The Mighty Morphin Blood Power Rangers

Whooda thunk that I would fall in love on a cruise…with a filipino hard rock cover band? The first night of my friend’s bachelorette cruise, I perused the evening’s entertainment choices with unveiled distaste: boring bingo, tiresome trivia, casino (I dont gamble) shitty karaoke, even shittier DJs, a piano bar (might not be bad) or Blood Power…what?? WTF is Blood Power? My girlfriend and I laughed at what we assumed was one of the worst club DJ names EVER and made our way towards the piano bar where we lasted less than 10 minutes. We sat through the murder of Elton John and Bob Seger but when he butchered The Killers “Mr. Brightside”, that was the last straw. Next we wandered into a time machine on the ship where the comedian on stage was telling Viagra jokes that werent funny even in 1999. Our continued wandering only confirmed that the karaoke was indeed shitty (because we are karaoke royalty and we shan’t waste our breath when the selection and sound system are poor), the ntsz-ntsz-ntsz-ntsz of the nightclub and the smokiness of the casino drove us deeper and deeper into a funk until “Stairway to Heaven” stopped us dead in our tracks. Inside a small bar at the ass end of the ship, four Asian men were onstage playing and they. Were. AMAZING! Because it was a small crowd, they asked if we had requests so we threw every rock anthem in the book at them and they played them all flawlessly. Not only was the musicianship impressive, they could ALL sing. Leads rotated between the drummer, bassist, and keyboardist who could hit notes that would make Mariah Carey jealous. Harmonies were tight and their accents (Cream? Oh you said “Queen”) only endeared them to us further. It wasnt until the band began to pack up that we noticed an 8×10 piece of white paper with black letters taped to an amp: The Blood Power Band. Ho. Lee. Shit. I was in love and no longer laughing. I vowed to return to see them play every night of the cruise. Unfortunately, the bar was crowded the second night so I sat in the back and pouted that I didnt have a front-row seat or control over the setlist. The final night, it was crowded again but I bought the band a round of drinks and awkwardly asked to take a picture with them after their last set despite the fact that I looked and felt ridiculous wearing a pink Hello Kitty one-sie, a tiara, and sash with a giant penis sticker that said “Hello my name is…”

I never got their real names but I figured I could find them on Facebook because what band doesnt have a Facebook page?

The Blood Power Band, that’s who. I googled but found nothing but a handful of youtube videos. I’ll likely never see or hear them again and any groupie fantasy I had of making out with the bassist is crushed.

I am devastated.

Even Tailgaters Need Jesus

I saw that on a bumper sticker recently. I also saw a car that had the phrase “Iraqi Freedom Vet. Do not tailgate” printed in very large, bright white letters on the back of the vehicle. I had a similar thought when I said “OPSEC and PERSEC be damned” and slapped a “combat veteran” license plate frame on the back of my car, hoping people would read it and back off. You shouldn’t tailgate anyone, of course. Perhaps, particularly, because you don’t know if the person whose ass you are riding has a touch of PTSD. Tailgaters will piss off anyone but for OIF/OEF vets, it can trigger a special kind of paranoia, fear and aggression. I’m not saying that I’ll throw my vehicle in reverse and pit you in your car, but rest assure I am thinking—no, fantasizing—about it.

“Rated R”

If you are under the age of 18 or one of my family members, stop reading now.

I was disturbed again by a conversation between my girlfriends as they bragged and laughed at how they manipulate their husbands with sex. It’s “If you do this for me, I’ll give you a blow job.” If men were as sensitive as women (and good thing they are not), then the man might be hurt or insulted that their woman so obviously would rather lick the inside of a toilet bowl than go down on him. Some women consider it a chore or an act of mercy. Women say they don’t enjoy it because they don’t get any pleasure out of it. You don’t get any pleasure from working your man over until a moan escapes his throat? Or take pride from being the best he’s ever had? Youre not turned on by seeing how turned on you can get him? I feel sensual and empowered; yes, even on my knees. I’ll never understand that joke about the reason why a woman is smiling on her wedding day is because she just gave her last blow job. I would do just about anything for my man because if he doesn’t get it from me, he may get it from someone else. But I also do it because I enjoy it. Am I the only woman out there that LIKES giving her man a blow job, no strings attached? And WHY am I still single??