Dear beloved family of mine,
It has been brought to my attention numerous times over the past several weeks that you do not share my glee over my newly downloaded Pandora radio app. Although you all have enjoyed using this app for years, I am a newbie and as such, I feel as though I'm entitled to a little enthusiasm over finding a (mostly) commercial-free source for all of my music needs.
This includes, but is not limited to, British Invasion, Prince, 80s Pop, Disco and Classic Country.
I realize that my passion for British Invasion radio has caused me, on more than one occasion, speak with a truly dreadful British accent and for that I am sorry. And I agree with you, one should never let listening to hours of The Beatles, Herman's Hermits, The Rolling Stones, Dusty Springfield and The Kinks influence the way one pronounces words. The night I served enchiladas and guacamole with a side helping of a Liverpudlian accent was a low point in my career of wife and mother. Dead Brits everywhere turned over in their graves that night.
Switching over to Prince radio didn't go over any better. Because you all staged a small revolt, I now see the error of my ways in forcing any and all conversations back to Purple Rain, both the movie (thumbs down, way down) and the soundtrack (thumbs up, way up). I accept that the world doesn't revolve around Prince (although it should) and it shan't happen again.
Perhaps the final straw in the whole "Jen Discovers Pandora" experience occurred yesterday at dinner, when I shared my discovery of a deep and harboring love for all things Classic Country. I shouldn't have forced you all to listen to George Jones during dinner, but I simply couldn't help myself.
You see, for a solid eight hours yesterday I quite happily sang along at top volume with Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Patsy Cline, and Hank Williams (both Senior and Junior). Plus, there was enough Willie Nelson and Jerry Reed to keep things really moving. I wanted to share my joy with you at dinner.
Upon seeing the immediate looks of disgust on your otherwise lovely faces, I should not have pushed the Classic Country issue … but come on. We're talking about Loretta Lynn here. Coal Miner's Daughter? Hell-o? Genius.
And Patsy Cline? Oh, how I adore Patsy Cline! Little did I know that she and (of all people) Katy Perry would become a source of contention between members of my family and myself. To this I say I did not mean to yell out "Katy Perry owes her entire career to Patsy Cline! Without Patsy, there would BE no Katy!" towards the end of the meal.
Plus, I certainly did not mean to bang my head so loudly against the kitchen table when asked "Is Patsy Cline, like, Katy's mom or something?", that the spoon jumped out of my bowl.
Really, it was accidental.
Getting all huffy with you, my beloved current husband, about confusing John Schneider (my first husband) with Schneider from One Day At A Time, wasn't accidental and I thank you kindly for quickly learning the vast difference between the two Schnieders.
(Three, if you count when you mentioned Rob Schneider, but I'm not going to bring that up again.)
All this being said, I will tone down my Pandora obsession and not insist that you all not only like it, but actively participate in conversations about my musical taste du jour. I publicly and sincerely apologize for annoying you with my current Pandora fixation.
P.S. Did you know that Pandora has a Girl Groups station? Squee!
Jen keeps a quirky and (sometimes) humorous blog, www.mysemitruestory.com, where she writes of her life (with occasional flashbacks to the 80s) and shares her non-award winning photos.
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