Tuesday, July 20th, 2010
Why did I spend many hours last night jamming on my couch to “Set Adrift on Memory Bliss?” Like many hours. Then I followed it up with PM Dawn’s “Die Without You,” and then a lot of Boyz II Men ballads. Then I had to practice my junior high slow dance, the kind where you sway back and forth with your arms extended and randomly mash your pelvises together at strange moments.
It turns out that two of the bands I slow danced with passion to from 11 to 13, aren’t half bad. I mean the guys from PM Dawn and Boyz II Men actually have good voices. If they went on Saturday Night Live they could croon it out with no thoughts of pulling an Ashlee Simpson. Plus, they wore matching hats.
I did so much slow dancing to “End of the Road,” in Junior High, I’m surprised I can’t recite every single word on demand. And “Set a Drift on Memory Bliss,” still resonates with coolness. I’m pretty sure my brother introduced me to that gem. Some of the music I listened to from 1991 to 1993 is just darn embarrassing. Like I owned a cassette with “Baby got Back,” on one side and “Baby got Back, the remix,” on the other. I also had a thing for Stone Temple Pilots and ironed on an STP patch to my backpack. Vomit. Vomit. But! after YouTubing the crap out of PM Dawn, I wear that 12-year-old memory with pride. Ummmm dah dah! Set a drift on memory bliss…
Man do I miss the ridiculous clothes of the early 90s. PM Dawn sure could dress the part!
Thursday, December 17th, 2009
Originally invented in the great state of North Dakota, where I always assumed it was too cold to bathe your children, Mr. Bubble did not come into my life when I was a kid. I only discovered the miraculous potion this fall when I was in the Hudson Valley with Craig for a leaf-peeping/binge drinking sexcursion.
I forgot to bring the Origins ginger float bubble bath I have been backstroking in for years, so we made a pilgrimage to the neighborhood minimart to get our hands on some bar soap we could throw against each other’s appendages. But there on a low shelf behind some expired food was a glorious bottle of Mr. Bubble! I didn’t have high hopes for the Crayola of bath products, but when I started pouring it into the tub, I sang a different tune. One bottle of the bubbleman could fill an airplane hangar. My entire body was completely covered in suds and the fact that the bathtub was built for a newborn rather than two adults, was forgotten.
I thank Mr. Bubble’s potent ingredient Hydroxyethylcellulose, a liquid thickener and foam stabilizer, for my hours of bathtub romance. I think they should start selling the stuff in the lingerie aisle or sex shops. Those Midwesterners would make a killing and revolutionize adult bath time forever!
Mr. Bubble inspires both clean and dirty fun for a mere $4.95!