Record Store Day 2013

Every year, Jeremiah and I go to RSD. It's an actual thing, for those that might not believe me. And it's sort of a big deal. It's Jeremiah's favorite holiday.


Artists release limited batches of their albums - some of them are numbered, some of them are colored vinyl, some are rereleases...it's awesomeness. And for those who are like, "Who buys records anymore? People don't even buy CDs!" all I have to say is, where have you been? Records now days can sometimes come with the digital download right inside it - a little bonus and thank you from the artist for buying their stuff. So you get an awesome sounding album and the digital compressed stuff for your ipod. For usually around the same price that you would pay to buy the digital version online. At first I didn't believe Jeremiah when he said records sound better but they do. Truly. They do. 

We joined the line at about 8:30 and enjoyed the smells wafting around. I call it the 3Ps: Pot, patchouli, and perspiration. This year we chose to start at a different record store and I mostly only smelled the pot. A little less patchouli and perspiration. Small steps should be celebrated.

Jeremiah and I go in with a plan. He shows me a picture of every album he wants and/or I want. I'm good with that. He takes a list. He's good with that.

Nine o'clock, the doors open. People surged forward. I honestly thought I might die, but people were cool and there was no pushing. At one point though, I might have said to Jeremiah, "This is not how I want to die!"

We got in, and followed our plan. He went straight to the back of the store (they spread things out on tables throughout the store) and I stopped up front. Here's the thing about being a girl. And being a bit short. And being one of only a few girls at the store. Boys don't get in my way. I can weasel my way up to the front, ducking under armpits and maneuvering myself this way and that. Plus, I'm a teacher (I'm used to no personal space.) and a veteran shopper. Trained by the best. Eye on the prize, I get what I want.

We met up at one point - I had a shit ton of records that we wanted, he had a few.  He was all, "Thank GOD you got that! And this one! And this!"

At this point we had: Joan Jett, White Stripes, White Stripes in Rockabye Baby, Dave Brubeck, Cal Tjader, No Alternative, Rocket From the Crypt (?) and a side by side (single). 

You are welcome, Jeremiah.

We were still short a Black Keys, Wings, Mumford & Sons, Soundgarden, Porno for Pyros, Pink Floyd, Mad Season, many side by sides, and Eisley. 

We separated again and I started following this guy who obviously was rethinking the Soundgarden. I stalked him all over the store. Hobble step, hobble step, hobble step. The second he set it down, I literally lunged through a crowd and grabbed it. Mine.

Wings was captured the same way. Someone set it down, and we lunged for it.

Some of these records there is only one or two copies - for example, there was only one Pink Floyd in the whole store. And the guy that got it was a douche. I am pretty sure his ultimate goal was to sell it on Ebay. What an ass.

We met up again and got in line to check out. We got our limited edition reusable bags and t-shirts and we were on to the next store.

Of course, nearly an hour and a half had passed, so it was slim pickins. Jeremiah was able to find the Mad Season and the Mystery Side by Side.

I gave up on Eisley (both stores said that they did not get a copy) and the Pink Floyd (because, one copy? Really?) and then on the Mumford & Sons. I was determined to get something by Mumford & Sons because I wanted them to be my mystery purchase for the year. I had heard a twenty second clip and was going to buy their RSD release. Instead I just bought their album Babel which came with digital downloads.

Here's my stash:
I got the Rockabye Baby (instrumental White Stripes) because I thought it would be awesome to have a baby that got to listen to White Stripes. It's red vinyl. The White Stripes is two albums, one is half red and half black, the other is white. The Wings is "Maybe I'm Amazed" four times - super high quality. Joan Jett is yellow vinyl.

I also was getting ready to leave and went over to Jeremiah who was talking to a guy and Jeremiah said to me, "Did you know _________________ had a RSD release this year?" and I was like, "Ohmygosh, no!!" and the guy held up his copy, which of course, there weren't any more of. And then, he gave it to me. So I bought it for my dad. That secret release is not in the above picture.

Jeremiah's mystery side by side (which you don't know until you open it) was Grateful Dead, Dr. John, and Dixie Cups doing "Iko, Iko" on clear red vinyl with splashes of blue. Freaking awesome.  Mostly because I love the song and now we have four versions of it (I have Cyndi Lauper singing it, too).

Also, I am in LOVE with Mumford & Sons.


I laugh, I cry, it moves me, Bob. Seriously, I told Jeremiah last night that I had stories that I imagined happening along with the songs. There is such a driving beat, it is SO TOUCHING.

So I just like to share. I know other people may have already heard of them and probably love them, but there are some people like me that sometimes miss things. So in case you have missed them:

You can thank me later.

If you are interested in my past mystery/new to me purchases, they are a Florence & the Machine single (2012) and a red Kings of Leon single (2011). I think that was my first year doing the mystery to me thing. Totally worth it.

ETA: Jeremiah was into records BEFORE it was trendy. He actually worked for this company that was featured in the Wall Street Journal and was the guy's only employee for years. I just thought I would share that. I hopped on board when we started dating. I did it because he wouldn't let me take CDs out to my car anymore because I didn't take care of them. So for us, him specifically, this is NOT hopping on a new trend or about being cool. Jeremiah loves music. No, he is crazy about music. It's like water for him. Or like beer. I just felt like I needed to clarify. Maybe because I love him because he isn't about being trendy. That's pretty freaking awesome.


Merry Christmas and Happy Valentine's Day!

I realize that this post is late, but we did not get one of our gifts until Saturday, so you can see why there might be a delay.

Holidays and birthdays and anniversaries around our house go a lot like this:

J:What do you want?
E: I don't know. I don't need anything.
J: Well, what do you want but not need?
E: Nothing.

Which, in reality is nice. With the exception of my wish for smaller thighs, I have all I want. So we decided this year that instead of exchanging needless things, we would buy ourselves something for the house. This is why people get married, I am thinking. So they don't have to buy this stuff themselves.


Anyway, we exchanged little gifts at Christmas and were debating between new pots and pans (Hey, have you heard that eating the nonstick surface of your pans isn't good for you? Crazy, right?) because ours were hand me downs or cheapies and needed to be introduced to the trash. Or we were considering a down-alternative comforter. Because, you know. That would be nice.

We chose the pots and pans because there was a fantastic set at Cost-co and we couldn't pass it up. Seriously, awesome set. Stainless steel, copper bottom and along the sides, wonderful.

This picture was taken right after Christmas which explains all the munchies and treats on the counter. Sort of.
My dad said they were nice, my brother called me a lucky bitch, and my mom said they were too nice for my stove.

Thanks, y'all.

For anyone interested, it was the Cost-co brand (Kirkland?) and it's a huge set with lids and a steamer and everything. They all cook things evenly and once they get heated up, shit stays HOT.

Then we decided on Valentine's Day that the same thing applied. We wanted nothing. We needed a new toaster oven, as the one I had got in college had seen better days and only worked on the top side, not the bottom. So you had to flip everything you put in there. Plus, we don't own a microwave, so a toaster oven is truly our go-to counter top appliance.

So here is the old one:
 It's the Toastmaster deluxe. From the year 2000. It didn't even come clean anymore. It actually had to be tossed and could not be donated. Jeremiah suggested that I open and close the door one more time, for memories. I did.

We replaced it with this:
There are positive and negative reviews for this, but there were positive and negative reviews for all the ones we looked at. KitchenAid is the brand, and I knew once I saw it, I wanted it. Mainly because it is three pronged on the outlet, and most toaster ovens ARE NOT. Which is crazy, because think of the power they got floating through there. So the three prong means that I most likely won't get electrocuted. Yay. Also, the wire trays hook in the back so they don't slide all the way out and you find your food on the floor. Plus, this beast can cook a whole bird, people. It came with two wire racks, a broiler pan, and something that hooks up a bird.  So far we've used it to do a mess of potatoes and some toast...AT THE SAME TIME! Everything cooked up superbly and evenly.

So there you go. Two wonderful purchases and two wonderful reasons why you should get married and register for gifts.


I'm Bendin' Spoons.

So the score looks like this: Insurance 482, Emily 1.

They have finally allowed the MRI, Friends. I felt a little bit like Aladdin being granted a wish by the genie. But only if the genie were an evil corporation profiting on my pain and yelling, "dance, monkey girl, dance!" and if I were a little boy from the middle east that had a fondness for wearing hammer pants and vests without a shirt underneath.

Okay. So it's not the same, really.

I totally can't pull off just a vest. Oh, no. Just no.

But I can totally pull off a hat. And I think Aladdin wore a hat.

Anyway, they said yes. I threw out a grand number of expletives and thank yous and the MRI was done on Friday.

Here's how that went:

Technician: You can't move at all.
Me: Not at all?
T: Not unless you want me to do it over again.
M: And this whole process will take...?
T: An hour.
M: Excuse me?
T: ONE. HOUR... Unless you move.
M: Like, can I stretch the parts that aren't in the machine?
T: No, that would change the electric force field.

So he put some headphones on me and I went in the MRI machine, feet first up to the chest. I was like, "Easy peasy, it's like a tanning bed." He talked to me a couple of times and I nodded and got yelled at so I tried to speak without moving my lips and we got started.

Apparently I looked to him like a girl that liked to get her party on, because he put dance music in my ears the whole freaking time. I didn't want to be all lame and ask the voice in my ears for Simon & Garfunkel or maybe some Carol King, but can I just say? The mash-ups and beats did NOT help me go to my happy place.  I'm not anti-club music but holy crap.

So I practiced breathing techniques and counted the ceiling tiles and told myself that this time will just fly by. Like lightning.

It didn't.

I just sat there, listening to the club mix and the man in my ears as the paper began to rise underneath my legs and every hair follicle on my lower half went crazy. It is the most bizarre sensation. I also started having involuntary muscle twitches. At one point he yelled, "Stop moving!" and my response was a muffled, tight-lipped, "The entire definition of involuntary muscle spasms is that I HAVE NO CONTROL OVER THEM!" and I didn't. It was like, my entire leg, flopping in the force field. Toes bending completely. I started wondering if anyone had spontaneously combusted in the machine. Then I started to count tiles again, because shit, I scared myself. And I was deathly afraid that I would have to do this sitting completely still thing again. You know, if I didn't spontaneously burst into flames first.

When all the flying paper and rising follicles and twitching was done, he came in. It was the second time he had come in, the first time was half way through and he was yelling "Don't move, don't move!" and he had to adjust something before the second MRI. I couldn't even stretch. So that second time, I just sat there. He said I could move and I was all, "Are you sure?"

And I could not sit up. I was so weak from holding still that I could not even move and he had to help me up and I might have flashed him a teeny tiny bit. I couldn't walk, either. So I just sat there. When I left the room, I was SURE that everything metal was going to come flying towards me and I would die a horrible death by utensils and magnets.

I didn't.

When I staggered out to the waiting room, Jeremiah announced that AN HOUR AND A HALF had passed. I told him we had bigger problems because I was now super human. I was an MRI gone wrong.

Then I realized: Those assholes lied to me. They said it would be only an hour.

I think I shall use my powers for evil.


It's Spring!

I know this to be true not only because it is ninety degrees, but because of these sassy pants:

This is just how we roll, meow.
There is currently enough fur floating around here to build a third cat. I would say eighty percent of said fur is coming from Mel. I guess Snowshoes shed all that thick winter fur. Who knew? It is apparently something that I block from my memory every year. I imagine that otherwise I would constantly be in a fragile state.

Whatevs. It's spring, Friends. Come swimming with us?

P.S.  I love that my cats spoon. It really doesn't get any better than that.


It's Just a Small Gift, Really. But Still...You are Welcome, Neighbors.

The worst thing about the stupid cast thing is taking it on and off.

Seriously, I would like to burn it. When it's not, you know, attached to my foot.

Seriously, the level of lazy that I am reaching here is astounding. I blame it on the fact that I can't do freaking anything.

As I am required to take it off to drive, and then immediately put it back on upon arrival at my destination, it gets old. Fast. I can't really do anything about it at work. But at home? The thought of taking the boot/cast off to drive home, put it back on to walk into the house, take it off two minutes later when I get into my cozies (Everyone wears cozies around the house, right?), and then put it on after said cozies are on is enough to kill me. So I have figured out that I can save minutes, actual minutes, by getting out of my car, taking off my pants, putting the cast/boot back on, and walking into the house in my undies.

Then when I get upstairs, I can just throw on my cozy pants OVER the boot. Because those pants STRETCH.

Where's the gift, you might ask?

I close the garage door first. You are welcome.

Because my neighbors know that I am not above walking around in my undies