Get Me My Jet

Well, I had a good weekend. Well, not really. Actually it sucked. I'm suffering from PMDD which is PMS on steroids. Or more appropriately PMS with WAY too much estrogen. It's either going to pass any minute now or I'm going to buy a plane ticket to Aruba. Either way I'll feel better but one will cost a lot more than the other and both will put a slight strain on my marriage.

Last night I turned on the Super Bowl just in time to see the half time show - perfect timing. Bruce Springsteen brought back memories of my misspent youth. That show was just awesome, especially when you compare it to Janet Jackson nipple- shows of years gone by. I wish someone in the entertainment industry would realize it's music we love - not body parts. It's the body parts we can't help but stare at but that doesn't mean we all want to. It's kinda like driving by a car accident. The show was only marred by a woman in the audience who was wearing a red tank top and bouncing up and down. Why we couldn't just watch twelve minutes of Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band without boobage I couldn't tell ya? Obviously that cameraman was a man as, I'm guessing, was the director.

So I thought I'd start this Maniacal Pre-Menstrual Monday off with possibly a Bruce Springsteen song in honor of last night's performance, and also memories of the eighties, and in honor of one of Tim's many phases as a teenager (that would be the Bruce Springsteen phase, much preferred to the Billy Idol phase.) But I'm just not sure. At times like this when I'm feeling like I can't fold another piece of laundry or wash another dish without sticking my head in the snow there's only one song that keeps playing in my head. Just ignore all the lyrics about love and stick to the first two lines of the chorus. You'll be singing it all day long...