Aside: You know what's weird? Sometimes two people who are married to each other can go for weeks without saying anything meaningful to one another because there's just too much freaking shit to do. Unfortunately, these are some of those times. Seriously, for the past two weeks, 77% of my conversations with Bryan have had to do with which car the baby seat is in, occasionally punctuated with speculation over whether that's jock itch or diaper rash that has Odessa clawing at her butt in the middle of the night. FRENZ!!!!!REMEMBR TEH BIRF CONTROL!!!!
Anyway, so we went on a date on Tuesday night, and something about seeing Bryan sitting across from me at Just Pho and More (the very best restaurant name, am I right? It's only pho and also some other things! YES!) made me remember that I was married to a person instead of a moose or a sentient peppercorn or whatever, and I was so relieved that I just started talking in this way I sometimes do. It's like I go into a talking trance. And you know what I started talking about? Ani DiFranco.
Yep, Ani DiFranco. Turns out, while in my talking trance, I discovered the wrinkle way in the back of my brain where Ani DiFranco lives. And so I told Bryan about that one day my first month of Preppy College when this sophomore girl named Cara gathered everyone on Hall 3 of the Wilkerson Girl's Dormitory into her room to listen to this song on her CD player:
And then she stood there while 9 girls sat on her bed listening to her super cutting edge music find, feeling preeeetty pleased with herself:
Because for some reason, in 1996, this sounded Uh.Mazing. to a room full of 18-year-old white girls. I guess because the F-Bomb still constituted explicit language back then.
Anyway, that sooo wasn't the end of Ani DiFranco. Oh no. I ended up going to Hippie College after that--one where most people arrived with poorly-kept dreadlocks and some of the straight girls wore backless shirts and all the other girls shaved their heads at least once and many, many people went by names like China Cat and Sundog and Osha, and you never really knew if those were the names their parents gave them or not. So yeah, I heard a crap-ton more Ani DiFranco.
And I distinctly remember sitting in the bathtub of this house I was living in up in Ponderosa Park, trying to read Lolita for a class during a snow storm while my roommate Annie and her boyfriend (who was a really tan climber and mega-douche) argued passionately about whether Ani DiFranco did or did not "do sick and twisted things to women." I would like to emphasize that this is a direct quote.
Anywhoodle, after Ani DiFranco took that convenient and completely unnecessary opportunity to worm her way out of my subconscious during my only time alone with my husband in weeks, I listened to some of her music on YouTube. And you guys--it is not super good. But it made me think of the time when Annie broke up with that tan climber and she moped in her room with this song on repeat for at least two weeks:
Which totally did sick and twisted things to me. So, in a way, I'll have to side with the douchey guy on that one.