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.... heading to Haverty's to replace aforementioned couch with enough credit to buy more than a couch.
Like maybe, this couch:
(which I am NOT in love with, but I only have 13 more days to pick one and I walked around this store for 2 hours, had a tiny panic attack and finally said "well, the heck with this". Mike and I had two prerequisites: dark and "nap" worthy)
But with these pillows:
(I did not miss my calling as an interior designer. Hats off to those people, but this stuff is so not me.) (and I also got a side table, a recliner, a vase and some really heavy bookends that are likely to end up as weapons for the boys... anyhooters...)
I'm listening to my new best friend - let's call her "Sarius" satellite radio (in my new car!)(squeel!). And let's also not call it a her, seeing I am totally in love. So, we will call him Saritri and he's Greek and has a boat. He also plays all the music I love, which makes him extra hot.
So, yes.. there I am listening to the 90s on Channel 9, the 20s on 20 (which is the "20" in 2000... I know... just nod and keep reading) or the BPM (those might be the correct letters) which is basically "today's top music mixed with some ultra gnarly beats" (club music). Yeah, ok. It sucks. But really, it gets me moving, so sue me.
Anyways, I am singing along. Loudly. Hand gestures, a little window crackage and some wickedly pathetic dances moves from the waist up (remember: driving).
It is worth noting here that I am obviously without the offspring and am totally rocking out with my music way up. I am singing at the top of my lungs to a song I am not prepared to disclose to Teh Internets for fear of tar and feathering and lots of laughter and maybe a "Wow, Amanda... you are such a dork". I will disclose this though: I can NOT sing. Like, for reals. CAN NOT SING.
It's then that I look up in my shiny new car over the top of my sunglasses and notice the OnStar microphone.
Hum.
That little microphone-y thingy. Yup.
Music goes down a few hundred numbers and I stop my singing.
What if, on the reallllllly slow days, the nice people at OnStar do random car checks. Which, I hope all their days are slow because a busy day at OnStar means bad things, so if they are doing random car checks because the "crashing business" is slow, then by all means - eavesdrop on the stay-at-home 20-something mom who is rocking out to If You Seek Amy, Dance Remix a totally awesome song that makes me look hot.
But, seriously.
I stopped singing.
Then that song that goes "Shush girl, shut your lips... do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips" (google says: "Don't Trust Me" by 3Oh!3) and I could not resist. I mean, how many times have I rocked out at red lights without a care, fully aware that the people around me are considering calling 911 for what they believe to be a Grand Mal Seizure?
A million would be a good guess.
OnStar still kinda freaks me out though.... but I'll never stop rocking out in my car. I'm also taking requests from OnStar employees. It'll be like a bad karaoke bar! On demand!
