I’m going with a spring 1990 vibe with my drivetime music right now. This replaces the spring 1983 thing I had going for the last couple weeks. Stop smirking, you’d be stunned how quickly Affair of the Heart and Human Touch takes you back to 7th grade. Or, if you’re currently in 7th grade like Rye, you’ll be pleased at the level of disdain and scorn you can heap upon your Dad while he listens. Anyway, spring 1990. Not only did it give us a classic like Steven Seagal’s Hard to Kill, we also had Warrant’s Sometimes She’s Cries and Whitesnake’s Now You’re Gone. And listen, nothing and I mean nothing, will disgust a 13 year old brainwashed into thinking Nicki Minaj and Rhianna are the pinnacle of popular music coolness than the vocals of Jani Lane and David Coverdale. And just so you know, it doesn’t matter how many times the phrase “Dad, can I change it” is uttered, Now You’re Gone and by extension, 1990, will not be browbeaten into capitulation. Because hair metal surrenders to no one!
That being said, there are things that you do simply because your kids ask. No parent is cold hearted enough to say no in every instance a “no” is in fact the right parenting answer. Hey, sometimes you suck as parent. I’m no exception. I’m not sure its worse when you’re a Dad with three daughters – meaning I have no hard data to prove it is a metaphysical certitude that Dads do head-shakingly absurd stuff for their daughters, but I suspect it’s the case.
While I have yet to learn or develop the skills and tactics necessary to apply make-up at dance recitals and/or performances, I did master the fine art of toe nail polish deployment on 6 year-old little girls. I have, on occasion, been unable to utilize the “tough sh*t” strategy when your 5th grader calls from school saying they left their clarinet/saxophone/violin/something else at home and would it be possible for me to detour my route to work and return home, retrieve said musical instrument and drop it off in the office at school. This morning however was the first time I went grocery shopping for a 7th grader at 6:30 a.m. I suspect it is probably not the last time.
Last night after leaving work early to pick up Bails and Kinz from school, a move necessary because I was consistently unable to get Bails to dance class on time due to tight time windows between school bus drop offs and dance classes, and after shuttling between Bails’ dance class and Rye’s two dance classes, and after picking up Kinz from softball practice, I’m lying on the couch drifting into and out of consciousness. Rye walks up and frantically lets us know that she just remembered she’s supposed to bring the ingredients for cupcakes to school tomorrow for class.
Now listen I don’t have anything against cupcakes. I like chocolate ones. I like vanilla ones. I like cupcakes that are chocolate and vanilla mixed together. They are loosely related to donuts and muffins and can at least attend the same parties as coffee cake. Its all good.
But I’ve literally been out driving around from 3:45 until about 7:45 and have driven past a grocery store at least 13 times. I’m not kidding about this. I looked at the map. I drove right past or was within a mile of a grocery store 13 times. Rye was in the car for at least 4 of those drive-bys. At no time did it pop into her head that she needed stuff for cupcakes. You know what did pop into her head? Telling me how much David Coverdale sucks. That’s what. But she has the steely resolve, I mean the self-absorbed audacity to ask me to drag my backside off the couch in the middle of the best Sweet 16 game of the night and go to the store to get crap for cupcakes. Cupcakes that I’m not even going to get to freaking eat! You don’t lay down some hateful smack about David Coverdale and Whitesnake and go and ask for a cupcake favor. I don’t care if the cupcakes are made out of beer, I’m not doing it. Seriously, though, if they had beer cupcakes I’d totally get the stuff to make those.
I mean I have already initiated the 40something night time total body shutdown sequence. With every passing minute it becomes more difficult for me to form sentences because the muscles that control jaw movement are asleep. Which, as it turns out, must be God’s way of making sure you can’t drop an expletive laced carpet bombing tirade on your kids. Kind of failsafe protocol for parents.
So naturally, we drove to the grocery store before school and picked up white cake mix, white frosting, vegetable oil, egg whites and those foil cupcake cup things. I’m assuming that when I see her this afternoon she’ll smile and let me know that it was all a false alarm and she didn’t really need the stuff for some reason. But that’s way a 13 year-old brain works. It develops at a natural rate until right about 7th grade and then it randomly works, malfunctions, works, shuts down, works and then regresses before finally it begins normal development again after college. It’s a lot like the career of Steven Tyler.
Top Spring 1990 Videos For You to Watch on Youtube: