Caterwauling

1. What kind of lip balm do you use?
At my desk at work, I have about nine different tubes of tinted lip gloss, not to mention some tubes in my car, on my keyboard at home, stuffed in various bags and purses, etcetera. I will tell you my favorite, though — Burt’s Bees Lip Shimmer in the nutmeg color. It’s got peppermint oil in it and makes my lips all tingly as well as shimmery.

2. Do you wear sunblock everyday?
I don’t go near the sun — I’m Irish. I practically get freckles through my jackets! Until they make an SPF 420, nothing would be strong enough to protect me.

3. Have you ever had your eyelashes tinted?
Nope. But I do use volumes of jet-black mascara.

4. Do you drink diet beverages?
Pretty much exclusively. I’m chugging a Diet A&W right now. That’s to make up for the ice cream addiction.

5. What’s your favorite Girl Scout Cookie?
Tagalongs — I *~*heart*~* chocolate and peanut butter.

6. Do you like to get dressed up for formal events?
Oh hell yeah. I have dresses with tags on them, just waiting for an event to surface. Like I wouldn’t use that as an excuse, though, to go out shopping for something new. Look, I hate dressing up for work, and I love my jeans and trendy T-shirts, but I absolutely adore pulling out all the stops to look fabulous for a big event.

7. Do you sing in the shower?
I think you’d better ask my neighbors that one. 😉 Wait — don’t! I LOVE to belt out tunes in the shower as well as in the car (preferably with the sunroof and other windows open).

8. How did Katie Holmes get all those nasty sores on her mouth?
Girlfriend is LYIN’ about being a virgin — she probably found herself a nice tranny in a club like all the stars seem to be doing these days. (*cough cough Tommy Lee cough cough*)

9. If you could go back in time to live in any historical period, which one would you choose?
Back? Oh HELL no — I want to go to the future. UNLESS … I would want to emerge as a writer around the time of Anais Nin and Henry Miller — I’d want to be in Paris with them (or maybe even Ernest Hemingway) — back when all the “great” writers (in my opinion) emerged. Back before everyone was a publisher (e.g., on the Web), there were amazing writers who chose their words with care because all they had were cranky typewriters and diaries — no white out, no delete key, no automatic grammar/spell check.

10. Ask your own question
Dawn, your birthday’s coming up. What kind of cake do you like?

Mmm, cake. I love cake with white batter. Not yellow batter. Not marble batter. Not chocolate/devil’s food — I hate them all. I only love white cake. If it’s almond-flavored, then all the better. Throw in some strawberries or raspberries or chocolate sauce, then all right. As far as icing, I do not discriminate — I love buttercream or whipped chocolate to complement my white cake. Hell, I can live without the cake if I can just have a vat of icing.

On iTunes: Green Day, “Wake Me Up When September Ends”

Just because you’ve seen my underwear doesn’t mean that I am the slightest bit obligated to find out your name, talk to you or give you my phone number.

File this one under “things that sound dirty but aren’t.” 😉

To explain, I just washed the car. Like, washed, dried, vacuumed, Armor-alled, cleaned the carpets and washed the windows. The car is like, sparkling and shit. And it kills me that I have to park it under a fucking tree here at Slumlord Central, where it will be covered in pollen just in time for me to sneeze through the morning commute. In any event, my car was so dirty that the car wash only managed to smear the pollen around and make a lovely paste out of it, so I had to re-wash it again by hand.

But back to what I was saying, I know that I shouldn’t wear skirts to wash the vehicle. But when you own like 40 denim skirts and can’t wear a blessed one of them during the workweek, you want to justify owning a mini Old Navy in your bedroom. Anyway, between the car wash area and the park where I went to finish the job, I couldn’t believe the stares and the people who thought that seeing my ass hanging out of the car was an invitation to talk to me. Now, granted, me emerging from the backseat with a handful of glass cleaning wipes and me getting tangled up in my seatbelt was precious and all, but come on, did the guy have to stop his car to continue watching me? Lawd. I just lurrve having witnesses when I go all ass-over-teacups. Good thing I wore cute underwear!

On iTunes: Jane Siberry, “Lavender’s Blue”

*updated* — It was 4 a.m. and I was drunk when I wrote this!

All right, all right — I’ll do this particular Friday Five, and not even at gunpoint. 😉

1. Do you believe in love at first sight? Why or why not?
Abso-fucking-lutely. Call me crazy (and many have), but I believe in reincarnation and traveling with the same people throughout your lives. I’m in my sixth life, and I find that so many people feel familiar before we’ve exchanged a how-do-you-do — I know I’ve “met” them before. Similarly, there are people who irritate me for no particular reason — I know I must’ve had a scrape with them somewhere throughout the centuries.

In any event, I have people who caught my eye immediately or almost immediately, and I “knew” there was something special about them. On the other hand (always the devil’s advocate, I am!), sometimes it takes bludgeoning me with a cluestick to alert me to the possible arrival of someone special, but I think that’s been more about my heart knowing it and my head not processing it — or being afraid to consider it — right away.

2. What physical feature attracts you the most (romantically) to another person?
I love eyes. I fall in love with eyes that sparkle and shine, particularly when that person is looking at me, but also overall — whether dealing with a restaurant server or a custodian or a mother or a sister. And I go nuts over hands, too — I study people’s hands when it would be creepy to try to make steady eye contact. I can’t explain the fascination with hands other than to say that I just like to see clean, well-kept nails and long, strong fingers that I can imagine encircling mine. And a having a good butt never hurt anyone. 😉

3. What do you think is the biggest benefit of being in a romantic relationship?
You’re asking someone who has been in way too many non-functional (and therefore short-lived) entanglements. I don’t know — I guess the emotional investment appeals to me. I am not a chick who wants somebody around every day and every night — I think separate lives/interests/friends are glorious — but I do love the discovery process of learning the ins and outs of someone and deciding that you indeed are in love with their quirks. I guess I like the headrush that comes with new relationships, but I also like the familiarity that comes with trust and openness — I love to dote on people and to know that they are worth every minute of it.

UPDATE: You know what I love? I love the glow I get — the sparkle, the feeling of invincibility. Seriously, when I’m in lust, great things happen — I lose weight, my skin gets this natural dewy and light appearance, I smile all the time and don’t freak out when little things go wrong in other areas of my life. Everything seems right somehow — I’d never claim to be dependent on anybody for anything, but the change in me has always been significant.

Also, for those of you who visit via newsreaders, I don’t want you to miss Ted’s comment on wanting the best for each other. If you’ve ever met him and his wife, you’d know that you should take a lesson from those two whenever possible!

4. Biggest downside?
The fact that even though you think you’re done with the games, you’re not done with the games. Not to say that the downright mindfuck of a new dating relationship lasts forever, but it’s amazing the lengths to which we go to keep the mystery alive. Of course, for me, I rarely find that a problem, as no one has managed to figure me out and I am beginning to doubt that the day will ever come. 🙂 The other downside is that, in many instances, someone always loves a little bit less than the other. I’ve been on both sides of that equation, and both roles are equally agonizing (e.g., either you weren’t lovable enough or you are guilty because you couldn’t reciprocate the love you were given — *sigh*).

5. Has your idea of love and romance changed? If so, how?
I have always been one of those girls who chirped, “I don’t need a significant other to feel complete” my whole life. This goes against my mom’s wishes that I would just “admit already” that I need someone. However, women in general have a difficult time finding the right balance in life — especially single women. I would adore having someone to aggravate confound share in this bizarre, wonderful adventure that is life as well as to give me a reason to round out my days (and, particularly, my nights). Priorities, I say! 😉

UPDATE: I guess I never believed that romance and love and all that jazz would ever be “for me.” I always wanted to be dedicated to my career (mission accomplished) and that would somehow be enough. It’s not. But I don’t necessarily know how to go about letting my guard down and letting somebody get to know me. But I’d like to learn. 🙂 I don’t think I’d ever be one of those girls who’s chasing a ring, but maybe Mom was partially right — while I may not need someone to complete me, someone who would complement (and even challenge) me would be a welcome arrival. I don’t expect a fairytale and never did, but I think I’ve used independence and loneliness interchangably for far too long. …

On iTunes: Garbage, “Special”

TMI about Dawn. Which could, of course, be the name of this blog. 😉

Meme swiped from the treasure-filled Prattcave.

25 Years Ago (1980)…
The last Super Bowl won by the Pittsburgh Steelers. I was six years old and we had a party at our apartment. I used to have fantastic hair — it was long enough for me to sit on. My mom had fixed it in pigtails and tied them with black and gold ribbons. Let’s see, I turned 6 years old, which puts me in kindergarten (spring) and first grade (fall). I have a photo of my kindergarten teacher spanking me on my birthday (Mom had brought in these adorable upside-down ice cream cones decorated like clowns with sugar cone hats — freaking cute as all hell). It would be the first spanking of my life, and not the last. Take that any way you want. LOL.

OH, and I always got sent home ’cause my dresses were too short. Mom went all Harper Valley PTA on them about that. And she wouldn’t bring me back to school in a new outfit, as they requested. She picked me up and took me out shopping every single time … for more miniskirts. Hence why I still love them — I’m a rebel like that. 🙂

20 Years Ago (1985)…
Went from fifth grade to sixth grade. Wrote my very first poems. Was listening to Prince, Madonna and Blondie, along with my grandparents’ country music, my stepfather’s classic rock and my mom’s R&B. I had a poster of Robin Williams (as Mork. Jesus H.) above my bed, along with Michael Jackson. When I got into sixth grade, I discovered Bon Jovi and immediately got rid of all the other posters (including Smurfette and other characters from the ’80s) and PLASTERED the walls and ceilings with pin-ups from Hit Parader, Circus and Metal Edge magazines. Set my heart on becoming a groupie and a novelist.

15 Years Ago (1990)…
Sophomore year of high school. Hated it. My history teacher was hot for my mother, and it was the worst class in the world because A) he didn’t teach — just left it as a study hall four days a week, and B) it was full of the “dumb” kids who all bullied the living hell out of me. I hated it — it was last period, so I’d skip out and go work on the student newspaper. I got 100 percents on all my report cards even though I was NEVER THERE. Most of the kids in that class dropped out within the next year — my high school had the highest teen pregnancy rate in the county. After that, I never scheduled a class that was not an Advanced Placement class — dorks don’t tease other dorks. I busted my ass for the next two years in my A.P. classes, but I loved every minute of them.

10 Years Ago (1995)…
I had to drop out of college because I ran out of money. I graduated a year late (1997) and have been dodging the student loan officer ever since. 🙂 Actually, in 1995, I fell in love HARD and never got brave enough to do anything about it until it was too late. People meet other people — they don’t wait for you to get your act together. I was working three jobs and partying my ass off — my friends and I would get drunk and go dancing all the time. Times were tough, but I had great strength of spirit and knew things would get better. I had confidence and a wonderfully snarky streak that often got me into trouble but more often got me right back out of it!

5 Years Ago (2000)…
I was underpaid and overworked. I’d finally gotten the hint that nobody wanted to listen to what a “kid” had to say in the workplace. But I became sort of the office ringleader and was constantly organizing parties and happy hours with the “cool” colleagues. Holy shit, did we have fun. We tried every dive bar in Pittsburgh. And, OH MY GOD. My friend Rob was in this awesome band and I SO became a groupie. We practically lived at the BBT and ate Polish Platters and downed shakers of Kamikazes like they were spring water. Rob is an incredible vocalist and, although he did LOTS of fantastic original songs, I was never happier than when he was singing “Jessie’s Girl” — which often closed the shows.

Oh, and Rob and my friend Dawn (we all used to work together — there’s this pattern of everyone in that group of friends marrying colleagues) just got ENGAGED!!! YAY!!!

God, I miss that group. Rob and Dawn live in the D.C. area, which is awesome if we could align our schedules. But it’s nice to know that people from my past are really close by in this sprawling metropolitan area.

3 Years Ago (2002)…
Was stressed the hell out. Had landed a GREAT job with the fringe benefits of NEVER LEAVING IT. Had a great supervisor and the world’s biggest idiot on my staff. (Not Tiff — she literally saved my sanity by being a complete joy to work with.) Was a little too cozy with several male colleagues and quite a few others I met on the good ol’ Internet. Had a burning desire to run screaming from my life. Enter Tiff and her Grand Scheme to move to D.C. — she asked me to come with. And I did. I had a bad feeling about the job I took but really ended up glad that I made the move. And it took me awhile to find the “right” job, but I think I made the most of every opportunity that came my way.

Last Year (2004)…
Worst year of my life. Unceremoniously left my full-time job. Tried freelancing. Tried selling stuff on the side. Tried surviving with no sense of identity and income. Turned 30. Turned inside-out. Killed my beloved Caterwauling blog. Sold tons of personal possessions just to put gas in the car. Got eviction notices and repo notices. Died a little inside. Cried a lot. Watched people come and go. Watched others emerge and stay. Pretended I was fine. Waited to become fine. Found myself in the right place at the right time at the end of the year and don’t doubt for a second that things happen how and when they do for a reason.

Yesterday (May 5)…
05/05/05 — I hit the 33,333-mile mark on the car. Felt insanely empowered throughout the day. Noticed that for the first time in months, my eyes had color to them. Sure, they’re always green, but they had an amazing sparkle, a fire to them. I haven’t seen that spark in years — I hoped it would stay forever. I was surrounded by fantastic, fascinating people who want me to succeed. I went to see Dave’s new place — which is gorgeous! I’m so proud of him, and I told him so. And he told me he’s proud of me, too. And I realized that the past is exactly that — the past, and we shouldn’t look back when we all have so much ahead of us. We’ve gotten things we’ve wanted — he a home that he owns and me a job that finally feels right. And, of course, we still have more to achieve in life, but we’re not doing too terribly right now.

Today (May 6)…
Had a good day. Worked hard, enjoyed my colleagues, drove fast, ate well. Stopped at the liquor store. Hung out at Starbucks with a caramel mocha and my notebook. Had a mind filled with dreams and lips filled with smiles and even laughter. Looking forward to a tomorrow full of more visions of things that do (or could) make me happy. Enjoying being me. Finally! 🙂

On iTunes: Allman Brothers, “Melissa”

Today was One of Those Days.

Don’t get me wrong — days like today bring a lot of accomplishment and a sense of fulfillment, as well as a good night’s sleep. (*knock on wood* — whoops, desk is metal — *knocks on head*).

But what probably only the girls will get is that I dived headfirst into my day without having any cosmetics — i.e., war paint — on my face. Like, I was facing the world without my face painted on.

People were scared. 🙂 And they acknowledged immediately that I clearly meant business. I have to admit, I love it when people just want to be nice to me because they see the mode in which I am operating! 😉

Here’s the deal — while makeup is something that enhances our natural appearance and makes us feel loads better about ourselves, it’s kind of a shield. I mean, we all know we are human grab bags full of every emotion under the sun, and who only knows if the good twin or the evil twin will want to be the dominant one during any particular moment. But when you’re all dolled up before you face your day, it sort of sets the “right” tone. You’re composed, poised, ready to handle whatever comes your way with grace and style.

For me, the madwoman goes into hiding when the eyeliner comes out. The undercaffeinated chick who had way too much aggravation on the highways yet not enough sleep to prepare her for it disappears behind a closed door for 15 minutes, after which the proverbial butterfly emerges. Only thing is, the makeup is more like putting on a pair of fabulously trendy sunglasses — it gives the illusion of a nonchalant, composed and polished exterior.

I find the same thing when I wear my glasses. Not because they cost way too much, but I remember when my gay high school boyfriend (didn’t we all have one of those?) got glasses. I thought he acted stuck-up when he wore them — like he developed an almost-visible air of pretension. Not that I’m the pretentious type, but it’s like having a shield, some days. Which is why I tend to throw them off my face when somebody approaches — much as I probably should have any kind of filter available when I’m not in a room by myself, I prefer to be present, real, “on.”

In any event, the makeup makes me present, real, “on.” I’m not squelching thoughts about my oily, breakout-prone skin and my pores. God, I hate my pores. And then those new laugh lines that just cropped up — the hell?!?! And let’s not talk about the wrinkles because I squint a lot (because I never wear my glasses when I need them!).

So when the makeup’s not on, you know I’ve got a bug up my ass about something, if I’m letting people see the “version 1.0” Dawn. Not to say that the makeup makes things a thousand percent better, mind you — I’ve still got the same features, just without a dusting of bronzer, and while I love the glow, it doesn’t make me gorgeous or anything. It just means I’m going to be brief, I’m going to be blunt and I’m going to be really pissed off if I don’t get what I want.

It’s fun to be a girly girl — and I will be until the end of time. But there’s a certain sense of empowerment knowing that you grabbed the world by its balls before you’ve even had your second cup of coffee.

And don’t worry — I got my war paint on by noon. I’d already scared hundreds of innocent citizens by that point.

Oh, and by the way, it’s called war paint because it camouflages you as a kitten when there’s really a zoo lying beneath the exterior. But make no mistake, there’s nothing like a little lip gloss to give your foot a little bit more power when you’re out kicking ass. 🙂

On iTunes: Garbage, “Stupid Girl”

Whenver I ask my apartment complex to come in and fix something, somehow something else manages to go kaput in the process.

I would like to know how, when I asked them to repair the screen door on my balcony, my hot water goes out only in my tub. Holy frigid shower, batman! *shudder*

Oh, but wait — there’s more. One might want to, say, turn on the heat when it’s cold and/or when she has stepped into an Arctic shower, no? Apparently, no. I figured I’d try to warm up the apartment to bring my body temperature up to light blue instead of dark blue from said polar shower. Alas, the “heat” blew COLD air for the past two hours. COLD AIR!

Seriously, there was nothing wrong with anything in this joint before I asked them to simply patch up a screen.

And on that note (I am on a roll this morning — commuters beware!), do they have to use the CHEAPEST frames and screens possible? Jesus H, I go through like four screens a year because Kadi annhilates them with her claws. This is a cat-friendly establishment — all of us have screens with claw marks (I swear Kadi is going to blast through the bedroom window one of these days — she has weakened that poor screen tremendously just in the past month.

In any event, I guess I am going to do what I always do and fix what the maintenance people broke. I’m no stranger to my toolbox — I’m just handy like that. Guess you kinda have to be. 🙂 And no comments about any other possible *power tools* that might be in the vicinity!

On iTunes: Sinead Lohan, “Whatever it Takes”

Reader Poll Monday arrives whenever Dawn Standard Time allows!

1. How many countries have you visited?
The good ol’ U S of A is all I’ve seen, although I’ve probably met people from at least 50 countries, just given where I live.

2. How many states?
I’m sure it exceeds the number of fingers I have. And that doesn’t include a handful of airport layovers.

3. What is your favorite ethnic cuisine?
Tandoori chicken (Thai).

4. What is one culinary “delight” you don’t think you could stomach?
The menu on an average episode of “Fear Factor.”

5. What is one foreign tradition you’d like to see Americans pick up?
We need midday naps. Seriously, we Americans work through lunch or maybe manage to hightail it to a local drive-thru only to get back and drop crumbs in our keyboards. We need to make lunch into an occasion and have a nice snooze afterward.

6. What is one American tradition you’d like to see pawned off on another culture?
Give them our velocity — seriously, maybe it’s because I live in Washington, D.C., but everything is so hyper-intense. We live and work and spend money at the speed of light, and we don’t “get” cultures that take their good old time to learn and accomplish things.

7. What is your favorite condiment?
Ranch dressing. Not fat-free ranch, not light ranch, but buttermilk freaking ranch dressing smothering everything. I’d drink it if I could get it through a straw.

8. What is your favorite way to prepare a potato?
I like to call it “Driving through Wendy’s and ordering a Biggie.” Unless I can find a place with sweet potato fries, because that would totally rock my frog socks.

9. Are you planning any fun vacations this year?
Nope. But I would like to haul myself out West soon to visit a friend.

10. What is your Inner European?
See below.

Your Inner European is French!

Smart and sophisticated. You have the best of everything – at least, *you* think so.

I know, I promised to ban watching “American Idol” after Constantine was unceremoniously exiled last week. But I got home just after 8 p.m., and curiosity killed the cat for a reason — it’s like biting a wire with a live electric current, watching the carnage.

But it’s neat to watch for the sheer entertainment value and nothing else. I mean, I watched every week, hoping for all the contestants to do well. I wanted them to shine — they’re living out their dreams onstage, and good for them. We should all be so fortunate, to do exactly what we want in the exact way we want to do it.

Now, though, I am barely pulling for my remaining favorites (although, truth be told, I’d like to see Bo win this thing and have Carrie be the first runner-up). Dan had turned me on to a site that seems to be down now, but it was “Vote for the Worst,” and it encouraged everyone to vote for Scott Savol, just to screw with the results. And while I was mildly appalled at first, I get it now.

Someone had commented last week that we shouldn’t want the best to win — the winners (with the exception of Kelly) haven’t exactly been rockin’ the pop charts.

I was watching Scott closely tonight — he’s so out of his league. And when he was interviewed, he said he has a “fashion coordinator” to make him look appealing onstage. Um, yeah, he or she had better hang him or herself after that — I would hardly nominate him as my claim to career fame. *twitch*

OK, and Vonzell? She’s damn good vocally, but something about her irritates me. I know what it is because I do it too — it’s that chipmunk-y, icky-sweet voice she pulls out of nowhere. I use that voice when I know I’m in trouble or when I’m trying to soften a blow I know I have to deliver. She’s classier than last season’s Ghetto Fabulous winner and all, but personality is just as important as a rockin’ set of pipes.

Bo — I swear, he’s wearing the same jacket I had in high school, with the fringe and all. I like him because he reminds me of someone I used to be hot for. He doesn’t have the mass appeal that Constantine did, though, but the boy has raw talent, and that makes up for maybe having a bit less finesse. And hell, he’s still there. Let’s hope it stays that way.

I’m not voting tonight. That will be my boycott from now on. I will allow myself to vote in the finals, if it comes down to someone good against someone tragic. But, I assure you — while I “get” the “Vote for the Worst” concept, I will not spend my money (even if it’s just a dime) on supporting a candidate I don’t believe in — we already have one slack-jawed imbecile in the nation’s highest office, and we don’t need one winning the nation’s favorite television competition, either. Isn’t this nation sick of getting screwed?!?!

OK, so this sinner doesn’t go to church (although sitting in Pentagon traffic usually invokes variants on the names of higher beings), but I do go to meetings once in awhile. And I get the equivalent of church giggles, because I usually make remarks to myself that I think are quite hilarious, and then I look around the room to see if anybody could hear my brilliant thoughts and if they were, in fact, laughing at my brilliance. And I am stunned that nobody seems to be as entertained by me as I am, although I do hope I haven’t emitted any unconscious mutterings.

I guess I am ahead of my time, thinking we are in the era of mind-reading just because we want to. And that scared me for a minute — I like having my thoughts private. I mean, sure, you might hear me quacking back at the angry geese in our parking garage (I swear one of those little bastards was following me and blowing raspberries at me the other day!). After I quit quacking at him, I ran into the stairwell (because he couldn’t follow me into it — that, and I needed to, like, get to work and all) and said, “And don’t shit on my car!”

What I forgot to count on was the gaggle of not geese but smokers who are perpetually at the foot of the stairs (who usually hear me grumbling to myself about something or other). And I realized that while, thankfully, mind-reading is lightyears away, the good old-fashioned overhearing of a woman who has just survived another fun-filled commute is alive and well for years to come.

And when I did come out to poop on my roof (what the hell is going on? Between my cats and feathered creatures, I am up to my ears in ca-ca!), I exclaimed something my mom used to say when the ducks at the local pond would shit — “Ducka gucka!”

And, yes, I am grateful that nobody but the birds heard that one.

The thing is, I called my mom to tell her about the poop on the roof. And, without any prompting from me, she exclaimed, “Ducka gucka!”

And now, we see where I get it from.

So, I will continue in my struggle to not emit ridiculous statements in public, but the public needs to promise to not even try to tap into my mind … ’cause they will, in fact, step in the mental equivalent of ducka gucka.

Weep for me. 😉

On iTunes: Fiona Apple, “Shadowboxer”

You know it’ll be a good day when you remembered to take the shower toys out of the shower before you sprayed Tilex. 😉

Yesterday morning wasn’t so fortunate. Don’t worry — no toys were harmed during the recording of this message — but I awakened with a mouthful of vomit. Why? Because apparently the cats thought it would be cute to SHIT in EVERY ROOM.

I fed them “Good” food the night before — usually they get the cheap, dry Cat Chow crap. Which they will be getting from now until the end of time, thanks to the Sunday Night Shitfest. I mean, it was bloody shit, too — like they popped a blood vessel, trying to push out all that wet, stinky goodness.

Seriously, next time I open up the balcony and let the cats play outside, I am shutting the door behind them.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE
The bitches? SHIT IN MY WHITE SHIRT that I was planning to wear today. ARGH! I found some vomit in a couple of my socks, too. There went a laundry basket full of clean whites. Kill. …

On iTunes: Rick Springfield, “Jessie’s Girl”