Tuesday, October 21, 2014

The Squid Incident

As I have mentioned before, I grew up in a pretty messed up family. And by messed up, I don't necessarily mean dysfunctional (we were that too), but just plain strange. My parents had the weirdest palette, enjoying things that should have never been yanked out of nature and slapped onto a plate. I have no problem with hunters, even though I never felt it was my calling. But seriously, when your mother sets a plate of skunk in front of you at the dinner table, something isn't normal. My mother used to cook all kinds of strange creatures, and when we moved from the US to Cape Town, South Africa, things just got worse. I'm not saying that my mom couldn't cook, in fact she was a wonderful cook. But when it comes to pickled field mice, I don't think there is any possible way to make it taste anything but plain nasty.
In Africa, people eat a lot of things that most Americans would run screaming from. For instance, horse milk, and camel meat. My parents, however, seemed to take the strange food as a challenge. My mother seemed determined to cook and eat every single creature that roamed the Motherland. Including every creature that swam the seas.
I'm serious. You haven't experience life until you've had to gag down a whale tongue steak. I've had to eat everything from rat meat to horse milk. But nothing compared to the time my mother cooked squid. My mother was a wonderful cook, but her methods of making food were a little lacking. In summary, she cooked everything in a cast iron skillet. Steak, pizza, antelope, you name it.
My older brother was the only one who actually enjoyed trying all the unusual foods, and one day down at a local Green Market near Somerset Beach in Cape Town, he found a tank filled with live squid, and begged my mom to make it for us. Of course she accepted the challenge.
And so she heated up her cast iron frying pan, slapped the still squirming squid inside, and proceeded to heat it into a slimy gelatinous mess of tentacles and suckers. I won't even begin to describe the smell that filled the kitchen. It tasted like burned watermelon, with a hint of vomit. It was then that I decided that I needed to learn to cook, because I was sure that I was going to shrivel up and turn into something horrible if I continued to consume the strange food my mother created.
I can say, that I can not stand most seafood now.
I will spare you all the image of the squid.
I can guarantee you do not want to see it.

C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Signed, hot_tunes♪♫

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

So, I heard this remix to only time the other day.
In summary, AWESOME.

Monday, October 13, 2014

What Happens On the Band Bus....

Me wearing my ridiculously spangled marching uniform,
and playing my saxophone. There's weed in the bell.
you just cant see it.
One of the best memories I have of high school is band camp. Which I know makes me sound like a complete and total dork, but I'm not. I am not a penis. In face, at my high school, band was cool. We had cheerleaders, and football players, and all kinds of other people in our school band. I mean I was the captain of the dance team, and I tore it up on the marching field. Besides the fact that our school band was totally kick ass, why wouldn't you want to sign up for the opportunity to leave school early to beat a drum and go crazy on the band bus?
I was in high school band since the eighth grade. Yep, I was that bad ass of a musician. I started out as second chair saxophone, and I hated not being the center of attention, so naturally, I worked my ass off, and be freshman year, I beat out the upperclassmen for first chair. Which meant I got to play some pretty epic music, and tell the seniors what to do. Because in music, seniority is based on experience and skill, not age. Well beside the face that being in band was just epic in itself, no other school program could compare to band camp.
While the athletes were sweating their asses off (figuratively)doing two-a-day practices, we got to sit inside in the air-conditioning, play awesome music, and eat rainbow cupcakes. Now band camp wasn't a total piece of cake. We did have to learn the choreography for field shows which required us to stand at attention on a football field in the blazing sun whilst trying to decipher diagrams mapping the formations we were supposed to create, and silently mouth "What the fuck" behind our instruments. In the end, though it was totally worth it because our field shows were always bomb.
Well, at least most of them were. But in our defense, the music teacher was new, and the last teacher hadn't done shit, so pretty much, we were starting from scratch. In our first show, we played the Hey song minus one trumpet player because I had choked him out for making fun of me prior to the show. (I was a troubled little eighth grader). Anyway, it turns out you don't win competitions playing the Hey song without a first chair trumpeter. Anyway we were so dejected after that miserable season, that we worked our tushes off, and kicked ass the next season. Our band teacher Mr. Hercules (that's his real name, no lie) left to complete his music degree. So my freshman year, we had a director with much less experience. Mrs. Coon was still a bad ass when it came to marching band, and the band season with her was totally awesome. She had an epic sense of humor, and let us play songs like Jump on It, and Louie Louie in parades. Also she introduced color guard to our band. So when we marched in shows and parades, we had a bunch of girls in sparkly outfits dancing to our music. Which made our band awesomer (is that a word? Awesomer? Apparently not according to to SpellCheck) because we had sparkles. I remember the songs we played. We played Oye Como Va, All That Jazz, Hey Big Spender and Maria from Westside Story. We still didn't win anything until my senior year though.
But enough about random songs and shit. I know all you people are waiting to hear the dirt about band camp. Well to be honest, there isn't much dirt that happened at band camp since band camp was on school property, and under the watchful eye of the cameras on campus. The REAL crazy stuff happened on the band bus. On the way to and from competitions. I watched my friend lose her virginity on the band bus. I mean literally, watched them get it on. Because they were right in the seat directly across the aisle from me, and my friend had one of her legs in my lap. I smoked a bong for the first time on the band bus.  I watched a clarinet player lick a cat butt on the band bus, and saw a percussionist get his penis stuck in a sousaphone. So pretty much, if something crazy was going to happen at all, it was going to happen on the band bus.
The truly awesome thing about being in band is that band season lasted all year long. In the fall we had marching band. In the spring, we had concert band. So yeah it was Pretty Fucking Awesome, Concert Band was a different matter all together. We would go to competitions at Hannibal LaGrange University, and our director would leave to go speak with the judges, leaving us surrounded by the super hot members of other high school bands, and drop-dead-sexy college kids. Which as you can probably guess, never ended well. You didn't have to look very far to see music students and college kids either hooking up, or smoking weed out of their instruments. I'm sure our instructor knew what was going on, but as long as we weren't getting pregnant, getting too high to play music, or otherwise embarrassing our school, he probably couldn't care less. Pretty much, being in band allowed you to get stoned at school functions. Personally, I was the one musician in the practice room actually practicing. I loved the music we played, and when I wasn't playing(or smoking out of) my saxophone, I was playing the piano, composing songs, and practicing competition pieces. I love music, and so almost every opportunity I got, I would practice, and try to make myself better.
Me playing jazz piano at a concert.
I know. My hair looks terrible.
I guess its paid off, because not to toot my own horn, but I am on of the best pianists I know. I play from the soul.
And that just got hella cheesy. But oh well. I like cheese. Especially string cheese, because it's the sexiest of all the cheeses. It's like you get to undress it. Seriously, the person who invented string cheese is a genius.
Anyway, back off the weird little tangent I just went on, I love music. Correction, I love good music, Even more specifically, I love making good music.
My senior year of band was by far the most epic. We finally won some awards, and our marching season was kick ass. I mean we were the only band that broke it down in the marching field. Literally, our field show had dance moves choreographed my yours truly (with a little help from our director of course). We were so damn boss. And we went crazy on the band bus afterward. I'd go into detail, but as you all know, what happens on the band bus stays on the band bus.

Ok you're probably sitting there going, really? That was it? She entitles this post 'What Happens on the Band Bus..." and then proceeds to tell us everything but what happens on the band bus. Dafuq?

Well to tell you the truth, what happens on the band bus really does stay on the band bus. But since I love y'all, I'm gonna let you in on some of the things that took place on the band bus.

1. We did homework.
I can literally feel some of you rolling your eyes already, but this was high school y'all. We had homework.

2. We played music.
More eye rolling. Stop it.Your eyeballs are going to fall out of your head. It was a Band bus. We practiced our music.

3. We stripped down to our underwear.
I can practically hear your dirty little minds turning. You perverts. We wore marching uniforms, and they were extremely uncomfortable. So naturally we waited until the last possible minute to change into them. Which happened to be on the band bus. Believe me, it was a lot less sexy than it sounds.

4.We drank
Soda! We were all underage and even though we did smoke weed on the band bus, we weren't dumb enough to try to compete in field shows drunk.

5. We smoked weed.
In moderation, and of course never before a performance. We needed to be at the top of our game. After the field shows, though we got baked as Fuck. Once it was dark. And the bus already smelled like musky sweaty wool marching uniforms. With the windows down, you couldn't smell a thing. Though I suspect our teacher knew what was going on.

6. We got laid. Well some of us did. I didn't. But as I already mentioned earlier, hookups were fairly common in band. Not to mention all the kinky things you could do with the instruments. Things I've never done personally, but as the weed seat and the fuck seat were directly across from each other in the back of the bus, yeah, I saw a lot of disturbing things being done with all kinds of instruments.
And No. I'm not going into detail. Use your imagination.

7. We sang songs.
A lot of the band members were part of the school choir, and vice versa. So a lot of random harmonic singing broke out on the band bus.

8. We twerked.
Well, at least I did. Because I like to twerk. Ok, pretty much, I was the only person who twerked on the band bus. But twerking is epic. And I twerk. Therefore I am epic

9. We slept together.
 Not like that you nasty little people! Marching in field shows is exhausting. Seriously. You try blowing a horn whilst running all over a football field while marching in step. It will wear you out. So on the way home after we got our buzz on, or had our orgasms or whatever, we usually ended up passed out asleep.

10. We watched a trombone player urinate out the window while we were on the highway.
It was very disturbing. That is all I wish to say about it.

11. We also watched a nymphomaniac from another band give a flute a blowjob.
Also very disturbing.

12. We overwhelmed McDonald's employees.
A band runs on its stomach. We could literally see the dread on the faces of the McDonald's employees when our bus full of loud teenagers holding metal objects pulled into the parking lot. I could almost swear they drew straws to see who would have to man the cash registers. What can I say? We were terrifying.

13. We mixed chemicals.
No we weren't making bombs, but somebody brought their Advanced Chemistry 'homework'along, and was mixing Hydrochloric acid, and a bunch of other chemicals in the backseat. Of course it exploded. And melted part of a snare drum before we could figure out what the smell was. I guess we were lucky it wasn't ammonia and bleach or we all would have asphyxiated and died. Also we gave a band member a neon purple hair dye job with bottled water and a Ziploc bag to rinse the dye out with. We stuck her head out the window to dry it, and surprisingly it turned out pretty good,

14. We cooked.
The same student with the Hydrochloric Acid brought a portable Bunsen burner with him, and after a quick trip to Walmart for a pot and some ingredients, we all chipped in and made shrimp gumbo in the bus. It smelled pretty good until the bus hit a bump, and the burner slipped and burnt a hole in the seat. The gumbo tasted pretty good though.

15. We gave breast exams.
One clarinet player was convinced she had breast cancer. We all told her she was a hypochondriac, but she told us she was positive she felt a lump. So we being the good friends we are pulled up the directions for a mammogram on somebodies iPad, stripped her naked from the waist up, laid her down across a seat, and proceeded to give her a breast examination. (It wasn't as weird as it sounds. We'd all pretty much seen each other naked, and more than half the band was gay).
Anyway it turns out the lump was just her nipple. Her boobs were health as a horse. Well as healthy as a healthy as a healthy horse anyway. It would have sucked if she was as healthy as a sick horse. That would have just been bad.

Pretty much the band bus is a place where the weirdest, strangest, funniest, nastiest, craziest things happened. And every one is okay with it. Because it's the Band Bus.
What can I say?

C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Signed hot_tunes♪♫

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Rabbits, and Me

Me as a kid and Snowbelle who is stuffed in my pocket and glaring at me.
I've always been an animal lover. Ever since I was little, I was always "rescuing'' animals from "situations".
For instance, I would "rescue" frogs and tadpoles from the dirty pond water, and "stray" cats from from my neighbors back yard.
My family had plenty of pets, and I loved every single one of them (that is, except for my brother's tarantula), but I never had a pet I could truly call my own, until Snowbelle.
Snowbelle was an albino white rabbit. I carried her around with me everywhere. To be honest, thinking back, I kinda feel sorry for that bunny. I mean if I had to put up with a girl who was obsessed with dressing me up in babydoll clothes, and stuffing me into the pockets of every single outfit she wore, I would be a fairly miserable rabbit.
But in all actuality, I loved that bunny with all my heart. I used to hold Snowbelle in my lap at the dinner table, and feed her salad off my plate. Every night I would tuck her in bed next to me, and she would snuggle up next to me. Which as a kid, snuggling with a bunny was the most magical thing, because, like, no one had rabbits. So I was the awesome kid who could walk around saying, "Check out this bunny bitches!!" (Maybe not that exactly since I was like eight years old at the time, but you get the idea).
I love rabbits. I always have. I used to want to be a rabbit, because, one Christmas, my mother decided to read The Velveteen Rabbit to my brothers and me. And let me tell you, I truly believed, with all my heart, that if the stuffed rabbit could become a real rabbit, then sure as hell, so could I. I used to sit up in bed every night, and fold my little hands, and do that stupid thing from Pinocchio, where you see the evening star, and say

"Star Light, Star Bright
First Star I see tonight.
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight"

And then of course instead of wishing that a wooden puppet would become a real boy (which is incredibly creepy), I would wish that I could become a real rabbit.
Yep. I was that fucked up of a kid.
I think I was the only child ever to want to become a rabbit instead of the usual, princess, rock star, or vet. But I just had this thing about rabbits.
Me and Cupcake. The best
rabbit/human duo ever.
Anyway, I had Snowbelle until I was eleven, and then my family had to move so I had to get rid of Snowbelle. My mother, being the kind and compassionate person that she is, instead of taking Snowbelle to an animal shelter, or giving it to a family who would have taken good care of her, handed off my poor little bunny to some random lady in the parking lot of the Pick 'N' Pay downtown. Needless to say, I was heartbroken, and fairy convinced that my mother had just supplied dinner for the woman.
I spent the rest of my childhood rabbitless, because I just could not get over the fact that my mother fed my Snowbelle to some lady at the Pick 'N' Pay. In high school, I finally worked up the courage to get another rabbit (most likely because I was no longer living with my mother, and felt more confident that this bunny wouldn't end up as a meal this time). I named her Cupcake. She was a miniature lop-ear rabbit, and she was epic because I could lay her on her back, and she would fall asleep, and stay upside down like that for hours with her feet in the air.
I entered her in a rabbit show at a county fair one year, because I was convinced that everyone needed to see her upside-down trick.
It was epic. I won first place, and a position of eternal weirdness in the minds of my friends. Because the captain of the Showgirl Dance Team, should not be engaging in something as loserly as a county fair.
Me and my friend Brooke, first and second place
at the Shelby County fair. And of course Cupcake,
and her trophy, and ribbon.
But I didn't care, because my bunny was awesome, and now everyone knew it.
Cupcake died about a year later of heatstroke.
And the wonderful roommates I had at the time decided to bury her next to the septic tank in the neighbors backyard without informing either me or the neighbors. I didn't even know she was dead until I noticed a shovel leaning up against her cage.
So as you can assume, that situation turned out pretty fucking awesome. As in I was emotionally traumatized over a rabbit again.
Story of my life.
Anyway, I should let you all know  that I no longer have the desire to be a rabbit, much less own one, as that situation was way too emotionally scarring for me.
I am now officially a cat person.
That is all.

C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck the System.
Signed, hot_tunes♪♫

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

As you all know, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. 
I invite you all to join me on October 13th for No Bra Day. 
Let 'em swing, and show your support!!

Post-Its I May Or May Not Have Written During My Lifetime

Who took my toaster out of the refrigerator?

To the family member who placed a live rabbit in the freezer, you are a sick, sick little person. I am resuscitating it in the bathroom sink, and if it dies, I hope all of your hair falls out

Limes for sleepover margaritas


Remember to call grandma and remind her to get her dildos off the dining room table before dinner tonight.

Don't forget to look up that cute guys' Facebook page.

Topless protest tomorrow.

To the person who ate all of my marijuana cupcakes, I curse your high. May you see rainbows and flying unicorns, and have a sever allergic reaction. 

Baby, I will be gone today, because I saw the cutest kitten in an alleyway downtown, and I have taken the day off to try and rescue it. Also there's a huge spider in the bathroom. Would you kindly dispose of it? Kisses!!!

Don't park so close. I hardly know you.

Have a wonderful day! :)

Why is there a traffic cone with a dildo stuck in the top of it in the middle of the living room?

Tell nana to wash the sheets

Shopping list:

Dear family,
Ignore the man with the boa constrictor in the living room. He is there because I want him to be. Also I want his accordion, so I'm going to try to sweet talk him into giving it to me.

This live trout needs to stay in the bathtub until I can find a pond to put him in. 
I rescued him from a fisherman, and he has had a very traumatic day. So be nice to him.

The trout has been transferred to a life-raft filled with water in the backyard. I have named him Mister Bojangles, and I love him.

This is not Friday. This is MY day.

Please leave a tail hanging on the toilet-paper after use.

To the woman screaming and moaning in room 34c, if you are being tortured, call the police. I do not need to hear when you are "coming".

I do not know your name, but you have been seen stealing my butter. Put it back, or I will lick everything on your desk.

As you have failed to return my butter, I hope you enjoy this carton of worms, and the jug of Voodoo that I have placed in your cubicle.

The Voodoo is real.

Baby, you left a wet towel on the floor since it appears you do not care about it, I gave it to Mister Bojangles to play with.

Baby, I wish you would stop leaving little witty replies on the ends of my Post-Its because as you know, they're all I have.


To the person who decided to make a cocktail out of my candy dish, you are dead inside.

Baby, since I have run out of Post-Its, I am writing this on the at in order to tell you that I am going to Office Max to get more.
Also the cat and Mister Bojangles need fed.
Do Not Feed Them To Each Other.

Baby, I am ill, and will remain so until you bring me something deep fried and smothered in Nutella. You will find me in the backyard mourning the passing of Mister Bojangles the trout. He and I were very close.

I have placed another trout in the bathtub. I will name him Humperdink. Humperdink is a rainbow trout. Therefore he is lucky.

Shopping list:
Blue pens
JB Weld

Remind grandma to get her dildos out of the front lawn.

Baby, these red velvet cookies are especially for you. Enjoy! I love you!

Why don't we have a rabbit?

I am putting this Post-It on the mirror to let y'all know that the cinnamon toothpaste is Mine.

Honey, I just want you to remember that no matter how alone you feel, you are never alone. (There are literally millions of bacteria all over you). Have a wonderful day! :)

I hit your car as I was leaving the parking lot. I'm sorry but you should know that it was an evil Decepticon. I have disposed of him for you. You're welcome.

To whoever left explosive burrito ooze all over the microwave, fuck you.
From all of us.

Do not attempt to reason with me when I'm high. I will probably tackle you and kiss you to get you to shut up.

This bubble gum was so good, I just couldn't let you miss out on the flavor explosion. I only had one piece, so I stuck what was left of it to this Post-It so you may too enjoy it.

Kick me.

Free hugs.

Hello, my name is: None Of Your Damn Business.

I have placed a live squirrel in this box for safekeeping. I am going to play with it later. Do not touch it. It is Mine.

I cleaned the entire apartment today. I deserve a margarita, don't you think?

Who took my hairdryer out of the microwave?

I have planted a lime tree in the flowerbed because I head that leprechauns like them. If any of you sees a leprechaun, inform me immediately.

I want Nutella.

This Post-It is here because some one left a partially eaten celery stalk in MY Nutella. You should know that the Nutella lovers of the world hate you.

Baby, I have had an extremely trying day, and so you will find me in the living room playing MarioKart. Beer is in the fridge. I challenge you to the race of a lifetime.

Shopping list:
Fairy Wings
Kool Aid

Please wash the car. Kisses!