No me gusta the love
Jason had a bachelor party this weekend, so I drove to visit my parents, which was nice because:
1) I could drive as fast as I wanted, which incidentally, is quite fast,
2) I could have the heat set to how I like it, which incidentally, is quite hot, and
3) I could hit repeat on my CD player and listen to the same song over and over and over for 150 miles, until I learned the lyrics. Which, incidentally, was never. Because apparently I cannot understand lyrics unless they are printed in the CD liner notes.
(I once thought the lyrics to the song “Rollercoaster” went like this:
“No me gusta the love…” (instead of “Rollercoaster of love”).)
So yeah, my ability to figure out lyrics = Not So Good. In fact, on Friday, Jason and I were at Best Buy when he picked out a Black Crowes CD. I feigned horror at his selection and said, “You’re getting THAT? But they sing that really stupid song.”
“Which one?”
“You know, the one that goes, “˜Hey, lemon lime, you’re Chicano, cuz’ you’re sure hard to handle, let’s 69, 69.’”
After he attracted the attention of three Blue Shirts by doubling over and convulsing with laughter for many, many minutes, he managed to choke out, “WHAT?!”
Stupid Black Crowes.
