Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week's words are:
Net
Lock
Flipped

Hi... I know you didn't expect to see me here. I got the address from your mother. You look better than ever. Look, I don't quite know how to say this, so I'm just gonna say it.

I love you.

I've never stopped loving you. And I know you probably don't feel the same, but I've basically been running around in circles the past five years. Looking for something that I'd already found. Looking for something I lost.

And I know this probably doesn't change things, and that's OK. But I just had to let you know. Just in case...

Standing on her porch, I went over the words again and again in my head. What I wanted to say. How I wanted to say it. My hands shook as I reached to press the doorbell.

This was it. I was jumping without a net. But the danger wasn't in dying, or failing. The danger was in not living. Not trying.

In a few seconds, I would know. And that would be enough.

My heart pounded into my head. My stomach flipped. My throat was suddenly dry. I attempted to swallow, but couldn't. Then I heard someone turn the lock.

"Since you've been gone, there's something I wanna say. Since you've been gone, there's no one taking your place. Since you've been gone, I've just been foolin' around..."

Labels: 3WW, fiction

I was awakened by a text message at 7:16 Monday morning. It read, "By by shula channel six." That was my Mom, alerting me that Alabama's football coach had been fired. (Except that it actually said channen six. But she's only been texting for a short time, and I don't think she knows how to delete or backspace yet.) Anyway, that probably tells you more about my life and background than anything.

Thus ended my Thanksgiving holiday weekend. It wound up being more eventful than the False Messiah had anticipated. First of all, Wednesday was Laura's last day on General Hospital. It was incredibly sad. And might I add, cruel, for them to bring her back then snatch her away just as quickly.

I also noticed that with my gray pullover sweater and glasses, I was beginning to look a bit like Dillon Quartermaine. Although when I took the GH personality quiz online, it said I was most like Nikolas. Which is probably accurate.

Thursday was good, as I got to see Mom, Dad, and my sister. And eat. And then play Clue and 80's Trivial Pursuit with friends. Although I kept blurting out answers to other people's questions. And everyone got mad. Well, not really mad. More like slightly perturbed, in that it's-cute-at-first-but-now-it's-getting-old-but-still-it's-Bone-so-what-can-you-do kind of way.

Mom had oral surgery Friday. Even though she didn't say anything, I could tell she was really nervous about it, as she'd never been put to sleep. My sister and I took turns sitting with her Friday and Saturday, as she pretty much laid around all weekend. She seems to be doing OK now.

Saturday night, I went to see Bobby. Let's just say it wasn't what I expected. And I mistook Demi Moore and Emilio Estevez for Courtney Cox and David Arquette. But the video and audio clips of Robert Kennedy campaigning and speaking were worth the price of admission for me. They don't make speakers like that anymore.

Began my Christmas shopping Sunday and put up my tree last night. (I'll try and post a picture later.) Also checked to make sure my Festivus pole was still in the crawlspace. It was. I'll be dragging that out later this month.

I've also spent the past couple of days pondering my dating quiz results from the post below. I think that False Messiah would be a killer rap name, should I ever decide to pursue that avenue.

Here are just a few lines I've been spitting, as the kids say:
I'm the False Messiah/This ain't Mount Moriah/I don't know Hezekiah/But you can call me king/My street cred's invincible/My rhymes super sensible/Your crime indefensible/If you don't dance and sing...

I'll keep tweaking it. It's all a process. A journey. I imagine this is how Eminem got started. Or at least Weird Al.

"Come on, weatherman, give us a forecast snowy white. Can't you hear the prayers of every childlike heart tonight..."

Daphne. "He said you could never ma a commitment to anyone, and you'd just wind up hurting me."
George: "He said that? What a nerve! How dare he say something like that!"
Daphne: "Is it true?"
George: "Of course not... I mean sure, there may have been one or two occasions in the past, when I may have reacted in an impulsive or somewhat immature manner. But those days are well behind me."

Got this little quiz from Circe.

The False Messiah Deliberate Brutal Love Master (DBLMm) People believe in you, and then you send them to hell. Behold, the False Messiah. You're usually a very kind person, and conscientious, too. Socially, you're a leader, and your friends and associates look up to you. You're probably tall. In intimate relationships, you're a capable, responsive, and experienced lover. Outside the box, however, you run into trouble. Your exact opposite: The Pool Boy Random Gentle Sex Dreamer Girls fall hard for you, but you're much more ambivalent about them. The beginnings of your relationships are unusually intense, making it all the rougher on her when they end. At first, using all your accumulated tricks of the trade, you ladle on the affection. But once she's all covered in soup, you withhold the true napkins of commitment. What's that all about? We should've called you the False Waiter. You're looking for Love. But history tells us you struggle to settle down and accept it. There's a deep streak of carnality within you. And while you'll never be a predator, you'll always fight the urge to roam free. You like to plan things out, so plan this: find someone who can indulge your selfish side, has a healthy sexual appetite, and doesn't mind uncertainty. FLEE: The Sonnet, The Window Shopper PURSUE: The Stiletto, The Peach, The Nymph Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating.

Geez, that's the last time I'm completely honest on some stupid love quiz. Although stilettos are hot.

One of my favorite questions was #26: Do you ever start a relationship already knowing you want out?

Who would ever do something like that....... what..... What's everyone looking at?

"Moons and Junes and ferris wheels. The dizzy dancing way you feel. As every fairy tale comes real. I've looked at love that way..."

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don't spend too much time on it. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week's words are:
Smoke
First
Rolling

The morning was cold. Frost sprinkled across the grass. My breath like smoke in front of my face. Steam coming off his bald head. Which sometimes made me laugh. But not this morning.

It was 7 AM. My first day out of school for the holidays. I didn't know much, but I knew there was no way on Earth I should be up this early. Unless it was to play Nintendo.

"Do you know how to use this?"
"No," I said in my most disgruntled 14-year-old voice.
"It's a post hole digger. You do it like this."

He began to demonstrate, driving the contraption into the ground. His flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I always wondered if my arms would ever get to be as big as his.

"Here. Try it."
I gave it my most half-hearted effort. The ground was hard. The old wood handles cut into my hand.
"It's too hard," I whined.
Rolling his eyes, he uttered one of his favorite all-time phrases.
"What you gonna do when your ol' Dad's not around anymore?"
Sleep, I thought.

I was sure he was trying to teach me some kind of lesson, but I was much too cold and ill to know or care what it was.

"When you comin' home, son? I don't know when. But we'll get together then. You know we'll have a good time then..."

Labels: 3WW, dad

One day last week after work, I was walking across the parking lot to check my mail. Without bothering to look, I could tell that a car had slowed down and come to a stop right in front of the parking lot. I figured they were waiting for oncoming traffic to clear so that they could turn left. But no.

Before I reached the mailbox, I heard a car door open and a voice yell, "Hey! Get off my a--!"

This caused me to finally look over, and I saw that a car had come to a complete stop right in the middle of a wet, rather busy two-lane street. The driver had his head out the door glaring at the guy behind him.

I was just waiting for shots to be fired or something. So I pondered what I would do, you know, if it all started going down right there.

I figured my best hope would be to dive onto the concrete. Then using skills I learned playing in driveway culverts when I was eight years old, I would belly crawl until I found cover behind the nearest car in the parking lot. Once there, I would try and call for help on my cell phone.

Fortunately, my emergency plan of action wasn't needed in this case. The irate driver closed his door and started going again. And the car behind him revved up its engine and rode his tail all the way down the street. Mission accomplished, Ace.

But this isn't a post about road rage or making oneself look like a total idiot while endangering the lives of those around you. Although those topics deserve their fair share of attention.

No, this is a post about what was going on inside my head as the situation unfolded. And how I often think thru possible worst-case scenarios like this. There are many other examples.

When I'm running in the park, if it's after dark, there usually aren't many other people on the track. A couple of times I've been the only one. And I often think, what would I do if someone jumped out of the darkness and attacked me?

For some reason, the first thing that always comes to mind is that I would throw my keys into the woods. That way, they couldn't steal my car. Although just thinking about it now, throwing my car keys into the woods somehow doesn't seem quite as brilliant as it does when I'm running.

And I always think that even though I've been running and I'm quite tired, that my assailant is probably out of shape, and I could still outrun them to the road and flag down a passing car for help.

One night last week I was coming out of Wal-Mart. There's been a rash of robberies in the Wal-Mart parking lot lately. So I started thinking, what if someone jumped me right now? What would I do?

I've always thought there's no way I would just hand my wallet over to a thief. That most are cowards who don't want to shoot anyone, so I'd make them fight for it. That's probably stupid. And I've probably seen one too many Jason Morgan escapes for my own good.

But still, I think things like, "I have my cell phone in my hand. If I hit them in the head with it, that'll probably knock them out." Would it? Who knows. But that's what I think about anyway.

And there you have it. A look inside my head. Something tells me I should spend more time pondering things like what I would say if I encountered a cute girl. I guess it all goes back to something I learned at the only boy scout meeting I ever attended. Be prepared.

Does anyone else ever think about such things?

"I was flying, just like a track star. Dying, nah, I ran through the back yard. Trying to get into my building..."

The Office is money. The cast is outstanding. The writing is fresh and funny. I can even overlook the Pam and Jim will-they-or-won't-they thing which has been done to death in television, because the rest of the show is so brilliant. And also because I was rooting for them to get together myself.

It has become the proverbial water cooler show. As well it should. For in my opinion, The Office is, quite simply, the best sitcom since Seinfeld.

Besides making it's way into pop culture, workplace conversations, and blogs, I think that The Office may or may not be effecting the way I behave at work.

Now I've always been a bit of a jokester around the office. Doing things like taping the receptionist's mouse to the desk, ringing the doorbell when she's in the bathroom and has locked the front door. You know, the usual.

But lately, I've been trying to be more "official" with things. We have a small office. Only five full-time employees, along with a general manager and an owner, both of whom are out more than they are in. Still, just because we are small in number does not mean we can't be a real office.

So lately I've been doing things like this. Today, we were out of tissues. So instead of asking the secretary--oh I'm sorry, administrative assistant--if she could pick some up, I said, "I'd like to turn in a requisition form for some tissues. Preferably Kleenex, in the box with blue and purple flowers."

The other day, one of our computers went down. And instead of asking the administrative assistant to call about it, I said, "I need to turn in a trouble ticket on one of our computers."

See how much more official that sounds? I'm even thinking about turning in a requisition form for a booklet of trouble tickets. Although I'll have to order the requisition forms first. And pay for them out of my own pocket.

I'm not sure how well my little tactics are working yet. Sure, people smile or snicker. But then it's right back to their humdrum-thirty-years-til-I-die lives.

Also, tornado drills, when you're the only one sitting in the hall with your head between your legs, not safe, just... odd. And don't even get me started on the time I tried to institute a fire drill.

Nevertheless, I will press on in my quest to create a more official, and therefore, efficient workplace. Because my credo is, I may not be able to change this office. But I will never allow this office to change me.

And I will not be redacting that statement.

"And if your train's on time, you can get to work by nine. And start your slaving job to get your pay..."

Today is I Love To Write Day, coincidentally.

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don't spend too much time on it. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week's words are:
Stool
Dancing
Flushed

From my seat at the bar, I watched her. In the spaces in between people passing, I caught frequent glimpses of her dancing. Sometimes she'd look over and smile or wave. It was a scene that had played out countless times before. This was her at her best. Smiling. Shining. Everybody loved her. Including me.

When I saw the next stranger approach her and strike up a conversation, I headed for the door. It was raining outside. And the street was mostly deserted. Everyone having found a warm, dry place inside one of the many bars, pubs, and restaurants.

By the time I reached the corner, it was pouring. I wondered if she'd noticed the empty stool yet. Five more blocks to the parking garage. But I didn't run. I didn't even walk fast. Just looked towards the sky and closed my eyes. The rain felt cleansing. And I felt like I needed to be cleansed.

When I got back to the apartment, I changed into dry clothes, then packed up my things. Stopping a couple of times to look at pictures of us. I wondered why people only take happy pictures.

I wondered what she'd think when she got home and realized I was gone. Would she know why?

It wasn't about her. It was about us. We just didn't work together. And it was about me. With addiction, if you're lucky, there comes a day when you wake up and realize you have to change. No one can do it for you. I was lucky.

Before I left, I went into the bedroom and took three pill bottles from the back of the desk drawer. Then I went into the bathroom. Opening the first bottle, I gripped it so tightly I'm surprised it didn't crush. I stared at myself in the mirror. For ten seconds, or more. My eyes were clear.

I poured out the pills and flushed them down the toilet. Part of me wondering if I'd regret it as I watched them disappear. Then I did the same with the other two bottles.

It was a little past midnight and still raining as I loaded my bags into the car. I realized you don't really feel the rain when you're high. Not in the same way.

I was still driving at 2:30 when the phone rang. I knew she'd find a way home. She always did.

I didn't answer. She'd be mad about the pills.

"And where you go I hope you find out there, a better rain. The kind that comes in off the coast and paints the sky. And lets you know that God's alive..."

Labels: 3WW, fiction

Sorry if I haven't been around to your blogs as much lately. But last week, I was called to that most noble of American duties. And it has been taking up much of my time. I know, I know, some people shy away or try and make up excuses why they can't do it. But not this American. I have answered the call.

Yes, friends. I, Bone, have been selected to keep a Nielsen TV Viewing Diary. And I take this opportunity, yea, responsibility, very seriously. For the past five days, I have been meticulously keeping a record of everything I watch on television. It feels good to be doing something that matters.

After all, how else will they know to keep airing Seinfeld reruns in syndication. That no one watches the CW, still. And that ABC's disastrous ratings are due, in large part, to such shows as Men In Trees, Six Degrees, and What About Brian. What, you've never heard of any of those shows? Exactly.

When you begin your Nielsen TV Diary, you are asked to answer a few generic questions about your household. Things like, how many TV sets are in your home? Is this TV connected to a satellite dish? Would you be interested in a reality show that was called, say for example, Dick Cheney's Prison Camp? I answered yes, although I don't really see how that is relevant.

Once you begin your diary, you learn there is more to it than simply logging the shows you watch. There are columns for "TV set off," "TV on but no one watching/listening," and "TV on but currently surfing porn." Again, I'm not quite sure what they're able to extract from this data. But ours is not to question why.

Let's dig a little deeper now. Beyond the ratings. A quick analysis of my Nielsen TV Viewing Diary reveals some interesting things about me, as a TV viewer, and as a person.

My logging week began this past Thursday at 5 AM. So basically thru five days, I've watched approximately twenty-six hours of television. That's more than five hours per day! As you might imagine, I was shocked to learn I watched this much TV.

Although if you subtract Saturday, when I watched about seven and a half hours of football (and about ten minutes of Cruel Intentions on FX), the average comes down a bit.

Breaking it down further, my twenty-six hours of television has included the following:
- 12 hours of sports or sports-related programming. (Unless you count Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making The Team as sports programming. Then it's 13. And if you count High Stakes Poker as sports, then it's 14.25.)
- 7.5 hours of ESPN or ESPN2 (Included in the above sports total.)
- 4 hours combined between A&E and the History Channel (Cold Case Files, American Justice, Columbine Massacre, and the Manhattan Project.)
- 2.5 hours of General Hospital (Not counting anytime I may or may not have watched at work.)
- 2.5 hours of Seinfeld (Not surprisingly.)

My diary ends Wednesday night. Then it's back to civilian life. But I'm thinking of keeping one for fun after that. It's kinda like Quicken for time management. Find out where all your free time goes.

"Come and knock on our door. We've been waiting for you. Where the kisses are hers and hers and his..."

They stole our hearts... well, your hearts... with a string of timeless, sugary, teeny-bopper hits like The Right Stuff, I'll Be Loving You Forever, and Step By Step. They played to sell out audiences and sold millions of records. They were the New Kids On The Block.

But as the 80s gave way to the 90s, the music of the 80s was replaced by alternative music, hardcore dance, and bands from Seattle. Their legions of fans got out of junior high and began driving, and the New Kids popularity began to subside.

The New Kids tried changing to a new, tougher image. And even changed their name, to NKOTB, in 1993. Anytime a band changes its name, you know the end is near. (Well, except for Jefferson Airplane/Starship/Jefferson Starship/Space Shuttle Jefferson. But that's just good music.)

But the end had been a long time coming. The first time I heard Step By Step, and it got to "step four" in the bridge near the end of the song, and I realized Joey's voice had changed. I knew. It was over. It was just a matter of time.

So the New Kids broke up in 1994. Each of the five members left to pick up the pieces of their life. Their fall having been almost as swift as their meteoric rise. Which begs the question, where are they now?

Jordan Knight has been one of the most visible members of the band. If only because of his appearance alongside Brigette Nielsen, Dave Coulier, Flava Flav, and Charro, on season three of The Surreal Life, the show for ex-celebrities who have no place left to go.

Knight has released at least four solo albums. And he's been the one member who hasn't run from his status as an ex-New Kid. Even embracing it at times. To wit, he released an album of remixes in 2004, ten years after the New Kids broke up, imaginatively titled Jordan Knight Performs New Kids On The Block. Which would be somewhat akin to Ian Ziering going on tour performing his favorite Beverly Hills 90210 scenes.

Puberty hits us all at different times and in different ways. But it must have been particularly difficult for Joey McIntyre. Thanks to unfortunate timing, the youngest New Kid has his awkward voice change burned onto disc for all of posterity. His "I can give you more" line on Step By Step might be one of the five worst recorded vocals in music history.

McIntyre appeared for a season on Boston Public, acted in an off-Broadway play, and in 2005, he blew our minds again, finishing third on Dancing With The Stars. He's also recorded a handful of solo albums, and scored a top ten single with Stay The Same in 1999. But nothing will ever come close to his wistful, pre-pubescent crooning on Please Don't Go Girl. That, my friends, was magic.

Donnie Wahlberg was the first member of the group chosen during a talent search in the Boston area in the mid-1980's. After the group broke up, Wahlberg first worked on writing and producing music for his younger brother, Mark. Then both brothers ventured into acting. I always get which movies which brother was in confused. So, why even try.

All you need to know is that Donnie was supposed to star in a new drama on the CW network, called Runaway. The show was dropped after just three episodes due to low ratings. (Come on, CW. How could you be booing it, with Donnie D doing it?) Hey, look at it this way, there's nowhere to go but up from here. And if I know Donnie... and I don't, at all... you can bet he'll keep hangin' tough.

Jonathan Knight was the oldest New Kid. A Sagittarius. He's the only member who has stayed away from the music business entirely since the group split. Jonathan, who suffers from panic attacks, left the 1994 NKOTB tour early, and shortly thereafter the remaining four members cancelled the rest of the tour. According to VH-1, Jonathan currently, and I quote, "rocks the real estate market." Rock on.

Not a lot of information is available on Danny Wood (aka The Body, or Danny D). One rumor had him in the witness protection program, living in rural Nebraska, and going by the name Wuzzantever A. Newkid.

So there you have it, fans. Five individuals. Brought together by the right circumstances at the right time. A perfect storm, if you will. (Which, by the way, was a movie that starred either Donnie or Mark Wahlberg. But again, who the hell knows.) This post would have been better had I been a bigger New Kids fan. Or, more accurately, had I been able to find my cassette of their first album.

And now, we close with Bone's Ten Fave New Kids On The Block songs:

10. I'll Be Missin' You Come Christmas (A Letter To Santa)
9. Tonight
8. Hangin' Tough
7. Popsicle
6. I'll Be Loving You (Forever)
5. This One's For The Children
4. You Got It (The Right Stuff)
3. Didn't I (Blow Your Mind This Time)
2. Step By Step
1. Please Don't Go Girl

I hope you've enjoyed eighties week here on IYROOBTY as much as I have. As my most recent hit from a google search was for "jane wiedlin dominatrix," I think we can say without question it has been a success. And from Jordan, Jon, Joey, Donnie, Danny, and me... or, just me... have a funky, funky Christmas, and a happy New Year.

"We ain't gonna give anybody any slack. And if you try to keep us down we're gonna come right back. And you know we're hangin' tough..."

Labels: humor, music, nkotb

Today's long distance request and dedication is from a boy in Alabama. It's about a girl in a peach outfit. A girl he almost met nearly twenty years ago. He writes, Dear Casey...

One summer, when I was fourteen or fifteen, I attended a celebrity softball game with my friend Archie and his parents. There were several actors, singers, and professional athletes on hand, if I recall. But for some reason, I can only remember one for certain. John Stamos.

I think Heather Locklear and the guy from Sawyer Brown may have been there, too. But I'm not sure. Why can I remember John Stamos and not Heather Locklear? Oh, right. That would be Archie's fault.

I had no idea who John Stamos was at the time. Full House either wasn't on yet or had just started. And I've never been one to catch on to a series from the beginning anyway. Even with Cheers and Seinfeld, it took me a few seasons to become a regular. But Archie knew who he was. And evidently, was quite the fan.

So even though our seats were up behind home plate, Archie drug me down the first base line at some point during the game. There, I watched him and about twenty-five girls clamor for right fielder John Stamos' autograph between innings. It seemed a little gay at the time. Even moreso now.

Fortunately, the right field stands were mostly empty, so I was able to stand back and distance myself a bit from this disturbing display. Oddly, Stamos appeared to be signing autographs for all the girls first, and the next inning started before he got around to Archie.

Empty handed, we returned to our seats. And to my other vivid memory from that fair June day. The girl in the peach outfit. Yes, peach. Remember, this was the pastel decade.

The girl in the peach outfit sat directly in front of me. And to that point in my life, she was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. I spent the majority of the afternoon "accidentally" bumping into her with my knee. Causing her to turn around and say, "Excuse me" or "I'm sorry." Such a timeless game.

But alas, I never got any further. I guess I was shy. Plus, it's hard to pick up a chick when you can't drive and your friend's parents are sitting right next to you. And your friend spends half the game gushing over John Stamos, and the other half complaining, "Why was Stamos ignoring me?" But I'll always wonder what might have been.

When we got back home that evening, I spent the night at Archie's. We were listening to the American Top Forty Countdown when Casey Kasem did a long distance request and dedication.

I spent the rest of the night and the next day pining away endlessly. Talking about the girl in the peach outfit. Telling Archie that I thought I might love her. And that I was going to write in and dedicate a song to her. But then, I think you usually need at least a first name for that.

...So Casey, could you please play Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car, for the girl in the peach outfit. Signed, Bone. Well Bone, here's your long distance request and dedication...

That's the story of how I almost met John Stamos. And I'm still wondering why we didn't pay more attention to Heather Locklear.

"Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by..."

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don't spend too much time on it. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week's words are:
sky
slit
echoed

Continuing with 80's week here on IYROOBTY...

I was in ninth grade, taking my first year of Spanish. At my school, each year the Spanish Club went on an optional field trip to the Spanish Club Convention in Tuscaloosa.

For some reason, they were never able to procure buses for this annual pilgrimage. Maybe it was because of the small number of kids who went. Maybe it was because we stayed overnight and needed to be able to get around town easily. Whatever it was, we traveled by car. And that meant chaperones.

As the bell echoed from the halls that Friday morning, signaling the start to another school day for everyone else, we were gathered in the parking lot. Preparing to leave, getting last minute instructions from the Spanish teacher, Ms. Quinn. And most importantly, deciding who would ride with whom.

That year, we had one student chaperone, Jenny Goss. She was a junior, or senior, and I don't even think she was taking Spanish. I'm not even sure why she was chaperoning.

But as the other chaperones were teachers or parents, everyone wanted to ride with Jenny. Well, the guys did anyway. So it wound up being four guys, myself included, piling into Jenny's sky blue Cutlass, for the two-hour drive. And I somehow ended up in the front seat.

As she was two or three years ahead of me, I'd never really talked to Jenny. But I knew who she was. It was common knowledge that she dated Ronnie Byars, and had been seemingly forever.

Ronnie could best be described as a biker without a bike. A smoking in the boys room type. Although I never saw him smoke, it just seemed like he probably did. He was tall, with long hair. And I remember him wearing a black leather jacket a lot.

Still, boyfriend or no, you got the idea Jenny might be up for anything. Although I doubted I was her type. The street toughness of my acid-washed, tight-rolled Levis and untied high-top British Knights was betrayed by the cute little alligator on my rather conservative Izod. Still, there was something mysterious about her. Or maybe just naughty.

She looked like she belonged in a Whitesnake video. And I could totally rock some air guitar. I imagined she had camped out for Motley Crue or Cinderella tickets at least three times in her life. And that hair. So permed. So sprayed. So perfectly pouffy.

I sat back and tried to relax as I caught a glance of her legs so sveltely working the gas and brake pedals. I wasn't sure what to expect on this trip. And I definitely wasn't sure a student chaperone was supposed to be wearing a skirt that short or slit that high.

But I'll never forget that weekend. After all, that was the weekend I bought my Milli Vanilli cassette.

"Where's the mini-skirt made of snakeskin? And who's the other guy that's singing in Van Halen..."

Labels: 3WW, 80's, high school

The past week of my life, not unlike the past twenty-six years, has had a decidedly eighties feel. I spent several evenings last week glued to the television, enjoying VH1's 100 Greatest Songs of the 80's countdown. And while I agree with most of the songs in the top twenty, there is no way "Livin' On A Prayer" is the greatest song of the 1980's.

I should know. After all, that was my decade. My slogan during the eighties? "This is the eighties and Bone is down with the ladies." OK, so I didn't really have a slogan. And no one called me Bone then. But that could have been my slogan.

Therefore, inspired by VH-1 and Lass' Thursday Thirteen, I decided to come up with my ten favorite songs of the eighties. Except I couldn't narrow it down to ten, so there's a tie. Now, without further delay, I proudly present Bone's Top Ten Songs of the 80s:

10. Rumors - Timex Social Club
(tie) Word Up - Cameo
9. Take On Me - Aha
8. Jessie's Girl - Rick Springfield
7. Karma Chameleon - Culture Club
6. When Doves Cry - Prince
5. Centerfold - J. Geils Band
4. Jack & Diane - John Mellencamp
3. Every Rose Has Its Thorn - Poison
2. Sweet Child O' Mine - Guns N Roses
1. Glory Days - Bruce Springsteen

The interesting, and often scary, part of the VH-1 Countdown was seeing some of the singers and finding out what they're doing now. For example, I did not need to know that Jane Wiedlin is a dominatrix. For various reasons.

And did you know Wham is doing a one-time reunion concert this year? In England, I think. I'm hoping it will lead to a reunion tour. All this has almost inspired me to do a Where Are They Now: New Kids On The Block post. Any support for that?

Hello?

Continuing with our eighties theme, I played Trival Pursuit: Totally 80's Edition for the first time over the weekend. It's not often in life you're asked to recall your knowledge of Gary Hart, Martina Navratilova, Wham!, Geraldine Ferraro, and Magnum P.I. It's good to dust off those brain files once in awhile.

I think I might make this 80s week on IYROOBTY.

Later this week: The time I almost met John Stamos.

"Hold on to sixteen as long as you can. Changes come around real soon, make us women and men..."

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don't spend too much time on it. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week's words are:
paint
glow
floating

She was like a fresh coat of paint. Shiny and new. A curiosity. But dangerous if inhaled too deeply or for too long. Still, I breathed in. And breathed. And breathed. Hypnotized by her glow. Not caring about the consequences.

There were times I was so high, it felt as if I were floating. But paint dries. It fades. Cracks begin to show. It starts to peel. Revealing layers and holes. I covered them at first. But then there were too many. The intoxicating aroma lost its effect on me. And one night, I came crashing down. Gasping for fresh air.

Funny thing about paint. It's been around seemingly since the beginning of time. And yet, when it's new, we find it almost impossible not to inhale.

"All of my friends, they tried to tell me, what and what not to do. It took a while for them to sell me, but finally they got thru..."

Labels: 3WW