the smell of my desperation has become a stench

Please be patient with me

Another busy week here at the Blurbodoocery involving doctors appointments, travel, vet visits, and a multitude of concerts. Tonight we’re attending the sold out Wilco concert where the Fleet Foxes will be opening, and it’s at my favorite outdoor venue in the city. If you’re not familiar with either band, here’s an introduction to the Fleet Foxes:

And here’s Jeff Tweedy from Wilco playing an acoustic version of the soundtrack to my marriage to Jon:

This weekend we’re headed to San Francisco to the Outside Lands Festival, a three-day music event at Golden Gate Park (look at that lineup and be very jealous of me). While I’m there I’ll be posting photos and whatnot here and at the community site Crowdfire where they are giving away free tickets to the festival every day. Friday night I will get to see Radiohead for the tenth time, and maybe I will finally get up the nerve up to throw my panties at guitarist Ed O’Brien who happens to be number two on my Five Fame Fuckers list.

Interestingly, recent international events have brought to my attention a certain special someone who has so stolen my heart that he has knocked off two of the previous men on my list and now occupies both of those positions. So my list now looks like this:

1. Chris Martin
2. Ed O’Brien
3. Brad Pitt
4. Michael Phelps
5. Michael Phelps

I brought up this development the other night with a group of friends, and the men in the group were all, BUT HIS EARS! AND THAT UNDERBITE! Which of course was exactly how I expected them to respond, all of their lists are comprised entirely of supermodels. I think his ears are adorable, and that mouth of his is interesting, but the list really has very little to do with appearance and everything to do with the overall package. Are they driven? Do they care about people? What is their take on certain issues? Are they bigger than I am? Do they know their multiplication tables? Also, good hair helps. And yes, I will be honest and say that the way Michael Phelps fits into a wetsuit is very pleasing to look upon with my eyes.

Don’t worry, Jon has his own list, and if we were at a concert where Renee Russo was playing the guitar, I would take off Jon’s briefs and throw them at her head for him. That was written into our vows.

Your list?

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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