You guys, I really had to sacrifice a piece of myself for this post.
Seriously. I lost like, a quarter of my brain cells, and definitely a bit of my hearing after all the bleeding my ears did. Did you say something?
And I’m not even referring to this gem featuring the so-very-talented Miley Cyrus. (It’s like a car crash. I don’t even know how I find these things/why I watch them.) I’m not even talkin’ about the creative genius that is Sir Kanye West for his (and Kim’s) performance in Bound 2. (This version is better by the way.) Although they all inspired this post.
I’m talking about the noise I heard on local radio station Q102 as I drove home from work a few days ago. I rarely listen to this station, but once in a while I do enjoy something on the pop side of things, to get me dancin’ while I’m drivin’. Q102 plays pop, rap/r&b, and the occasional hipster song. When the “song” started and someone started to yell “AY” repeatedly to the beat of a bell tolling, I was immediately captivated. It was like the heavens had opened before me, and all of the angels were singing on high. I think I had like three epiphanies. It all made sense…you know….life.
In reality I furrowed my brow and stared at my radio, thinking of ways to set it on fire or smash it to bits. Yet my hand didn’t lift itself to the dial and simply change the station. It couldn’t. I couldn’t. I had to listen until the end, frozen, a prisoner in my own body. I’m not even sure how I found my way home; my mind had gone blank for those few minutes, and when the torture ended I was never the same again. I was particularly amazed at how the smut had made it to the radio, since half of it had to be bleeped out due to inappropriate words.
Driving home from my j-o-b, I listened to someone yell “AY AY AY” and “pimps up, pimps up, hoes down, hoes down”, as I wondered whether or not I could afford all of the presents I have to buy this year….while this dude is probably driving a Mercedes. Blegh. I’m seriously considering getting my ass in a recording studio, drinking three bottles of wine and yelling profanities into a microphone. Think I’d sell an album?
Not that I want to give this crap more publicity, but what would this post be without the source of it all? I apologize in advance.
At least the title calls it like it sees it. This certainly is sh!t!
We’re gathered here today to remember a daughter, a friend, a fiance, a writer, a runner.
Nicole Marie may have spent too much time taking meaningless pictures of herself, or hitting the bottle, but we won’t remember her simply for her narcissism or her alcoholism; no, Nicole Marie will also be remembered, not always fondly, for her love of serial killers, video games, and procrastination.
When she set a goal for herself, Nicole Marie (usually) followed through. She began work on her first novel years ago, and after several struggles to stay motivated was very close to a finished manuscript. It’s really too bad she croaked before delivering it to the agent lady. I guess it just wasn’t in the cards for her. But at least she managed to get her name out there one time before leaving us forever.
Nicole Marie also had plans to run her first full marathon, a huge fitness goal she’d been looking forward to after years of struggling with body image. This was it, this was the goal of all goals, a mental and physical challenge she couldn’t wait to rip to shreds. She was only two weeks into training when it happened. Ah, well.
Her blog had finally started to gain speed, thanks to a mysterious clown and his blogging superpowers; she was so excited, so honored to be making so many amazing blogging friends (she’d even gained a second mom and dad), and spent most of her days sharing her blogging excitement with her wonderful fiance, Joe AKA Charlie. But now her blog will stand still for the rest of eternity – unless she is bad ass enough to figure out how to post from the other side. In which case, I’m sure she will take several dumb pictures of herself drinking good beer in a hot tub. And we all wanna see that.
Our thoughts are with her friends and family, who have lost one of the greatest human beings ever to grace this earth. It’s too bad she didn’t get off her ass and accomplish more during her short time with us. She could have been something truly great. Her fiance, Joe, is especially sad, since she will no longer be there to obsessively vacuum the dog’s hair off of the couch.
Her will was simple: Don’t bother donating my liver. It’s no good. But have someone skin me for my tattoos and use them as artwork above their fireplace. That’d be awesome. Oh, and question the creepy neighbor about my death. He knows. See ya!
Rest easy, Nicole Marie. We hope you’re drinking that big Paisano in the sky (or, you know…down there).
Is it real now When two people become one
I can feel it
When two people become one
You say isn’t it hard?
Paddling out, paddling out
One, two, three, four
Don’t leave me tongue tied
Let’s stay up all night
I’ll get real high
Slumber party; pillow fight
My eyes on your eyes Like Peter Pan up in the sky
My best friend’s house tonight
Let’s bump the beats till beddy-bye
This is all I have for today. I worked the morning shift (4:45 AM) and I have to do it again tomorrow and my head feels fuzzy on the inside. It’s that sleepiness where you feel like you’re drunk or just really dumb. My attention span is horr-