I listen to all kinds of music. I depends on my mood. I'd have to say I listen mainly to Country and Christian music. I don't care for rap but I do make an exception for DC Talk... which they aren't rap but do incorporate it into some of their songs, most notably Jesus Freak. The other day I had the Country station on the radio after having had the Christian station on for a couple of weeks. Double Shot was with me and he told me that it wasn't right for a 15 year old dude to know all the words to Country songs. Really? I don't think it is right for a 41 year old mom to know all the words to the Skillet songs. Are y'all familiar with Skillet? They are LOUD. But, I have learned to like them. A lot.
Frappacino has also complained to me about her knowledge of Abba and Neil Diamond songs. Apparently, the urge to sing along is a cause for self disdain. I think my mother must have listened to Neil Diamond while cleaning when I was growing up due to the Pavlovian response I have as evidenced by my yearning to hear Neil Diamond at the faintest whiff of Pine-Sol and the yearning to hold a toilet brush upon hearing the beginning strains of Sweet Caroline. I actually associate Abba more with my family's many car trips. We had a cassette tape of their Super Trooper album and it would play in a loop. However, there was always a very long time of silence between the last song and the first and we would all jump as the girls' voices would begin Super Trooper.
Ahhhhhh... the memories of our family road trips. What hell. Don't get me wrong, we had good times too, but... oh the hell of being in the car for days at a time! Those trips often involved camping. In fact, we lived in San Marcos, CA, from the time I was 12 until I graduated from high school at 17. We literally moved the day after I graduated to Tobyhanna, PA. A town with a tiny Army base and seven bars. No joke. Yeah, my Dad was in the Army. Anyway, during the years we lived in San Marcos we spent two weeks camping up near Mammoth Mountain in the Pumice Flat campground every August. We would intend to leave our house around 2 am so that we could make it there and set up our tent before dark. Leaving the house was always a blast as tempers would flair. My parents always insisted on leaving the house immaculate and they would literally vacuum their way out of the door. While annoying at that stage of the game, it sure was nice when we got home! I always loved coming home after a trip!
Anyway, over those years we accumulated a lot of good camping gear. However, those first couple of years we had some funky stuff. Like the Polak Box. My sincerest apologies to anyone of Polish decent. My Dad loved Polish jokes and that is what he called it. It was a huge box made out of plywood that the sides had to be 3 ft or more high. He attached it to the top of our two tone, sparkly brown and copper, Dodge Omni with suction cups and straps. He then tied down a large bright blue tarp over the top. Totally stylin'. I have two brothers that are 4 and 8 years younger than I am. Thank God this all went down when we were young because I am 5'11", and my brothers are 6'5" and 6'10". It still got pretty tight though. I remember one trip when the tarp came loose and a couple of our sleeping bags flew out as we were flying down the highway. That was fun. Another thing that was fun was having a crowd gather round to watch my Dad pack our five million pounds of stuff back into that Polak Box and then our family stuff themselves into that little car like a bunch of clowns!
You know, my kids really should be grateful. Abba and Neil Diamond are good! My Dad subjected us to Hooked on Classics for Pete's sake! AND Sade (you know, Smooth Operator)! AND FREDDY FENDER!!! The HORROR of it! My kids have never had to hear any of that! You know, my Dad somehow ended up with my Cars tape and still listens to it. Anyone remember The Cars? Crap. It has started. I should NOT have mentioned Hooked on Classics. I hear it in my head and I hear my Dad clapping along and laughing maniacally at my looks of disgust. Thanks a lot Dad.