Love you, Mean... Whatever

I’m very depressed because my portable dvd player recently died. This means I cannot watch my Sex and the City season three on the way to Dallas. I absolutely love this show. The nudity. The sex chats. But mostly it reminds me that I should have dinner more often with my girlfriends.

I have decided that besides sleeping, which Bobby encourages because if I’m sleeping on the drive, I’m not nagging, I would try to solve this week’s top two things that bug me.

First, Why don’t male rockers age gracefully? I’ve been hooked on that show “Hit Me Baby One More Time.” Its on NBC, where one hit wonders compete. Goofy I know but it’s like a blast from your past. But here’s my question, why does it seem that the female performers has grown old gracefully. Sophie still looked hot singing “Damn I wish I was Your Lover.” Yet it seemed odd when a middle age Lover Boy belted out “Everybody’s Working For The Weekend”. Bobby was getting a little ticked as I screamed “just show me one hot middle aged rocker.” At the tv.

And secondly, the rumor is the hottest catch phrase in Key West is “love you, mean it.” Its trite, its puzzling, yet I find myself wanted to put it on everything I sign.

I’d love to stay and share more things that baffle me but I am off to spread sunshine to my family in Dallas. Ok, they put up with me because I deliver Prince Nicholas…

Have a good weekend. Do something wild because even my vicarious lives are in a slump. And remember, Love you, mean it…