Careful With That Thing Before You Hurt Somebody! Thus is the word from dancehall/R&B crossover, Shaggy. Which I am listening to as I type up "expenses" and wish myself out to the cornfield.
The Boss called me in today to ask about my weekend. The Boss is, as my close friends know, one of my favorite people in the world. As I hate 97.9% of other humans on sight, this is high praise coming from me. The Boss has a lovely British accent, and sometimes if I make him proud he even talks to me in his Birmingham slang and tells me about The Move, before they were ELO.
My heart belongs to The Boss.
When I told The Boss my plans, he looked at me for a bit and then, asked if I was happy. I said yes. He didn't believe me. He said that getting taken out on the town and being drunk with alarming frequency is maybe not such an indicator of happiness, in so many words. He said I need to find a decent suitor to take care of me. Then he said he wanted to talk to my Mom because he's worried about me. All of this was done toucnge-in-cheek, of course. But it threw me.
I thought about it for a second. Am I happy? Do I drink too much? Should I settle down, have a serious boyfriend, put away the tortoise-shell open toe platforms and wash off the metallic gold eye liner? Have a weeknight curfew, stop frequenting karaoke joints, and consider being on time to work more than once a month?
I looked back at The Boss for a second. And I said, "I am the happiest I have ever been."
He told me to get my liver checked. Then we talked about Shalamar, and I told him how much I loved this song and he told me about how he used to go dance to it when it was new. And this, then, is the theme song for my weekend. Hell, for every night of my fucking life. My happy motherfucking non stop my girl wants to party all the time like Eddie Murphy life.
So do have fun with this gem, featuring the lovely Jody Watley pre-solo days. Shalamar, A Night To Remember.