Sweetness' Slow Jams

My very first job was at a record store in the mall. It was the mid-90s and I just graduated from high school and it was the coolest. Back then we could wear whatever we wanted. We could also open up any CD we wanted to play in the store. If someone brought a CD to us and was unsure if they wanted to buy the whole album or just the CD single (ha!), we would just open the whole CD and let them listen to it on the overhead. That was the greatest summer ever.

When I went to college in Chicago, I continued to work at another branch of the record store part time. By then, uniforms had been adopted, but we still could open whatever CD we wanted to play in the store. The manager also played bizarre Hentai cartoon porn on the monitors after hours as we closed up, which was also awesome. There, I learned how to do returns and exchanges and that the Japanese really love tentacles.

I only worked at that location for a few months because unlike the suburban mall locations, we kept getting robbed at gunpoint and that sort of took away from the whole experience. I switched to working part-time at a local pizza place that was frequented by the police and got to watch a lot of old Shakira videos from before she learned English with the back-of-the-house cooks instead.

The summer of my freshman year I moved back home and got a job at yet another one of the record store's locations. This time it was a free-standing store in a burb about a 15-minute drive from my house. The uniforms remained and we could no longer open whatever CD we wanted to play. Instead, we were treated to the corporate headquarter's mix CD of popular songs of the day, played over and over and over and over and over and over again. We now had scripted dialogue and sales quotas to fill. How many cassette singles can one actually sell? Why would anyone want a cassette single to begin with? At $0.49 each on sale, a lot of people, actually. My High Fidelity job was slowly morphing into an uncool corporate lamefest overly structured by The Man. They probably don't even listen to music! They don't know, you know? They just don't know.

One day, I was alphabetizing CDs somewhere between Kris Kristofferson and Talib Kweli when my co-worker John walked up to me. John was very tall and very blonde and incredibly even-keeled. His hair could have been on fire and he would have said, "My hair is on fire" in the exact way he would have said "It is 3 o'clock."

John walked up to me and stood there, not saying anything. "Say You'll Be There" played overhead. He stared.

"What?" I asked.

"Um. Did you see who I just rang up?" he said.

I looked toward the front where the cash registers were. There was no one there.

"No. Who?"

"Walter Payton."

"Walter Payton? What? You're telling me you just rang up Walter Payton?"

"Yes. I--"

I didn't stick around to hear what John was going to say next. I dropped the Kajagoogoo and Kid Rock CDs in my hands and threw John to the floor in my effort to reach the front of the store. Throwing myself against the the window, I saw a black Porche backing out of its parking space. Its license plates read "SWEETNES."

My mouth dropped open. I watched the Porche drive out of the parking lot and turn into the street. A group of teenagers that had just parked had noticed the Porche, too, and they stared at it as they entered the store.

"Was that--" one of the kids began.

"Walter Payton!!" I yelped. "That was Walter Payton and he was in here!" I hadn't even seen the man but just the fact that I was breathing the same air that he had only moments before sent me into a frenzy. I had to call my Dad.

I picked up the phone and dialed home. John casually walked up to join me at the registers. I began to tell my Dad about the whole thing when John pointed at the window.

"Walter Payton's back."

I spun around. Sure enough, the black Porche was back in the parking lot, parking.

"OHMYGODWALTERPAYTONISBACKDADIGOTTAGO!" I slurred and slammed down the phone. John, the group of teenagers and I stared. There was silence except for "Return of the Mack" blaring in surround sound. The car door opened. A man got out. His image was obscured by the large stupid logo splattered on the store's window. The door opened. Walter Payton walked into the store.

We were paralyzed.

Walter Payton walked up to the counter. He pulled out a CD from the store's logoed bag and looked it over.

"Hey guys," he said, "I was debating between two CDs and think I should have bought the other one instead," he said.

We were statues.

The teenagers made their move.

"Sweetness!" they yelled, and Walter Payton broke into a huge smile.

"Hey guys, how's it going?" He began to shake hands and slap backs and the kids asked him for autographs. No one had any paper, so he suggested we pull out some cash register printer paper for him to sign. Obviously he had done this before and was more than happy to do it again.

After he visited a bit with the kids, he turned to us again. I remember thinking that he was incredibly short. The CD he had decided against the first time was still behind the counter. John picked it up and handed it to him.

"This one?" he asked.

Walter Payton took the CD and examined it briefly. "Yeah, this is the one. I should have gone with this one. Can I exchange them?"

"Sure," John said. He handed me both CDs since I was the one who handled exchanges. I took them both and looked at them.

They were "Slow Jams: The Definitive Collection," and "Body + Soul Vol. 2: Turn Off The Lights."

Walter Payton was looking to get it on.

I began to ring him up and do the exchange. When I was done scanning it, Walter Payton took his new CD and put it back in his original bag.

"Oh wait," said John. "We have to unlock the security case on it first or else the alarm will go off. We wouldn't want to have to frisk you!"

"Oh, I don't think I'd let you frisk me!" Walter Payton said, laughing. "But I'd let her frisk me," he said, looking at me with that 100 watt smile. "Hi Jill," he said.

He said my name. Walter Payton read my name tag and said my name.

"Hi.... Walter Payton." I said.

(Note: This would begin a freakishly coincidental theme in the few celebrity encounters that I have had, which will be discussed later.)

Though it sounds bad, it was totally non-creepy and completely funny and endearing, making him even more likeable, if possible. I completed the exchange, giggling like a moron and put his CD back into the bag. He signed autographs for us and said goodbye, smiling from ear to ear and left.

We watched Sweetness get into his Porche and drive away. I was so happy I was vibrating. I called my Dad and told him everything and spent the rest of the afternoon back in the K section floating on cloud nine.

At 9 PM the last customer left the store and we locked up the front door. We began cleaning and restocking for the night, closing out the registers and wiping down the counters.

There was a knock at the front door.

"Walter Payton is back," John said nonchalantly, glancing up from sweeping.

I turned around to see Walter Payton again, waving in the darkness from the other side of the glass door. I unlocked it and opened the door.

"Hi again!" he said, cheerfully. "You accidentally put both the old CD and the one I exchanged it for back in the bag and realized it after I got home. Here you go!" He handled me the Slow Jams album and waved, walking back to his Porche.

"Thank you!" I called after him into the darkness. I couldn't believe it. This super famous mulit-millionaire sports icon had taken the time to drive all the way back to a dumb record store to return a $14.99 CD that he accidentally got for free, something no one had or would ever have noticed due to our starstruckness.

I had heard many stories about Walter Payton, mostly testimonials from other famous people on TV, some from friends and family who also had run-ins with him out and about in Chicago. All of them painted the same picture of a genuinely warm, humble, funny man who always took time to talk to his fans. A class act all the way. I could now add "honest" to the list.

"That was awesome," John said.

"Yeah," I said.

I watched Walter Payton drive off one final time from the music store, me filled with an indescribable something that would last to this day, he only two short years away from his tragic and premature death. But that night, Walter Payton was ready to set the mood for romance with the most passionate soul songs ever written, gathered together in one tantilizing collection.

Sinus Supremus

My Dad was driving the other day when a man tried to cut him off. Some kind of exchange took place and my father ended up giving the guy the finger and yelling the dreaded 'F Word,' something my father never says. He came home still on an anger-high from the exchange and paced the house, furious.

Later, after he had calmed down, he reevaluated his reaction.

"I can't believe I screamed the F word at that guy," he said.

"It happens," I said.

"What was that insult that Eliot yelled at those kids at the bus stop?" he asked.

"Eliot? From E.T.? Um, I don't know. Something in Latin, I think."

After some Googling, I reported back.

"Eliot yelled 'Zero Charisma' and the other kid yelled back 'Sinus Supremous,' which is Latin for 'Zero Space.'"

"Yeah, that's it! I should have yelled that instead. Next time I'm yelling that."

"That will really stick it to him!" I said.

"Eliot also called someone 'Penis Breath,'" my Mom said from the kitchen.

Dad and I looked at each other. "Well, yeah. If the first doesn't work, you can always try that one, too."

If I Was Your Boyfriend

Hey, Justin Bieber. Mm. Mmm. You soundin' good. I was driving in my car the other day and your song "Boyfriend" came on. I liked it. I didn't know it was you, actually. I thought it was some long-lost Justin Timberlake jam. All sultry and whatnot. Bumpin my head to it. Yeah. The lyrics sucked me in. You say if you were my boyfriend, you'd never let me go? You got money in your hands that you'd really like to blow? Well, that's ok by me. I like to eat. Yeah, that's right. Why don't I pick you up and we can hit up the Red Lobster? You know their garlic cheesy biscuit things? You like them? Sure you do, baby. You like them. And they're complimentary. You don't even have to blow that money on them. You can save it for other things, like this wood-grilled lobster they've got right now. It's really good. Mmm. 

I like how your song has a pre-hook to your hook. I like how you use the word "swaggie." You've taken the word "swagger," worked with it, made it your own. That's hot.

Ok, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't do this. Look, you're really cute. And your new song is really good. But you're just way too young for me. I mean, I'm not that old and I do still look really good, but I just can't get into the younger guy thing. I never really have. Maybe I could have gotten into this more if you were Justin Timberlake. He's still younger than me, but far closer in age, plus he can grow scruffy facial hair and I can pretend. I can't even pretend with you. 

Well, actually, I can pretend that you're season one A Shot At Love with Tila Tequila winner Dani Campbell. You look a lot like her, but I'm sure I'm not the first one who has told you this.

I've gotten way more into the butchy lesbians as I've gotten older, too. I don't know what it is. When I was younger, I was all "If I want a man, I'll date a man. Now put on that lipstick, girls, and dance for me." But later I found myself staring longer at the butches and wondering if I needed to set my compass to forty degrees longitude and k.d. degrees langitude. 

Hi Dani. Mm. Mmm. I like your smile. And your hair. And the fact that you're a firefighter. Oh yeah, I knew that. That's hot. Do you like music? Do you like Justin Timberlake? Me too.

Most everyone looks good in a ribbed tank top, in my opinion. No matter your size or swagger. I mean, swaggie. But Justin Bieber, I just can't get down. I know you want to be my Buzz Lightyear, but that's the problem right there. I'm a Grover girl, not an Elmo girl. It's a generational thing. But don't worry, sweetie. I can still bop my head to your sweet jam.

I just might be making jelly with my girl Dani.

Hi Dani. Hi.

Princesses LUV Puppies Party

 I love The Real Housewives of Anywhere series. I would watch The Real Housewives of Hialeah, Florida if they made it. (I got that by googling "Most boring city in USA.")  I don't know what it is about the series that makes me love it so. I feel like they are all idiots, yet I would totally be real-life friends with them at the same time. They've harnessed it and served it up on a plate for me, whatever "it" is.

Let's talk about Alexis, can we? (Yes, we can, because it's my blog.) She is already over-the-top ridiculousness for so many reasons:

*Playboy Barbie Biblethumper married to THIS guy:

*She's serious about her career as a newscaster. Though she herself has admitted that she's "no Katie Couric yet," she is on her way as seen in this interview with someone named Dr. Booty.

                                     

*She also has her own clothing line (duh), on which she worked really hard by telling a hired designer some of her ideas and then critiquing the final product, thus resulting in a serious of basically colorful sacks. She models them herself, of course.        

                                                 

                               

Also, what is going on here? Who was the ad guy for this layout? Who ok'ed all of these squatting/crouching positions and faux startled faces? I'm guessing Alexis, which is why it turned out so amazing:

Ok so you get my point. Alexis is awesome.

I know what you're thinking... Alexis is a career-driven woman! She's an industry powerhouse! What with the newscasting and fashion designing and modeling and Real Housewifing. But no! She's also a mother to three kids (or four, I can't remember who cares). And THEY are her first priority.

So on the last episode of RHWOC, Alexis throws her twin girls, Melania and Mackenna a birthday party. Doesn't Teresa from RHWNJ have a daughter named Melania, too? (Of course I already know she does, but I'll pose it as a question to seem like I'm unsure due to only being a casual viewer of this series and not one that DVRs all of them and memorizes all of their children's names.) Yeah, I think she does. I guess there's a trend of naming your daughters after one of Donald Trump's wives, perhaps they will grow up to marry a millionaire 28 years their senior, too. Yay! But I digress. M&M are turning four, so now is the perfect age ("when their memories begin") to throw them a birthday party they'll remember.

Alexis explains that the title of the party (because all children's parties need themes and titles, duh) is "Princesses LUV Puppies Party," although she keeps accidentally calling it "Puppy Princess Party." Oops! But I won't judge her on that faux pas as she has a lot on her plate. She explains that she came up with the idea because her daughters love both princesses AND puppies. She wants to giver her girls this amazing party both so they will have a birthday to remember and also so she can prove to the world that she can, indeed, do it all. So she orders a bunch of people to move furniture in her house and please make a party, then excuses herself to go get spray tanned upstairs. Supermom CAN do it all! I don't know how I would find the time to tell a bunch of people to make a party for my kid. So she gets spray tanned in some sort of semi-permanant tent in her, what? spraytan room? and then walks around the house in her bikini planning the rest of the party. This involves more clapping and saying yay, I am so excited for this party while dozens upon dozens of illegal Guatemalan men and women in leg shackles hand paint puppies on Swarovski crystal scepters to hand out as party favors to the other four-year olds.  Ok, that part really didn't happen, but it SHOULD HAVE.       

       

                             

The day of the party is here and everything is ready! The giant weird cake, her pre-school daughters coated in make up and tiaras, Alexis in a tiara, and the delivery of the puppies. Because you can't have a Princesses LUV Puppies party without puppies, duh.

Now, if it is one thing that the RHW series has taught me, it's that rich people are really, really charitable. It's kinda what they do. They are always busy "working on their charity" or incorporating charity fundraising into their fabulous parties or showing up to other fabulous parties thrown to support charities. THEY CARE, DAMN IT. They have all of this money and they want to give back. Alexis, bless her heart, is no different. You might say, "Alexis, you're so rich, why don't you just buy a bunch of puppies from The Puppy Store for your party and then when you're done, just turn them loose in the streets of the OC. Or better yet, give them to the chapped-lipped, dehydrated Guatemalans so they may drain them of their blood as sustenance so that they may live to serve you another day?" But no. No. Alexis does more than this. She contacts some sort of... puppy rescue organization, that... loans puppies in need of homes out to rich people to... play with for awhile? Organize a party around as a theme? Give away as party favors? Whatever, we've got puppies, you need puppies, let's make this work.

                               

So Alexis is thrilled because her daughters Melanoma and McDonnald's get to have puppies at their party, and they've been really, really wanting a puppy of their very own, but eww! Alexis doesn't want to clean up pee and poop. (After an accident, Alexis declares loudly, "We have puppy pee pee on the floor." Read: "Someone else please come clean this because I certainly won't.") She has no desire to have an actual long-term pet in the house, which I completely understand. But she goes on to explain that this birthday party for her kids is not only great for them, but a charitable event because all of the puppies are available for adoption. So she yells, "Kids, go bug your parents to take one of the puppies home!" There's nothing like getting a bunch of five-year olds' hopes up only to be crushed by their sabotaged parents' denials of fluffy puppy permanency. The looks on the moms' faces when she told their children to go beg their parents for puppies was priceless. I mean, not that SHE would want a puppy in her nice home. But other people living somewhere else, I don't know, maybe on a mountain top with a big backyard for these poor abandoned puppies to frolic in? Filthy new-money renters? Wait, honey, who are our neighbors again? Whatever, have a puppy! Fantastic! Charitable! It's win-win!

The best part was when Alexis makes a speech to introduce her twin girls, still waiting upstairs, all sad and alone, to their own party. Because you HAVE to make a grand entrance, natch. But this party isn't just about them, oh no. It's about Alexis. And she proceeds to give a graphic account of their bloody, traumatic birth and the list of drugs she was on. 



“Their mom almost passed away. I am doubled over, I can't breathe … I have a blood clot…I am on Demerol and Morphine. And that’s what this celebration today is all about.”



If you think that I wouldn't be friends with this woman, you are wrong.

Here's a clip.