Xylophones and Boob Jokes

 Hi my friends!!! Guess what?!? I’m going to another open mic night this Thursday!!! I’m super excited!!! However, I am also in the midst of a pretty wicked fear spiral which I will most likely remain in for the foreseeable  future.  Just picture me swirling in a giant fear drain screaming, “heeeeeeelllllppppp!!!” 

I made the colossal mistake over the weekend of re-watching my video from the last open mic and I am now totally freaking out… Did I make a giant pink ass out of myself last time??? I just don’t know anymore.  I am questioning everything from my choice of outfit to my hideous giggly voice.  Ug!!! Why, oh why, did I watch that video again???

Anyway, I’ve added more boob jokes.

My goal is to try and do my set without benefit of my notes, which scares me absolutely to death. My mind could go blank at any moment and I could end up standing there going, “Uh……” and staring off into space until they flash the red light at me.  It’s not like I’ve never frozen onstage before, there is precedent for this worry… But that’s a story for another time.  Suffice it to say, that little incident is still a “hilarious” family joke that shows no signs of dying no matter how many years have gone by.

I have my outfit picked out (super important), my bits written (mostly), and now I’m desperately trying to figure out what song I want them to play when I walk onstage… They let you pick the music you walk out to onstage! How cool is that???  Of course, I didn’t know that when I did my first open mic so I didn’t have anything picked out.  The only song I could think of off the cuff was the theme song for the podcast (Rock n’ Roll by Hillbilly Herald, best song ever), which of course they didn’t have, so I asked the dj to play anything by Snoop because he’s my favorite.

So what song did the dj pick out of the many amazing Snoop songs??? Gin and Juice? Lodi Dodi? Drop It Like It’s Hot?

Oh no, he played “Girls” by the Beastie Boys. Seriously??? I freaking HATE that song!!! It is so damn cheesy. Why??? Just why??? Because I’m a girl? Or is it because I look as if my main interest in life is girls in the morning, evening, and various other times of the day as indicated by the lyrics??? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but for crying out loud, I don’t look nearly interesting enough to be into the ladies.  I look like nothing less than what I am, which is an old married lady with a couple of kids.  Who apparently enjoys super irritating xylophone music from the 80’s.

I submit the song below so that you might understand how wretched it was to walk out to.  I feel that I can safely say that this is about as far away from the coolness of Snoop as you can get. 

So, that complaint being filed, this is the song that I have decided I would dearly love to walk out to:

Considering all of the material I seem to be drawing from this particular body part, I think it’s appropriate, don’t you???  However, I’m not holding out hope that the dj will have this song, so I am pleading for the help of you, my blog friends…

What song should I walk out to?  I can’t walk out to anything country because that is just so not me, but anything else is fair game.  Please help, oh please!!! Just leave your suggestions below in the comments section!!!

Thanks friends!!!

I hope you all have a wonderful week, and may the theme songs of your life never be played on the xylophone.

Ep. 10 The Unwanted Penis w/ guest Todd Misomelius

Are you ready to hear the dirtiest Firnecast yet??? I certainly hope so, because unwanted penises, propositioning a former teacher, and putting parts of your podcast inside a Kardashian are just a few of the highly inappropriate subjects you’ll be hearing about this week… If you DARE!!! Can you count the wayward Todd burps? We suggest making a drinking game out of it! Oh please enjoy, pretty please!!!


Business in the front, party in the back.

There is just something about a good mullet.

Something amazing.

I mean, there is absolutely nothing you can do but admire a choice so bold.  I know, there is a segment of the population that is somewhat horrified by them but I, quite simply, am fascinated.  Not ironically.  Because, to borrow a quote from “Mullet Junky,” “To a true mullet connoisseur, the mullet is not viewed as just a haircut. It’s a phenomenon…a culture…a rare breed that can transform interest and curiosity into obsession.”   

Truer words were never spoken.  At least when it comes to the proud heritage of the mullet.

It takes a very special person, a rebel, if you will, to rock a “Camaro crash helmet.”  

After all, this is a haircut that went out of style at least 20 years ago, yet men & (sadly) women across this great land are still clinging to their “Kentucky waterfalls” with the same sort of fierce pride guys devote to their underpants from high school. 

Personally, and I feel comfortable going out on a limb here, I believe I have seen one of the most magnificent (yet slightly disturbing) mullets that has ever graced this fair earth. Surely it must have been at the height of mullet mania, when I was a mere child? Oh no, no it most certainly was not. This mullet was spotted in approximately 2000, when I was living with my (super cool) friends in an apartment (magical times) in Laramie. (I feel it is important to give the location, as some of you may be Laramites and could potentially spot it for yourselves.) 

As I blearily walked out to get my mail after waking up one afternoon, I saw a red flash in the corner of my eye. I turned my head, not sure what might meet my eyes… It was spectacular. Breathtaking, really. Surely it couldn’t be real? My bleary eyes must be deceiving me. I rubbed them and looked again. Oh no, this was no trick of the light, but a genuine, 100%, lady mullet. A femullet, the rarest of all.  Not only that, but it was bright red, a dash of blonde, and a whole lotta wonderful. It had all the makings of a kick ass “achy breaky mistakey.” Short on the top, spiked lovingly with gel, slightly longer sides smoothed seamlessly into a waist length extravaganza of curly awesomeness the likes of which I can never hope to see again. Friends, I can only wish for you a sight such as this. It was one of those moments in life you think to yourself, “Right here, right now, all is right with the world. I’m exactly where I was meant to be.”

In writing about this, I felt it important for me to gain some insight into what goes on under a mullet. The inner workings, if you will, of the courageous few, the mullet-havers.  For this, I had only one place to turn: my very own brother.  Yes, shockingly, Dan was in possession of his very own mullet for over a year.  To be fair, he was a little kid, but still, his skull was covered in mullet for a time.  I asked the obvious question, “Why?!? Just why?!?” and he replied with the only answer he could have, “MacGyver.”

“MacGyver.” These days, it’s just a whisper on the wind.  The ghost of mullets past.  I can’t help but think that MacGyver’s hair was sort of like Samson’s.  It was the source of his power.  He could make a bomb out of gum and a paper clip, but only because of the proud sandy mop atop his noble head. It showed his every emotion. Intelligent but fun, serious but sensitive… No other style could have such range. He would have been nothing without that “nape drape.”

Mullets were slow to die, but die they did.  At the urgings of many a wife, I’m sure.  I like to think that whenever a mullet man’s wife finally nags him into divesting himself of his sweet, sweet “Canadian passport,” MacGyver’s is looking down from heaven, a tear slowly running down its sideburn.  

So, my friends, next time you see a “Tennessee top hat,” don’t scoff. A good mullet is hard to find these days.  It must be treated as the rarest of flowers.  They are to be treasured and admired, for who knows when next you may see one? 

I hope you all have a wonderful, exciting week! May your neck be ever warm, and your forehead ever cool.