A Confession

I admit it, I am a sucker for bubble gum rock. To me there is nothing better than a catchy song that makes you want to roll down the car windows and sing along at the top of your lungs. I hate to say it, but I prefer a fun melody to the more artistic works of say, Bob (will this song ever end?) Dylan.

"Big Girls Don't Cry" (Fergie), Love it.
"We Belong Together" (Taylor Swift), Turn the radio up.
"Jesus Take The Wheel" (Carrie Underwood), Singing it my head right now. (And oye vey, I'm Jewish, what can I say?)

It makes my husband cringe. He likes music with soul, music with cryptic lyrics and complicated instrumentals. He admires talent. And so do I, really I do... however there is something about some tunes that just make you feel good.

But I have gone to far. Truly I have. This is a big confession.

The song, beyond unintelligent, borders on offensive. Shall we begin with the (miss)spelling of Gurls? Is this suppose to be clever? And who can relate to these bikini clad ladies in "California Gurls"? I myself would prefer to be seen in a parka on the beach these days, anything to avoid exposing my midriff. And really? The line about the Popsicle. Bad.

Yet, I simply cannot help myself. I like it. I want to hear it. When my husband reaches to turn the radio dial, I slap his hand away, and instead turn up the volume.

For your reading pleasure.....the lyrics, folks:

California Gurls

We're unforgettable

Daisy Dukes

Bikinis on Top

Sun kissed skin

So hot

We'll melt your Popsicle

ooooh oh ooooh

California Gurls

We're undeniable

Fine, Fresh, Fierce

We got it on lock

West coast represent

Now put your hands up

ooooh oh ooooh

Ahh... Thank you Katy Perry, Dylan ain't got nothin' on you. Genius.

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