Best way to roast the broomstick. Must try. Five Stars.

Heavy rotation

Several months ago I swore off any talk radio, including NPR, during the election season because I was getting so frustrated with all the WAH WAH WAHing coming from both sides, and every car ride began to feel like a mobile prison where the only thing to eat was a bowl of warm piss. Mmmm. Not so worried about the fly in that soup! Protein!

A couple of days ago as we were getting ready to leave for camp, Leta saw me reach for my phone that I now use to listen to music in the car. Ha! Whoa. My phone. MY PHONE. I think if I had a time machine one of the first things I’d want to do is go show my incredulous eight-year-old self that I pretty much have every song ever written available on my phone, and all I have to do is turn it on and touch a button. The next thing I would do is walk up to my 16-yr-old self and say, “Sweetie, you have a giant caterpillar eating your forehead. Go trim your eyebrows.”

Then I’d want to go back and meet Moses.

I’m going to be a horrible person here (A FIRST!) and admit that sometimes I hope that Leta doesn’t notice me hooking up my phone because it means I can listen to my music in the car. When she does notice, it’s either Ke$ha, Carly Rae Jepsen, or Justin Bieber for the next fifteen minutes and I can’t even believe I’m going to say this, but I’d rather listen to Michele Bachmann attempt to sing an opera about her vagina.

What’s worse is that if I’m using a social application for my music, people can actually see that I’m listening to Justin Bieber, and I’m old enough for that not to matter, yes, but I’m also vain enough for it to matter A LOT. So much that right after I drop her off I will play the first four seconds of sixteen different songs just to knock Bieber off of any list of things I’m listening to. That way if anybody sees his name in there I can just claim that it must have been a technical glitch. Ugh! Programmers! They don’t make them like they used to! Remember GeoCities? THOSE WERE THE DAYS!

That or I was doing research on how far an adult could get into a Justin Bieber song without turning it down, getting her daughter’s attention and going, “This young man is no Michael Jackson, I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW.”

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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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