Working with Beyoncé...

I know it's been awhile, so I would like to apologize to the two people who look at my blog. Sorry. Now that thing is out of the way, I'd like to tell you about my day...

Last week, I purchased a brand new phone. It's nice being able to keep in contact with friends and loved ones. It is an electric blue and has an awesome mp3 player that doesn't need headphones to play songs, but the best part is that it holds like 200 songs. So I went to my iTunes and loaded the sucker up with some good stuff to listen to while I stand around at work pretending to be busy. It's really cool because it's like having a soundtrack.

As both of you may know, I work construction. Construction guys are a fairly rough and manly bunch. The guys that I work with are former military men, bar brawlers, and are forbidden to return to various foreign countries (more on that in another blog), so when I say rough, I mean "the kind of people that can make Clint Eastwood cry ," rough. And then there is me.

I listen to a wide variety of music and I happened to remember I had a phone and brought it in with me. I'm just minding my own business, listening to a Dragonforce number called Through the Fire and Flames, bobbing my head and pretending to inspect the electrical conduit in the ceiling, when my buddy comes up (one of the ones forbidden to go to certain countries) and starts to groove out with me.

So we are both standing there bobbing our heads like stunt doubles in the movie The Night at the Roxbury. He's digging the speed metal and rap just as much as me when our boss shows up. Johnny Cash is up next with A Boy Named Sue. The Boss digs that so he sticks around to have a listen. So then there are three of us grooving to the tiny speaker on my cell phone. This makes the rest of the crew curious as to what we're doing. In short order, we have eleven guys bobbing their heads in time pretending to inspect pipe in the ceiling. This goes on for about ten minutes and by then three songs have gone by.

I put 200 songs on my phone and it was set on random. I had no idea what songs I had on there, let alone what would come up next. So when Beyoncé showed up with Halo, nobody really reacted right away. They were too caught up groovin' to the beat, but then one by one they started to take notice. Within the space of two seconds, I went from being the cool guy with speed metal blasting from his shirt pocket, to the guy who had just sprouted a third eye in the middle of his forehead. That's what you would think by the way they were looking at me. I had never seen so many guys take off so fast since the Olympics. I was shunned the rest of the day... or I may have hidden in shame.

I'm not saying Beyoncé sucks. She is über talented and I still love her music (even though she made me look like a fool in front of my co-workers). I am just saying that there are appropriate times to listen to certain kinds of music. What is the moral of this story? Let's just say... playlists are now my friends.

Thanks for the Vent Session.

What things sound like on the floor...

I was lying on the floor of my friends bedroom the other day because it was cooler than the living room, which felt like 100 degrees and a few people decided to join me. While I was on the floor, a buddy of mine was lying on the bed with a girl and they began to singing kids songs. I was content to lie there and dose off when the owner of said bedroom came in and started talking to the other two. They begin to muse about the music they were singing, and the girls, who are dear friends, have began a rather "spirited chat" about which one has done the other more bodily harm over the years. The whole time I am lying on the floor chuckling to myself. Then buddy of mine decides to bust out with the foot massages which are received with great enthusiasm. It was all perfectly innocent stuff, but those moans... sounded SO dirty.

The kids songs chick insists that she doesn't want a foot rub and begins a rant about how awkward it would be to have someone touch her feet. Meanwhile, "bedroom owner" is praising the inventor of the foot massage and making a weird kind of meowing sound. Kids songs girl starts to get jealous and requests a rub of her own, but "bedroom owner" isn't having any of it. They argue about fair play and start to list injuries incurred from each other. Alas, their argument goes beyond words and they get into a little physical altercation. "Kids songs" tries to put up a fight, but gets soundly trounced. Being the kindhearted girl she is, "bedroom owner" feels bad and relents. Friends again, "kids songs" happily starts her foot rub. The sounds she makes are dirtier than "bedroom owners". I, feeling forgotten, slightly voyeuristic, and a fifth wheel all rolled into one, pop up from the floor, like a giant daisy, and declare that these foot massages sound like people in mid copulation and that I will write a blog about it.

Keep in mind that I don't have the best of memories. Some of what I have written might be imagined or fantasized , but I'm pretty sure that everything I've written is accurate. What's the moral you ask? Heck if I know, I just thought it was an interesting story. If you are craving a moral lesson, maybe this will satisfy:

"When doing things that sound dirty, make sure you don't have anyone lying on your bedroom floor who has an active imagination and a blog."

-Bigjun

Thanks for the Vent Session...