The One Where I Can Prove Justin Bieber is Satan

So, you guys love me, right? And you would never, ever judge me for a small indiscretion? Or even a large indiscretion?

I have a confession to make.

I mentioned in my last post that my brother gave me an iTunes gift card for Christmas. This? Was exciting. I haven't had any new music on my iPod in. . .maybe years. Since 2008, probably. I had 2,638 songs on it prior to the gift card, so it's not like I was hurting for stuff to listen to, but I wanted some of the newer stuff.

Now. . .I have artists that I love, that I like, that I tolerate, that I dislike, that I hate, and artists that I dislike, but for some reason, whose music is so damn catchy I can't help but like it.

Examples of this last category include but are not limited to Ke$ha and Eminem.

And. . .I'm going to make the confession, you guys, and I hope and pray you don't think any less of me, and if you do, I'll send you some baked goods to convince you that I'm not, in fact, a terrible person going to some circle of Hell.

I need to clarify this because there is, in fact, a difference between liking an artist and liking their music. Karen (who often helps me justify bad decisions lapses in judgement), when I told her of my indiscretion, said, "No, it's cool. There's a BIG DIFFERENCE between liking an artist and liking an artist's music." She also pointed out the fact that Justin Bieber likely had NOTHING to do with the actual composition of the song in question (which I'm getting to). . .other people did that for him. He just took his lesbian haircut and sang it.

So thank you, Karen. You've made me feel better about the horrible thing I've done.

And that horrible thing was to download Justin Bieber's first single.

Hear me out.

It's catchy. It's really, really catchy. And yeah, it's dumb, and yeah, Justin Bieber needs to be slapped, but it's got Ludicrous in the middle rapping "She woke me up daily/don't need no Staaah-buuuucks!" And that sort of makes it awesome. And, if it's any consolation, I can't even stand to listen to any of his other songs. I switch them off when they come on the radio. This is the only one that doesn't make me feel vomitous and stabby.

So I downloaded it. I downloaded it, and I've been listening to it on the car on my way to work. This, of course, compounds my fear of driving in that I'm afraid that something horrible will happen, and I'll have a wreck, and I'll be mangled by the side of the road with Justin Bieber blasting out of my stereo.

ANYway, this is all beside the point. the point is, I had a $25 gift card, and I'd bought a couple of songs already at this point. When I bought the Justin Bieber song, and I wish I had taken a screenshot of this, but once that transaction happened, I had $16.66 left on the card.

$16.66.

So basically all I'm saying is that Justin Bieber is Satan. Or, at the very least, the Antichrist.

Don't judge me.

So what about you? What's your guilty pleasure entertainment?

The One Where I Try To Learn Spanish

I know it's Friday, and I know I'm missing (again!) my FFwD, but my excuse this week is that I'm actually making this dish on Sunday (or, tomorrow FOR Sunday) because my mother's side of the family does Thanksgiving the Sunday before actual Thanksgiving, so I'm going to make it and bring it for lunch Sunday.

Also, I just discovered that this blog passed its year-old mark without any kind of anything. So here's a mini party to celebrate keeping this thing going for a year and 10 days with some kind of regularity:

As some of you may or may not know, I've got a background in taking French classes. That's not to say I speak French, but I have a background in taking classes. I took 3 years in high school, and then a total of 4 semesters in college. (Actually, I was signed up for classes 6 semesters in college, but I dropped it twice.)

As much as I love the language, I'm not good at LEARNING languages, as it turns out.

Despite this, when I was at the library the other day, I picked up a CD set, promising to teach me beginning Spanish quickly.

Yes, Spanish. French is awesome, but Spanish is the language that's taking over the country, so Spanish it was.

I popped the first CD into my car player, and listened to a pleasant-sounding man tell me to listen to a conversation between a (North) American man and a Hispanic woman.

So far, so good.

I caught a few of the words, and thus felt pretty proud of myself. Then, the guy started explaining what they were saying, and asking me to repeat things.

The first thing that threw me off was the use of (and if I butcher spellings, please forgive me) Castilano for "Spanish" instead of "Espanol," which everyone knows. I've been getting that confused with "entiende" which is the word for "understand."

So when the guy tells me to say "I do not understand Spanish" (a true statement, by the by), about half the time, I'll say, "No castilende Espanol." I don't even know if "castilende" is a real word, but I keep using it.

The man continues.

"Say, 'Hello, sir. Do you understand English?'"

I respond.

"Bonjour, monsieur. . .crap, no. That's French. Hola. . .Hola, Senor, entien--"

And then about halfway through the fixed sentence, he interrupts me to tell me how I SHOULD have said it. Gracias, Senor.

Then I realize that there seems to be some sexual tension between the Norde Americano man and the Hispanic woman.

"Hola, Senorita," he says. "Como estas usted?"

The narrator explained that this means, "How are you doing?" (Muy bien.) But thanks to the sexual tension I feel between these two people (who don't have names, by the way, so I've taken to calling them Gregor and Maria), I take it more as a Joey Tribbiani, "How YOU doin'?"

Since I'm by myself in the car, taking these lessons, I'm talking out loud. To myself. I always am afraid that people driving by are going to think I'm either A) Crazy or B) Saying nasty things to them. I haven't gotten run off the road yet, so I'm good to go. Conversations usually go something like this:

Narrator: Say "How are you doing, ma'am?"

Me: "Como estas usted, madam? Crap, no. Como estas usted, senora. How YOU doin'?"

Narrator: Tell the young woman good morning, and that you do not understand Spanish.

Me: "Buenas noches. . .no. Diaz. Buenos dias, mademoiselle. Crap. Senorita. No casilende Espanol."

Narrator: "Buenos diaz, senorita. No entiendo Castillano."

Me: SONOFABITCH!

Narrator: Tell the young woman you are North American, and that you only speak a little Spanish.

Me: Why don't YOU tell ME why the word for the Queen's Spanish and the word for "understand" are SO DAMN SIMILAR and you taught them in the SAME LESSON?

Narrator: "Soy Norde Americano/Americana. Hablo Castillano un poco."

Me: "Soy Norde Americana. Hablo Espanol un poco."

At this point, I'm not certain why I'm arguing with a recorded narrator. So when he tells me to ask the woman how she is and if she speaks English again, I end it with a. . .

"How YOU doin'?"

Then I turned on the radio.

That's about where my lesson ended last night.

Buenos tardes.