Oh my God. Am I turning into my Grandmother?

What in the hell are the kids singing about on the radio these days? Holy CRAP! And it takes a lot to shock me…as I’m sure you can imagine (says the lady who lets her hoo-hoo write guest posts).

I’m cruising around in my tricked out mini-van with the kids the other day and the pop mega-hit Last Friday Night by Katy Perry comes on the radio.

My, what a catchy tune! This jam has a beat our bodies just can’t deny. “Turn it up, Mom!”

We’re all upper-body-dancing to it when Katy starts to croon:

There’s a stranger in my bed,
There’s a pounding my head
Glitter all over the room
Pink flamingos in the pool
I smell like a minibar
DJ’s passed out in the yard
Barbie’s on the barbecue
Is this a hickie or a bruise?

And the song is SO fun and catchy and paralyzing to me with its racy content that I find myself unable to turn the dial…like a deer caught in a disco ball reflection. Katy continues:

Pictures of last night
Ended up online
I’m screwed
Oh well
It’s a black top blur
But I’m pretty sure it ruled…


And then here comes the chorus…and I notice that even my four year old, Bucket Head, is singing along with abandon:

Last Friday night
Yeah we danced on tabletops
And we took too many shots
Think we kissed but I forgot

Last Friday night
Yeah we maxed our credit cards
And got kicked out of the bar
So we hit the boulevard

Last Friday night
We went streaking in the park
Skinny dipping in the dark
Then had a menage a trois

Last Friday night
Yeah I think we broke the law
Always say we’re gonna stop-op

Oh phew, “always say we’re gonna stop-op.” Maybe there’s a moral in this smut-fest? Katy? What say you?

This Friday night
Do it all again
This Friday night
Do it all again

No! Ohmigod, seriously? She’s gonna do it all again? Even though the bitch maxed out her credit card and woke up with a stranger and a hickie (and possibly an STD)? And there are pictures online of the whole thing? Bitch, please. Did you damage your prefrontal cortex with all those jello shots?

My jaw (still doing the white-man overbite, inside my bee-boppin’ head)
is literally on the floor. Why am I letting my three young kids rock out to this over-the-top party anthem? And why am I rocking out to it with them? Can’t. Turn. Away.

Remember when all our parents had to worry about was whether or not we were going to bite the heads off rabid bats while we jammed to Black Sabbath? As if. Shoot, the hardest music I ever listened to was Lionel Ritchie in his Dancing on the Ceiling phase. He so crazy!

Dang, I feel like such a hypocrite. It wasn’t *that* long ago that I was doing too many shots and dancing on tabletops and getting kicked out of bars, and sororities, and one time, a New Jersey convenience store for submerging my face in a giant jar of pickles. But still, you want better for your kids, right? You don’t want them to make the same stupid drunken mistakes you made.

Oh wait, there’s one more verse. Maybe she’ll redeem herself…

Trying to connect the dots
Don’t know what to tell my boss
Think the city towed my car
Chandelier is on the floor
With my favorite party dress
Warrants out for my arrest
Think I need a ginger ale
That was such an epic fail

This Friday night
Do it all again
This Friday night
Do it all again


Nope. This whore’s gonna do it all again. She’s got a warrant out for her damn arrest, her car was towed, her credit is hosed, and her job is in jeopardy. How is she going to do this all again without money, a job, transportation, etc? 

This girl needs some tough love and I’m just the Mom/Reformed Slut to give it to her (especially since she’s not my child). “You get over here right this instant, Ms. Thang. You are going right up to your room. Your father and I have removed your door, your phone, your computer, and all of your shoes. Starting tomorrow, you are going to go volunteer at the women’s shelter so you can get out of your own head and make a positive contribution to the world. But first, Mama’s gonna teach you how to remove that hickie, just like my middle school PE teacher Mrs. D’Ambrosio taught me 29 years ago. Go get me a comb.” 

And then I will proceed to gently scrape that love bite on her neck with a fine toothed comb until the contusion disburses into a barely noticeable patch that will look more like eczema than a hickie. After that, we’ll ice it down for about 15 minutes like you would with any bruise. And if that doesn’t work, she’ll don a turtleneck until the evidence of her slutitude is gone.

And that’s how you remove a hickie. Hussies of the world (and your frazzled Mamas), you are welcome. Of course, not listening to the devil’s music is probably another way to save your children’s souls, just guessing. As for me, my favorite Katy Perry song is I Kissed a Girl, and I Liked It.

Oh shit. I’m so screwed, aren’t I.

Where are my Lionel Ritchie CDs?


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