Friday random

Didya see the moon this morning? It was low on the horizon – big and heavy and bright orange, just like an October moon oughtta be.

As much as I love the Fall, I could use just one more day of warm-your-bones 80-degree sunshine.
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So me and the nephew rocked out at the Aerosmith/Motley Crue concert in Tinley last night. Froze our asses off – it’s an outside park like Pine Knob in Michigan.

Here’s what we decided: Motley Crue looked like amateurs compared to Steven Tyler and his boys. The fat chicks didn’t need jackets. $65 for a hooded sweatshirt is totally worth it when you’re Very Very Cold. And overall it was a good show but we wished Aerosmith would’ve played a little bit longer.
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Just in case you're like my friend Stacey from Minnesota and thinking “Wow. Heather’s a motorhead, who knew?”

No. Not so much.

I just like a good show. Unfortunately this one wasn’t as good as the Crue’s Carnival of Sins tour last summer and Aerosmith was way better five years ago when Steven Tyler was still clean and sober.

It pisses me off when you pay that much for a concert and they phone it in. I’m sure to them it’s just a job and maybe they’re even a little tired of it.

But damn, when I slack for a day I’m not doing it in front of thousands of drunk adoring fans.

Although I’d like to try it sometime. Wouldn’t that be fun?
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“Turn on your TV! It’s a special report LIVE from BATAVIA, IL!”

That was my Mom yesterday afternoon. Turns out Dennis Hastert, whose office happens to be in the town where I live, was having a press conference that was picked up nationally because of that Foley fucktard.
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“My first thought was: What the hell did she do now?”

That was my Mom again, who makes me belly laugh at least once every day during our on-the-way-to-the-train phone calls.
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Foley. Yep.

Prediction: His last name becomes a verb and a noun, synonymous with all child predators.

As in: “Somebody tried to Foley me on IM last night, Dad. Totally creeped me out,” says your 14 year old son or daughter next week.

Or: “My biology teacher’s a real Foley.”

What I’m really hoping for is that Foley will not be remembered most for what he did with his pathetic excuse for a life, but for how he died: Slowly and painfully at the hands of his Godless cellmate who will give him an anally inserted lesson on what karma feels like when you use a position of power and trust to prey on children.
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Also, there was too much swearing at the concert.

Yes, I know. As a Truck Driver in Training, you’d think that nothing would offend me.

And it wasn’t because the nephew was there; he’s heard all those words and then some (from me, even.)

It was just gratuitous. Like they were trying too hard or something.

Like little Hedy when she first discovered her love of cussing and did it all the time back in the seventh grade.

And cussing, in case you were wondering, is fourth on the list of My Favorite Things.

Hell yeah.
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I am listening to: Aerosmith – Seasons of Wither
I am reading: Nothing – no time lately
And I am: F.I.N.E.