What’s happening at this very moment? I just ingested multiple spoons full (not spoonfuls…right? It would be spoons full. Like the plural of ‘mother-in-law’ is ‘mothers-in-law’…yeah? Moving on…) of JIF Hazelnut. That’s the JIF knockoff of Nutella. It’s super good…but I’m trying to ignore the fact that two tablespoons contain 230 calories. Oops.
I’m just sitting in my studio on a Sunday night, painting my nails and trying not to disturb the sleeping kitty behind me.
For this post, I was considering doing a countdown or list of some sort, but my creative juices are currently being absorbed by cheap knockoff hazelnut spread. So, let’s see what happens.
February is 5 days away. Just in time for me to not be in a relationship for Valentine’s Day. But hey, last February was when I got my silky leopard print sheets! They were on a display that featured silky sheets, candles, and other romantic things. Dude, silky sheets and candles are my LIFE. At this moment, I have a stick of incense burning and 3 candles lit. I blame my need for constant chill mood setting on my Prince obsession, which started at an extremely young age.
Yes, I own three copies of ‘Purple Rain’ on digital video disc, or DVD, as the kids say. Yes, I own multiple books on Prince, some of which are just picture books of him being coy and wearing fanciful suits and blindfolds. Worth the money, people. I love the man! (I actually own a fourth Purple Rain…but only those who know what I’m talking about know what I’m talking about.)
Prince also plays a large role in my slow jam/babymaking music obsession. I can’t get enough slow jamz. My iPod was innocently on shuffle one time when I had a group of people in my Malibu (rest in pieces), and I was asked why I only listened to babymaking music. I hadn’t realized that I did, in fact, have a constant need for dirty beats and saxophones.
Boyz II Men blasted a lot in my house when I was little. A couple of years ago, I asked my mom why I was allowed to sing every single word of ‘I’ll Make Love To You‘ before I was allowed to put my own straw in my juicebox. (Note to self: straw in the juicebox is a GREAT euphemism.) She said she didn’t really know; it didn’t bother her. Well, I did have mad singing skills that early, so it was probably a treat to hear a little fat white girl with a mullet NAIL ‘End of the Road’.
Recently, in Palo (as every amazing story starts), my cousins and I took over the jukebox, where we made the bar listen to ‘Private Dancer‘ by Tina Turner and ‘Red Light Special‘ by TLC. My cousin’s husband told me that I was going to be responsible for all children conceived that night. I welcome that burden. Also, once I did a rousing karaoke rendition of ‘Darling Nikki‘ by Prince at the same bar…and prompted my cousin’s husband to yell “IT SMELLS LIKE SEX IN HERE.” We are class acts. Hell, just a few weeks ago I did ‘Bump n Grind‘ by R. Kelly at Mickey’s Downtown karaoke, and had 6 drinks waiting for me at the bar afterwards.
THE POINT IS….everybody loves a good slow jam. Whether it’s meant to serve a mood, you’re obsessed with the style, you’re trying to get free drinks at the bar during karaoke or your Catholic upbringing and constant questioning led you to a Keith Sweat album. Me? I just like the silky TLC pajamas, the incense and candles, the wine, the gritty saxophone solo, the explicit lyrics, and the fact that a song can make a person’s body feel stuff. Good stuff. Oh, and En Vogue choreography never hurt a slow jam. But, when in doubt, just thrust….a lot.