She Seems To Have An Invisible Touch-ay

Chambaland has made all necessary adjustments to Katy Perry’s first draft, and we now have the song of the summer.

You're gonna want to turn this UP. Get the MP3 here.

I have two ears and a heart, don't I?

*tears!!

Because the folks at the Huffington Post says it better than I can, and because I am laughing so hard I can't think for myself:

This guy really likes rainbows. I mean REALLY likes them. Then again, if I was some hiker dude (probably on mushrooms) and I saw a FULL DOUBLE rainbow, I'd probably enter crazypants mode as well. Watch as YouTube user Hungrybear9562 (amazing) goes through an intense emotional cycle, starting with "Woahs" and "Oh my Gods" and leading to crying, laughing, and wistfully asking the sky, "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?" It's so hilariously awkward that by the end of the 3 minutes you'll be laughing and crying along with him.

Rainbows, unicorns and TGIF, y'all!

Stop. Hammer time.

There is this game I play with people, often even when they don't know they're playing, where I'll shout out whatever artist is playing on the radio, iPod, song from a car driving past, whatever.

Three notes of synthesizer from Say You, Say Me… Lionel Richie!!
The opening rap to Heard It All Before… Sunshine Anderson!!
The tinkling piano keys of Airplanes… B.o.B.!!
The bubble pop of Somebody to Love… Justin Bieber!! (oh wait, just kidding, I don't really know that one… omg embarrassing.)

In my head it's always Game, ON.

Shouting Madonna at whoever is in the car with me when Cherish comes on is just how I do. Following that up with, "Omg, you just got served a big ol' fat order of shut-the-hell-up" is also how I do.

Oh, you didn't know we were playing? Oh, well I don't really care. Ke$ha!!

It's fun for me to see how people react to this little game.

There was this one night I was peeing at this bar, heard the muffled sounds of Caught Up In You, charged out of the bathroom, rolled up to this dude I barely knew and shouted, ".38 Special, yeah... suck it!!!" and threw my hands in the air all, "In your face!"

That was a glorious moment. His brow crinkled with a "What the hell is wrong with you?" expression. But I know in his heart he was thinking, "This girl is amazing!"

One friend of mine can really hand me my ass when it comes to '70s and '80s rock, and he gets super aggressive about it… shouting "AC/DC!" or "The Who!" at me. Then he'll grab the steering in triumph and yell, "OH! MY! GOD! THAT JUST SUCKED FOR YOU!"

But… this is the same friend who when I serve him his lack of pop-knowledge on an '80s synthesizer will angrily turn off the radio and pout that he's not playing anymore. Hee hee hee. Some people are really sore losers in this game.

But not me, because I am awesome at it. I might lose a few battles, but I win the war, folks. Especially when the WIZ is on. Yes, yes I do believe I am the only girl who has backward skated to Glenn Jones' We've Only Just Begun. And certainly no one in a car with me would know this song because they didn't roll at the Idyl Wyld Roller Palace in Marion, Indiana where they spun '80s and '90s R&B during my formative years.

Hi-Five. New Edition. Dana Dane. Oran "Juice" Jones.

You Can't Touch This.

And speaking of… MC Hammer is performing at the Reds game Friday night. I'll see you fools you there. Mmm hmmm… I'm wearing a bra and biking shorts. I don't know why that look ever went out of style.

2 legit, 2 legit to quit. Haaay haaaay!!!

Tgif!

PSA: Don't Tell Your Doctor or Anyone Anything

If you're at Fountain Square on a Saturday night, just minding your own bid'ness watching Apollo 13 on that screen sponsored by Macy's (thanks Macy's!) and you pee blood and some clots again, just keep it to yourself.

You know why? Because everyone and their brother's-sister's-cousin will come at you like a freakin' tsunami when you say,'Geezus Christ almighty, you should have seen how bloody my pee was on Saturday! Clots mean I'm healing, right?'

And whatever you do, do not casually tell your doctor this happened when you're just trying to reschedule another appointment. Because your doctor will lose her shizzle all over you on the phone when you tell her you're probably too busy to come in… indefinitely.

Because nobody will understand that you can see around corners they can't and you already know everything is going to be a-ok because on Saturday night you dreamed you were being bounced around in a gale storm in the Gulf, tossed about with sea foam, BP oil and giant hunks of debris in 40 foot waves, and while it sucked and was exhausting and freezing and you wanted it to be over with, it was also kind of an interesting ride, like a rollercoaster, only wet and oilier, and you washed up on the shore tired but totally fine. (Except you were wearing acid washed jeans... so, mostly fine.)

And even though the dream wasn't really about your bladder it's all still connected and illuminating and armed with this sense of security you go ahead and succumb to your doctor's orders only to be told during another camera in your pee-hole experience (why stop at just one, party people?!), 'Hey, your bladder looks a lot better; blood and clots are signs of healing in this case,' which is what you said all along and you could have just avoided the hassle.

But you will get another little jar of M&Ms, which might be worth it if they were peanut M&Ms, but whatever, you'll eat them anyway.

So don't tell your doctor or anyone anything, unless you really want that little jar of M&Ms. And don't forget to thank your pal Rachel who offered to front bail money and a ride home if you did happen to lose your shiz and assault anyone who might mention another pee bag. And thank God it didn't come to that because you know she has a newborn and can't just be driving to the jail whenever your ass gets tossed in the slammer, because what kind of role model would you be then, and besides infants can't eat M&Ms so bribing them to forgive you is nearly impossible and Rachel would not be happy about that anyway.

This has been a public service announcement. And another photo of my bladder.

Because I'm A Jerk, That's Why

My sincerest apologies for not posting more photos of my orange boyfriend sooner. I was temporary blinded by his blue sequined banana hammock and orangey-ness.

Here. Please forgive me.


It's not every day you see a hott stud like this just walking in a parade, but it should be. (Former colleagues will note 'the Scorcher' in the foreground.)



What's that? You want a close-up of the full monty? Well, here ya go. Note how closely we are holding each other, and how our sunglasses almost match. Soulmates.


Also at the Northside parade last weekend, Touchdown Jesus rose again!





With love and salvation,
Gina

Don't Hate The Player, Hate The Game

The real reason LeBron chose Miami over Akron is because the owner of the Cavs uses suck-ass fonts in his open letter hissy fit to fans.

Geez Dan Gilbert. It's not like Tiger Woods cheated on you with prostitutes. Cowardly betrayal? Curses in Comic-Sans? ALL CAPS promises of championships? You'll be sorry, LeBron, you… you… jerk!

I too am disappointed. Ohio will be a lot less hott without LeBron in it. And I'd be mad too if I got dumped via text, er TV. But easy there psycho-lovelorn-cry baby. You're making LeBron look like the adult here.

I get it. What a great cinderella story had he stayed his entire career in the hometown that drafted him, built him up, built their whole world around him. But then again, no. It's his path. The kid's gotta make his own way, and sometimes that means leaving home. I outgrew my hometown too. It's not you, it's us. (Well, it's partially you. But thankfully I'm not talented or rich enough for them to notice and write me hatemail.)

He's an insanely talented 25-year-old kid who wants to play ball and win championships. If he thinks he can do that best in Miami, well, play on playa. I'll be wearing my No. 23 Cavs t-shirt tonight in solidarity.

Meanwhile, enjoy the greatest commercial ever made. Oh Lord!

The Days Were Just Packed

It was like the whole summer was packed into the Fourth of July weekend. Pool, diving board, bike ride in the dark, fireworks, parade, strawberry milkshakes, Nada outside, a movie at Fountain Square.

This happened.

Fireworks, Freedom, Sunshine, & Fierceness (Oh My!)

Please click, print and select all that apply for your weekend entertainment.*

*you're welcome for creating this for you guys!

Swing And A Miss

How have I missed this spectacular Dap Kings infused, Mark Ronson re-version of Bob's "Most Likely You Go Your Way (And I'll Go Mine)," people?

Horns! Drums! Swinging beats! I had the pleasure of seeing the Dap Kings a few months ago with Sharon Jones at the Southgate House. I'll be spending my three-day weekend on my petition to be the only female Dap King. (Come on fellas, show your girl some love here!)

While I'm pleading, please enjoy this stellar, tour de Bob Dylan's iconic career. All the scenes, looks and decades are here folks. Great stuff.

I just can’t do what I done before
I just can’t beg you anymore
I’m gonna let you pass
And I’ll go last
Then time will tell just who fell
And who’s been left behind
When you go your way and I go mine

Bob said that.

Tgi-three day weekend!