What If Your Body Was THE Wonderland?

Perhaps the lyics might look something like this:



We got the afternoon

You got this geography book

I'm late for that one thing I've left to do

Discover me

Discovering you



One gallon to every drop of

Your tears like ocean

One pair of silly twins and

Your curiouser tongue



And if you want a caucus race

We'll make it

Run in a deep sea

To dry off

Take all your big plans

And break 'em

This is bound to be awhile

Your body is the wonderland

Your body is the wonder (I'll mind my temper)

Your body is the wonderland



Something 'bout the way the hair falls in your face

I love the shape you take when growing ten feet tall

You ask me where to go and

Though you might leave to find it

I'll never let your head roll

Without my hand behind it



You want home?

We'll find it

Swim in a deep sea

Of more tea

Take all your big plans

And break 'em

This is bound to be awhile

Your body is the wonderland

Your body is the wonder (I'll play croquet)

Your body is the wonderland

Damn baby

I frustrate you

I know you need a clean cup clean cup

But you look so good it hurts sometimes

Your body is the wonderland

Your body is the wonder(I'll use my mome raths)

Your body is the wonderland

Your body is the wonderland



Da da dup ba da da da

Ba ba dup ba la la la

Tweedle dee tweedle dum

Ba ba dup ba da da da

Twas brillig and the slithy toths

Ba ba dup ba da da da

Did gile and gimble in the wabe

Ba ba dup ba da da da

Kaloo kallay, no work today!

We're cabages and kings!!!

What John Mayer Knows About Parenting Could Barely Dampen a Doily

Father's Day is always pretty low key around here. For the past three Father's Days, Doc, the only father on his team, has been scheduled for work on Father's Day. Which mildly sucks. I mean, we can always use the dough, but it would be nice to have him around on a day that honors him and what he is to his family.

There's been a bit of talk lately around here about the importance of fathers to daughters, that leaves John Mayer in the dust. We've decided that daughters need to know that they are beautiful, special , accepted. They need to know what a good man looks like. They need to be able to smell a rat and cross the street to stay away from them.

One thing I've learned that I hope to gift my daughter with is the knowledge is that when you're facing something you rather not, a Cornish Horn-Tailed dragon, an audit, or court, for example. You need to do the right thing, keep your head, pray and do your best to not freak out. It's hard. It hurts. It's scary. But as old Bill Cosby once said, "Decide that you want it more than you are afraid of it." I've done this myself and it works. It's a way to love something hateful.

I can't pinpoint how I learned to do this, but I'm glad I did. I know my Dad did't tell me directly; he preferred to let me find my own way and offered his opinion only when asked. But his faith in me and his love showed me how to be strong and true. Sure I'm scared. But I just conjure up Captain Kirk or Hawkeye Pierce (another Captain, by the way) or some other larger than life model of bravery whom I wouldn't have know without my Dad's influence.

He pointed me in the direction of many things that give me strength:

• Star Trek
• Rock and Roll
• MASH
• Classic Cars
• The Lord of the Rings
• Attention to Detail
• Puns

And, Doc...the influence he has he uses well. He laid down "Rule Number One: Do No Harm." I like this rule very much. We've even started using it around the neighborhood (and not just with the kids). But kids respect it. It's simple. It covers a lot of ground. This will help the girls make HUGE life decisions in the future. It's an inspirational parenting tool and a stroke of genius.

Doc also takes his time. He explains stuff. He shows the kids stuff I don't know how to do. With my good looks and his know-how, they are going to be unstoppable!

Another bit of Doc's wisdom that we haven't shared with the kids yet (though Riley is reading this over my so the jig is up) is the idea of giving someone "A Pass." Imagine this. You're Doc's friend, right? You've been friends for a while. You've had a good time, shared some laughs. Then you goofed it up. Royally. You apologize to him and he looks you straight in the eyes and swings in close. "You. Get a pass." And he means it. I've never gotten a pass and then had the record of it thrown up in my face. This will also be of great service to the girs. It's unwise to harbor ill will to the people who are closest to you.

All in all, my girls are really lucky to have two wonderful gentlemen they can look up to and measure other people by. Pop and Daddy are the tops, so hopefully the girls will look for people like them to form their circles of friends. If that came true, baby, then I'll be on top of the world.

And I'm pretty lucky too.

Exclusive! John Mayer's Birthday Song Lyrics

If you hadn't heard, John Mayer has penned a tune in honor of Jennifer Anniston's birthday and I happen to have caught a glipse of it while we were in rehab together last week. Now, the man doesn't have a good track record for birthday gifts, so I'm sure you're all dubious. But, it's actually not too bad.

Happy Birthday, Jennifer

40 years isn't old to a sea-turtle
In fact you'd just be hitting your prime
And we could swim together forever
In Australian brine

Wrinkles are signs of beauty
My lovely Chelonioidea
Your tough exterior turns me on
Why don't you come out of your shell

Chorus
Swim with me
Through eternity
Your old age
Doesn't bother me
We'll smoke and drink
And laugh at others
We can be superior
Because we're sea turtle lovers

Anyway, that's all I caught. You can thank me later. I look forward to hearing this overplayed on top 40 radio stations for the next 3 months.

Oh, No! Say It Ain't So!

CBS has just greenlighted John Mayer's Variety/music show! Why?!? Why ?!? Why?!?

"I want to return talent to television...I want a show that rewards true talent." says the ever-smug Mayer.

Gag me. Stop slaggin' American Idol, you pompous, pretentious douchebag! You giant asshat!

Call me when it's cancelled.

Celebrities Who Have Appeared In My Dreams: John Mayer

It was night time and I was standing in the driveway, watching John Mayer move into the house across the street. We were preparing to have a party and invite him over, which I was doing under protest. I think the city had insisted we host it. Elizabeth came over to help and I was complaining bitterly that I had to live in such close proximity to him.

The party started and I watched as he ignored the locals and hung out with his roadies. He drank a lot and then disappeared. We started cleaning up and then were told we had to go to his concert. We had aisle seats about two thirds of the way back from the stage. It was a nice, summer evening, apart, of course, from the music.

At one point during the show, JM staggered down from the stage and was being supported by his roadies. He passed our seats and I followed them out of the amphitheater and into to the grape arbor. I sat down next to him on a trellised bench. He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken and had dark circles. He had snot running down his nose. He was wearing that horrible, green mankini and a Mexican blanket thrown over his shoulders.

“You’re a mess,” I told him.

He nodded.

“I’ve been watching you since you moved in,” I explained putting my hand on his shoulder, “You have got to get a handle on things.”

He leaned in on my shoulder and let me put my arm around him.

“I guess since we’re neighbors, I’ll have look after you.” I told him. It felt like the right thing to do, but I also felt a shiver of dread about facing what I was sure would be a huge pain in the ass.

I Have To Get Air Supply Off My iPod

I got their Greatest Hits CD from the library, under the influence of a blow to the head by nostalgia. One of my very first concerts ever was Air Supply. I saw them with my parents at the Front Row Theater in Akron. The Front Row, now defunct, was an interesting place to see a concert. The circular stage was in the center of the theater and rows of seats radiated out. The novelty of this place was that the stage revolved so that everyone could have a “Front Row” view of the band.

It was also a bit of a fancy theater; people got dressed up to go to concerts there. I was probably 10 years old when I put on a dress, tights, and patent leather shoes to ride 45 minutes with my parents to see Air Supply in concert. I was so psyched! Air Supply was on MTV and I was going to see them. It was a very grown-up evening for me. We got a program. I got a button. My Dad walked up the aisle to the stage’s edge and took pictures. It was awesome.

I look back at that evening, though, and scratch my head. What was it about Air Supply? Why would we want to go see them? And what was a 10 year-old doing being psyched by such a concert? Because I was definitely psyched. But, have you listened to the lyrics? Check them out…

I’m all out of love. I’m so lost without you. I know you were right, believing for so long. I 'm all out of love, what am I without you? I can't be too late to say that I was so wrong.

Or worse, here is a small sample of a truly bizarre song. If you get a moment, find the lyrics and read them in their entirety. Kooky, I tell you. But I’ll supply you with the kookiest, to save you some time.

I can make the run or stumble, I can make the final block; And I can make every tackle, at the sound of the whistle, I can make all the stadiums rock. [oh, really? Who do they think they are, Styx?] I can make tonight forever, Or I can make it disappear by the dawn; And I can make you every promise that has ever been made, And I can make all your demons be gone. But I’m never gonna make it without you, Do you really want to see me crawl? And I’m never gonna make it like you do, Making love out of nothing at all.

I just don’t understand what they mean by the last line. What does that mean? Can someone explain it to me please? “And I’m never gonna make it like you do, Making love out of nothing at all.” Does that mean she fakes it? I don’t know. It’s making my neck hurt, frankly, trying to figure this out. But, the bottom line is, why would my 10-year-old self be engaged by their music? It’s obviously aimed at adults who have mortgages. Perhaps my habit of listening to music and hearing the vocals as just another instrument is the key. I’m often surprised by the content of lyrics well after I’ve been snagged by a song’s hook [coughjohnmayercough].

Anyway, since I put their greatest hits CD on my iTunes and then synched my iPod (It’s a shuffle named Twiggy), I’ve enjoyed the occasional blast from the past from Air Supply, mingled amongst the likes of Sergio Mendez, the Black Eyed Peas, Blake Lewis, Dolly Parton, and the Old Crow Medicine Show. But whenever I hook up the iTunes to my car stereo, which the kids and I call “listening to rock and roll,” they complained loudly whenever any Air Supply tune came up. “That’s not rock and roll, Mommy…skip it!” I always comply, of course. I must maintain my cred as a rock and roll momma.

And now when I listen to my iPod at work, Air Supply comes up, I start grinding my teeth. It’s like…remember when Wendy’s started using “Blister in the Sun” for their add campaign and you were all like, “Whaaaaa?? The Violent Femmes on mainstream TV…awesome!” and then they kept playing it and then the band got in a fight saying Gordon Gano sold the rights without consulting the other two and then you’re pissed because your favorite fringe group had just sold out to a fast food restaurant and now when you hear that song it just cheeses you off instead of sending a thrill up your spine that something very special has just floated over the airwaves? It’s kind of like that. A little bit of shame and a shitload of annoyance.
Therefore, Air Supply delenda est. Toot sweet.

Winter Nightmare

“...waitin’, WAITIN’, waiting for the world to change…”, my alarm clock smugged at me. I slapped it with satisfaction in order to snooze for seven more minutes. Already disgruntled by hearing Mayer first thing in the morning, I had difficulty retrieving the threads of the bitchin’ dream I was in the midst of. I lay there in my jersey sheets, under a quilt, a wool army blanket, and a comforter thinking, “Is that my breath I see before me?”

I could linger no longer, lest I be late for work. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my clothes and ran into the bathroom to get ready. God, it’s cold. I turn the radio on in time to hear the weather. Four degrees. Four degrees! How much longer must I take this?!?

“A little over three weeks,” said the Groundhog.

“Seriously?” I said to him, hands on hips.

“Sorry, Dawg,” he shrugged, “My shadow don’t lie…peace out!” he said. He flipped up his collar, sneered at me, and ran after my cat.

Goddamned stupid rodent.

What can I do but wait for the world to change?

John Mayer Reads My Blog

Elizabeth informed me that John Mayer changed the lyrics of Waiting on the World to Change to We're Not Waiting on the World to Change for the Live Earth concert. I'm sure it's because he read this post.

Your welcome.

After Jessica Simpson Flings The Thesaurus He Gave Her At His Head...

John Mayer can use it to find words to express how regretful he feels:

• sorry


• apologetic


• remorseful


• contrite


• repentent


• conscience-stricken


• rueful


• penitent

Or how he was a big jerk...

• fool


• idiot


• rogue


• scoundrel


• dimwit


• dope


• creep


• heel

Or perhaps he can thumb through it to find ideas for less ill-advised gifts...

• diamonds


• book of poetry


• bath bombs


• flowers


• chocolate


• mazarrati


• a love song


• a spa day


• edible panties

The Wind Of Change Blows Straight Into The Face Of Time

Friday night is my night to drink. I've decided this after a successful carouse two Friday's ago (or was it last week?). I laughed like crazy with my friends, I ventured to get into an argument about poverty and racism with my racist friend and stood my ground quite nicely, thank you very much. I eventually felt sorry for him and changed the subject to Tyra Banks' arm vagina. We then dragged out the Singstar game for the play station and put on quite a show.

I hit my stride while singing "Wind of Change" by the Scorpions with my pal Elizabeth. Despite the fact that the words make very little sense and some of them are in Russian (!), we did very well. I think the song has to do with the iron curtain falling or the Berlin Wall falling. I know I was falling on my knees during this song in true Fantasia style while I belted my part. I think I even grabbed my crotch at one point.

So tip your glass to Friday and find yourself an anthem to crow. Just don't touch anything by John Mayer or I will never speak to you again.

SANJAYA MUST GO!!!

He has comitted a mortal sin in the eyes of yours truly; he sang "Waiting for the World to Change," the great and terrible slacker anthem. As I listened to this "performance," my blood ran cold; my mild distaste for this poor, wispy little person turned to icy hatred. I won't quote the lyrics in their entirity, lest you fall over dead from the overdose of holier-than-thou apathy dripping from the insidious lips of John Mayer. Steel yourself, here they come:

me and all my friends

we're all misunderstood

they say we stand for nothing and

there's no way we ever could

now we see everything that's going wrong

with the world and those who lead it

we just feel like we don't have the means

to rise above and beat it

so we keep waiting

waiting on the world to change

we keep on waiting

waiting on the world to change

First of all, I must say, John Mayer is one passive-aggressive mutherfucker and has now replaced Mel Gibson as my new whipping boy. This song gives the youth of today an excuse for fiddling while Rome burns, in my opinion. After all, scorched earth is a changed world, right? And when everything is burned to the ground, these self-righteous do-nothings can say, "Hey, you never asked me what I thought; it ain't my fault." I also have issues with John Mayer driving me to use a phrase like "the youth of today," but more on him at a later date.

Secondly, the fact that Sanjaya sang this anthem to shrugging to his teeming hordes of tween speed-dialers, makes me crazy (you can't blame his success on the Vote for the Worst people either; their pick is Sundance Head). It is an obvious ploy to appeal to the young, priviledged girls of America, who are his base and can afford the "standard text messaging rates," and whose lithe manicured fingers never tire of dialing. By coupling his wispy swarthiness with pretend depth and angst, he doubles his exoticism by making him seem both worldly and world-weary, kryptonite to his voting bloc.

When I watched him sing this, I wanted to gnash my teeth, scratch at my face and raise my fists to the gods and shriek for vengeance, Elektra style. I knew this performance would guarantee him a final twelve spot. After I counted to what I could remember of 1-10, I returned to my senses; there are still plenty of other guys who can be sacrificed in the contest before Sanjaya. As long as Blake and Chris R. are safe, I will stay my righteous anger. Instead, I profer forth this plea to the privilidged parents of preteens everywhere:

Fathers be stern with your daughters;
Daughters will vote for this tool, yeah.
Girls become fans who turn dorks into stars,
So mothers be stern with your daughters, too.

Boys you can bet,
They aren't interested in this shit.
Boys will ignore, and boys will move on,
But boys will be doomed if they don't vote

For Melinda's good, good voice.

On behalf of every fan, searching for a real winner,
You are in charge! Cut off her cell phone.
On behalf of every fan who needs real talent to win,
You are the hope, and can put an end to this cornpone.

Fathers be stern with your daughters,
Daughters will vote for this tool, yeah.
Girls become fans who turn dorks into stars,

So mothers be stern with your daughters, too.

So mothers be stern with your daughters, too.