no one's picking up the phone...

After reading the loverly T's blog, I was shocked back to two of the most terrifying musical ordeals I've ever been a part of.

I will now bore you with them.

Used to have this loverly friend I shall now call "Nelle" because that's what we called her when we were too lazy to, you know, type the extra couple of letters in her name. :p [for the truly lazy, Marian becomes m. Mmm hmm. Lazy!] Anywho, Nelle and I met through a mutual love of Savage Garden. [indeed. Old timer stuff.] La.
  Point is, somehow we got the smart/stupid idea for her to come visit. There was spazzing out and somehow we hit it off. But sometime during her first visit [she visited twice that summer] she went to Manifest and bought Boys for Pele because she liked some song. I don't remember which one now. Woe. But that night she popped that baby in the stereo and played hey jupiter for 8 straight hours. For the first hour she had to manually skip back until I got tired of the jack-in-the-box impression and told her how to work the programming. To this day I regret that move. *weep*

I do not recommend this. Ever. At all. Never ever. First you want to cry. Then you slowly want to kill someone.

This little experiment was repeated later by miss Cassaliscious roommate. She's always had a sick fascination with the song. Heaven help the person who talks through the song or interrupts her watching the video, despite the fact that she's only watching said video because she swiped my tape. :p So for Christmas or her birthday, I skipped to Camelot and bought her the single.

Yes. I am an idiot.

hee

Cancer does what feels right and doesn't care who's looking. Someone that idolizes you sees that you may be imperfect. Worship makes you nervous anyway. You'd rather be treated as an equal.
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So, come on now, who worships me? ;)