In general, I’d rather be reading a book than doing anything else, so it shouldn’t be too surprising that my iPod usually has about four different novels on it in addition to various playlists. Listening to a “book on tape” (Yes, for whatever reason, I still automatically say “book on tape” even though that is archaic and somewhat anachronistic) tends to make walks, workouts, house work and yard work go a lot faster and easier. Plus if I’m listening to a story line, my brain doesn’t wander off to the horrible places that it likes to go when granted too much free time.
*****Shout out to Tina Fey’s audio version of Bossypants. She probably doesn’t need the advertising, but SHE reads the audio version and it is frickin’ hilarious!*****
Yesterday, I spent most of the day in the yard. The whole thing is mowed and the front yard beds are now weeded and mulched. However by the time I got to the backyard beds, my bending abilities had ceased to function so there is more to do later in the weekend. For me, there is always more to do in my yard: weeding, pruning, adding new plants, insect observation, skunk warfare… the usual.
In the course of my hours outside yesterday, I finished one book I had been listening to on my iPod. Queuing up the next book on the iPod involves finding a shady spot so I can see the screen, wrestling the holder off my sweaty arm, and removing work gloves. In the process, I fumbled the iPod and it shuffled to a playlist and brought up Paul Simon’s “Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes.” Well, you can’t turn that off. I think there’s a rule about that somewhere. My choice was to stand there until the song was over or to continue working with musical versus literary entertainment.
I opted for music, but there’s a problem.
If I am listening to music I know and like, and there is ONLY music that I know and like on my iPod, I am compelled to sing along and/or add choreography. If I am listening to my iPod, then no one else can hear the music and I am now the crazy person mumbling, “singing,” and occasionally belting out incoherent choruses. Plus adding a little sway and shimmy to my weeding.
To truly visualize this, you should also understand that what I wear to work in my yard is only of the highest fashion caliber. I wear men’s gym shorts because women’s gym shorts all seem to be made out of polyester swishy ickiness rather than cotton and are designed to let ass cheeks hang out. There’s a lot of squatting and bending over in yard work, ass cheeks must be covered. I like to pair those shorts with dirty, stained t-shirts possibly with the sleeves cut off and the neck cut into a V for maximum cleavage. Helloooooo, garden gnomes. Wink. Ratty tennis shoes are a must or red rubber boots if it’s particularly wet out. I top all of this off with gigantic sunglasses and a cowboy hat because my Irish/Scottish/English/German heritage has made me one step up from albino. I do not tan, I crisp and burn.
Given my ensembles, it is surprising that men do not line my driveway begging for my love or at least a chance to push my reel lawnmower. While I’m working towards my house’s curb appeal, I radiate sex appeal. Rowr! This is probably what attracted werewolves to my neighborhood.(See https://possumscatsthingsgnawingatme.wordpress.com/2013/03/17/werewolf-there-wolf/)
I think yesterday’s rendition of Liz Phair’s “Divorce Song” was particularly strong: “But when you said that I wasn’t worth talking to/ I had to take your word on that.” I don’t know if the grandmother next door to me is a Phair fair, but I’m guessing she probably rushed to her iTunes account immediately.
Really, it was probably my signature moves to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” that had the highest entertainment value. A lawn mower does not really offer the same stability as a stripper pole, but at least I had my hat and a yard waste bag as props.
You’re welcome, neighbors.