Music makes the world go 'round and gets me through the day.

Your Taste in Music:

80's Alternative: Highest Influence

90's Alternative: Highest Influence

Adult Alternative: Highest Influence

Alternative Rock: Highest Influence

Ska: Highest Influence

80's Pop: High Influence

90's Pop: High Influence

Classic Rock: High Influence

Old School Hip Hop: High Influence

Punk: High Influence

80's R&B: Medium Influence

80's Rock: Medium Influence

90's Rock: Medium Influence

Dance: Medium Influence

90's Hip Hop: Low Influence

90's R&B: Low Influence

Hair Bands: Low Influence

Progressive Rock: Low Influence

R&B: Low Influence

How's Your Taste in Music?

No home training...

Ok. Please do the world a favor when you have children.

Teach them to clean up after themselves. And how to help people. And that "The Clean Up Song" isn't just a cute, catchy song.

Don't demonstrate how not to act by walking into a messy day care room that was immaculate when you dropped off your 15-month-old and your almost-3-year-old and saying, "Wow, this looks like our house!"

'Cause it's NOT your house. And yes, it's my job to watch your kids. But if they have no home training, then my job is more difficult. And yes, it's the maintenance staff's job to clean what I can't get to because you left your kids with me for two hours, after arriving late, and I don't get paid to stay late and clean up after your kids because the mess is so huge that I can't possibly do it all on my own by noon, and they make me leave.

I never thought I'd see the day when I threw out perfectly good play-dough. But I did. I'm digging it out of my nails and my shoes and the fabric of my shirt.

No home training. I swear.

A lot of deaths...real and metaphorical

The Sunday before Easter, Mary's mom died. She made it back in time to say goodbye, but it was very very sad. But a guilty pleasure to see my hard-core old-school friends and parents and siblings at the funeral. Does this make me a bad person?

Last Friday, there was that terrible motorcycle accident. Yeah...the woman on the bike? One of my mom's friends, who we've affcectionately dubbed, "The Crazy Women/Ladies." I didn't know her, but she had a daughter at SPN who was a grade behind me. I didn't really know her either, but I remember her.

Last week, Geoff and Plan C became officially over, and Geoff was reincarnated with Plan A. Huzzah! (Well, to the reincarnation bit. He's my baby brother. I worry about him.)

Then, alas and alack, my second-favorite comedian of all time, Mitch Hedberg, died. I'm very distraught over this. I mean, I can't eat a baked potato without chuckling. Or watch an oscilating fan. Or see a broken escalator. (In case you are wondering, 1 is Dane Cook, 2 is Mitch, and 3 is Nick Swardson.) Sadder? His death is overshadowed by the following:

Terry Schiavo died, and this can't really be a bad thing.

The Pope is knock knock knockin' on heaven's door. He may be in there now, I dunno. You know those crazy Vatican peeps. Always playin'. Anyway, this also can't be a bad thing. He's like 800 years old, he's been ill for a while, and...well...a changing of teh guards in the Catholic Church can't hurt. I can't wait until someone from my generation can be Pope. I bet we'll have women priests, and less scandals, and maybe even more tolerance of other faiths and LIFESTYLES. Yeah, I know, keep dreaming. But maybe then, I will resuscitate beign Catholic. I can't in good conscience subscribe to them. That's another death that I pretty much finalized last week I realized that I only stay away from meat on Lenten Fridays and do NOTHING else Churchy, except giggle at Dane Cook's routine, so next Lent, FIRE IN THE GRILL, BAYBEEEE.