obvious. Okay, that wasn`t nice really. There used to be a time that I actually didn`t mind Billy Joel too much. Some of his songs are catchy and despite the fact that I had Deadpool shoot him in a dream sequence once in a fan fiction notwithstanding the Piano Man and I used to get along well enough. This is Deadpool, a Marvel Comics character and favorite of mine from the comic books. My geek is showing isn`t it?
Now the bullet wound from the Marvel mercenary aside I bore no ill will to Billy Joel, and in all honesty this ramble actually shouldn`t be about Billy Joel, it should be aimed at the DJ`s at my local classic rock station. See where we live we have many radio stations but only one that plays classic rock. Ninety-five percent are country stations here in the hills and the other four percent play either rap or that new stuff like Lady Gaga or Justin Beiber. *Shudders*
I love classic rock and I adore my radio station. It is set and woe to those who may turn the dial! Today as I was running hither and yon (Which is just down the road and across from that red barn that the flood took out in `79) I had the radio on, my CD player gave up the ghost and the new one has yet to be installed. I made the trips in good time and many a fine tune had been played. Zeppelin, Stones, ZZ and Skynyrd and a lovely bit of Metallica tossed in. Heck I had almost made it home from Wal-Mart when Billy Joel came on. My top lip rolled up in a nice Billy Idol way.
Seriously did they have to play Billy Joel again?! I swear to you on my granny`s flannel knickers I cannot get into my truck and go somewhere without hearing Billy Joel. It has become a running joke with Mister Yodeling and me.
‘Guess what was playing on the way home?” he`ll ask when he comes in from work.
‘Billy Joel?’ I`ll ask and he`ll nod.”I know! He was on when I went to the feed store this morning! Egad!”
Over the years this daily dose of Mister Joel and his piano have begun to really spur my horse. Well, if I had a horse. Okay it curdles my cud that fits. Please oh please Mister DJ, spare us the lonely lament of Brenda and Eddy just for one day, please???? I don`t care if they WERE the king and the queen of the prom nor do I really care if they WERE still going steady by the summer of `75. I don`t really care about a microphone that smells like beer or what some guy does when his sister is out on a date. Nope, don`t care, not one iota. When did Billy Joel become rock? Pop yes, rock NO, at least in my feral mind. Drop down a record that shouts classic rock for Pete`s sake! Play me some KISS or some Cream or-Oh, yeah they don`t use records anymore do they? You all get the point anyways so I`ll ramble on a tad further.
Boobs are annoying. I know that was quite a leap wasn`t it? This is what happens when I`m driving alone for any length of time. My mind wanders here and there and today it meandered to boobs as I bounced along our lovely smooth roads (Please note sarcasm in that last statement) and cursed Billy Joel. Enough with the darn piano man Feral concentrate! Yes, boobs are annoying. They really are. Now I know why we ladies have them-to nourish and feed our young. Do they really have to get in the way all the time though? And how did they become a food tray? I don`t recall them being such when I was younger. Now it seems every time I sit down to eat something drops onto my boobs. Usually it`s something greasy that will instantly stain not only the shirt but the bra underneath it.
Case in point-For my birthday I got some nice new tank-tops. I wear tank-tops all year round I am just that hot of a mama! *Licks thumb and places it to sizzling hip*
Actually the woodstove has to be run at 70 so it doesn`t overheat and blow its cork so our house is nice and warm. So warm in fact that I sleep with only a sheet all winter. But I digress. So I got these nice new tank-tops and wished to wear them! Now I know I`m busty and all. Heck I`ve known that since sixth grade when I was the only girl in my class with BOOBS. They haven`t gotten any smaller over the years unlike my height which shrinks every time I see the doctor. And we won`t even go into what fun it is to have a mammogram yearly! All I`ll say is that they need to make their machines bigger since my boobs don`t seem to want to get smaller.
So here I am, prancing about with my new tank-top of lovely rich brown and what happens? I sit down to eat on Sunday and a glob of Shake & Bake chicken drops to my boobs. And it doesn`t just drop and roll off. Oh no,it sits there mockingly, grease soaking through with evil intent. (Yes chicken can be evilly intended! Don`t toss up common sense during a ramble my friends!) One wear and the shirt is now a chore shirt. I think that once a woman is done with them for the whole lactation schpeel she should be able to trade them in. You know, like that station wagon you had to have when your kids were young but now that they`re grown and in collage you get a smaller, more fuel efficient car? You can still have fun with a smaller car am I right???
I`d trade my Suburban in for a Pruis. This way I could flounce around without a bra even in August! Imagine the freedom. I bet if I had Pruis` instead of Suburban’s the globs of dinner would just tumble right off to the floor and I bet I wouldn`t have to arrange my two snazzy Pruis` when I went to sleep at night. Also, I wager the cost of covering the Pruis duo would be substantially lower than it is to cover the Suburban’s. Car covers for big old Chevy`s are costly! Maybe I need to invest in one of these-
I`d like to toss a yodel of welcome to Kasey Cox! Welcome Kasey, you picked a fine day to stumble in you poor dear. Now even the sweetie who runs my beloved local book store knows what lurks around in my mind. She`ll never see me the same way.