http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8zlUUrFK-M
Dearest scunts,
Please cut and paste the above link into a separate window, close your office door, and get ready to listen to this shit full blast as soon as you're done reading this post. NOT YET. Wait for it.
Yes, it's the Jurassic Park Theme Song. Aka The Greatest Song Ever Composed. Aka The Song That Stops Me From Murdering People. For ser.
Every morning when I wake up, before I open my eyes, I hope that THIS time, THIS morning, I'm going to wake up in a lovely beach house in Thailand. I'll hear the waves crashing against the beautiful, soft white sand outside my window and feel the cool, salty breeze blow ever so gently over my naked body. As I sit up, I'll realize I'm not tired at all, because I slept for 12 solid, peaceful hours. I'll look in the mirror and see that my face actually looks more youthful, my eyes full of sparkling hope and excitement.
A few moments later, several gorgeous man servants will knock on the door to my beach hut, then come in, shirtless, and start massaging my feet and neck. One will hand me a smoothie and another one will hold up several bikini options, all of them coated in diamonds or pearls. I'll make my selection and they'll dress me while remarking how rock hard my body is, even after having two children. Just then, the children will burst in and jump on the bed giggling and attacking me with kisses. They'll be perfect cherubic bundles of soft skin and baby smell, and they'll only speak when spoken to. Every time one of them burps, rubies and emeralds fall out of their mouths, and I add them to the pile. After reciting some of the poetry they wrote just this morning (they're obviously ridiculously smart and articulate), they'll both give me grizzly bear hugs and scamper off. I won't see them again until they're sun kissed, scrubbed clean and dressed in white linen just in time for our 10-course dinner. I'll spend the day swimming and working on my 15th successful novel and having spontaneous orgasms about once an hour with little effort. I'll laugh so much my stomach will ache, and I'll soothe the pain with a honey-dipped joint that the children will have rolled for me.
Then I open my eyes.
Son. Of a fucking. bitch.
I'm still in my closet of a bedroom and I'm running late, again. I look around and dry heave for a few minutes, and wipe a single, perfect tear off my cheek. You know that scene in Home Alone when the parents wake up the morning they're supposed to fly to Paris? "WE SLEPT IN!!" And then there's that insanely fast and spastic nutcracker music as the whole family scrambles around the house like a band of savages trying to get ready? That's pretty much my morning routine, complete with that soundtrack playing in my head the entire time. I struggle to get ready in 25 mins even though I know it takes 45. I shave half of one leg, add scope to my coffee in an attempt to kill two birds with one stone, put my thong on inside out and inevitably create a run in my nylons as I will them onto my still wet legs.
Obviously I'm swearing like a trucker the whole time. I put on super bright lipstick in the hopes that it "brightens" the rest of my tired, pale face. It doesn't. When I finally make it out the door into the freezing morning air, the real fun begins. Usually I slip on our front porch or on the way down the stairs. I break the fall with my knees, prompting my male coworkers to exchange knowing looks and elbow jabs later in the day as they examine the bruises. What modern woman's day is complete without at least a little sexual harassment? After I scramble back onto my feet, the mad dash to the streetcar begins. This is often accompanied by more falling.
When I finally make it to the main street, 9 times out of 10 an empty streetcar whizzes past me mockingly and my eyes well up with tears of bitter rage, which then leak down my face and ruin my inexpertly applied makeup as I hobble to the streetcar stop, defeated. The next streetcar that comes is rammed with about 150 people even though the capacity is about 50. "Awesome" I mutter under my breath. Usually there's only enough room for me to squeeze onto the front steps, prompting the driver to yell something along the lines of "MIND THE DOORS!" Or "Get ya butt inSIDE the CAR!" (today's sermon).
I force myself to smile at the people around me. I have to admit that they share my pain. The next 20 minutes are a combination of trying not to barf as this prehistoric vehicle jerks to sudden stops every 10 seconds; seeing how long I can go without breathing since buddy standing next to me has either just smoked a pack of cigarettes or feasted on festering road kill and has decided to breathe through his mouth; and digging my nails into my thighs while I try to endure the Metallica blaring from the guy at the end of the car's headphones. Serenity now.
Once I reach my destination at the corner of Douche and Soulless, I stand in line at Starbucks for 15 minutes. Why. Oh yeah - because the office coffee tastes like chalky semen. Right. As I'm standing in line for my morning medicine, I can't help but look at all the suits around me and wonder how I became one of them. In true Scarlett O'Hara fashion, I tell myself I can't think about that now... I'll think about that tomorrow.... I pick up my coffee from the flamboyant barrista and start rushing towards the elevator (no one better talk to me...) which will rocket me to my office on the top floor of the tallest tower, where I will gaze out the dirty window at the polluted and boring city below like a sad Rapunzel until quittin' time.
I know, right? Gross. So how do I make it through this daily routine without spontaneously stabbing someone in the neck?
Jurassic Park Theme song, bitches.
You have no idea how much I'm not joking. This shit seriously keeps me alive.
Ever since one of my friends, the Dauphin (shout out) told me that his older brother and his friends used to serenade each other with this joyous melody on the way home from a night of drinking, I've been hooked. It's the perfect drunk song - no words, and everyone knows how it goes. You can test it out for yourself. Next time you find yourself sitting around circle jerking with your roommates or quietly waiting for a movie (porn) to start with your BF/GF, just start humming it. I promise that within 10 seconds, the other person will unconsciously join in. Then they'll be all "what IS that?" And you'll be like "Jurassic Pizzark, son!" And they'll be like "YES! I love that shit!" Trust.
I now listen to this glorious masterpiece on repeat when I'm on the streetcar and waiting in line at Starbs. It makes me so happy I feel like I'm going to burst into flames of passion. And you KNOW I hum that shit out loud. I don't care if people stare at me awkwardly. In time they start humming along too.
I wish this song would play from big-brothery loud speakers throughout the city. Everyone would be walking around with giant toothy smiles, doing air punches and Celine Dion power-fist moves. Yes! Note to those who know me: I want this shit to play on repeat at my funeral. Don't fuck with this.
I'm playing JP at my wedding FOR SHO - live and shit. And I want it blaring when my future spawn come tearing out of my love hole. Obviously this is the best soundtrack for bursting into this cruel world - I can't deny them this!
It's time - open that other browser window and press play, my friends. If you're thinking "fuck, this song's going to be in my head forever now!!", you're right. And you know what? You're welcome.
You're my boy, John Williams!! You're my boy.
