I have now hit a new level of lame and henceforth shall be known as “Super Lame”. Or maybe even “Super DUPER Lame”.

*Edited to include the fallout from posting, um, something like this. Though the comments have been quiet there was a great “to do” in my real life. Apparently this is a bit much, even for me. Hee.

I have been up all night.

Most of it was spent listening to “Macarena” by Los del Río.

Repeatedly.

Like WAY more than once. Or twice. Or eleventyhundred.

And I did it ON PURPOSE.

WTF, right? I mean, LOOK AT IT. This is prime retina bleeding material right here, y’all.

This is way, WAY worse than that two week period when I had Bon Jovi’s “Bed of Roses” stuck in my head or when I slept with a Barry Manilow album under my pillow for months because I was going to marry him once I got to the second grade. (I can’t decide if it is worse than fighting for tickets to see Billy Ray Cyrus in concert when he was in full blown mullet and sleeveless shirt mode.)

This is bad, even for me.

Some pregnant mothers listen to classical music to increase the intelligence of their children in utero. I sing classical music when I’m not knocked up and then expose my fetus to the musical equivalent of Funyons and cheap bathtub meth.

Great.

I have a feeling that one day I will be the subject of a “Lame Musical Tastes” intervention filmed by A&E. Either that or an E! True Hollywood Story. Or Geraldo expose. (Seriously, so many options for where this could go.)

At the very least I feel a new Twitter hashtag in my future: #iamwaytoodamnlametolive

Do you think there is any way I can blame this on raging hormones and anemia?

I was young? 

I needed the money?

No?

Damn.

*EDIT:THE MORNING AFTER

This the ONE post my husband read on his own and it prompted an IM message from him that said, “You know you are completley CRAZY. Right?” (Yes. Yes, I do.)  He also told me that he wasn’t coming back upstairs until I stopped listening to the damn thing.

Most of the people I know have really great musical taste. My friend, Michelle always knows the best bands and singles and my other friend, Karen, patiently explained when I popped in a CD and grinned at her that there is a HUGE difference between her favorite band, The Foo Fighters and The Goo Goo Dolls. (What? Goo…Foo…I didn’t really think there was a difference. Everyone thinks they’re the same. Right?)

Jonathan is way too musically cool to be married to me. He was the type in high school and college who listened to bands that hadn’t even been formed yet and went to hundreds of cutting edge, indy concerts held in dark basements of coffee clubs.  His theory is that I will have no readers left as they are now either struck blind and deaf from “whatever that thing you posted from youtube was” or are just too polite to tell me this is the final nail in a coffin of “WTF???”. 

I disagreed and told him that I think everyone secretly loves it and has fond memories of making a public spectacle of themselves by shaking their hips and grabbing their rear ends doing The Macarena on a 90’s dance floor and are too shamed to cop to it publicly.

(No? This song really just sucks that bad? DAMMIT. Will I never win???!!!!! OH,THE HUMANITY?!!!!)

Ok, fine. I admit it. I need help.

Luckily, I got some from close loved ones who thought things were dire enough for other action to take place. I had a musical intervention.  Calls and emails, IM’s and DM’s from people begging me to consider my health and well-being and to GET HELP! NOW!! BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE!!!!

My awesome friend, Michelle, even compiled and brought over the BEST CD mix at 10:30pm last night to save me from myself and my musical lameness. 

It’s catchy.

And I don’t have to look over my shoulder and wear dark sun glasses when listening to it. 

Free at last.

I wonder what the relapse rate for this kind of disorder is?

Hmm…