Pavlov's Beotch

Remember how I needed to take out the trash Friday? Well, I didn't. I had better things to do, like Google what would happen if I left a Facebook group and make a girlfriend for my future-rockstar Sim. Those things may not seem vitally important to you, but if you could see how ugly the female Sims walking around Riverside were, you'd know it was a necessity.

Just now, a friend asked me if not liking the song Freebird made her unamerican. Of course not, I said, then went to look the song up to see whether I liked it or not and thereby not be a liar or anything. Actually, I do like it. It made me think of my dad and Sunday mornings, when my parents would put on their records, turn the stereo system up to EARBLEED, and we'd clean the house.

I fought it for about as long as it took to get through the first line, and by for I must be traveling on, I was excusing myself. The house is now trash-free, though the recycling still waits. Maybe later I'll throw on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band or Goodbye Yellow Brick Road and get that taken care of. There was a lot of Pink Floyd, Prince, and U2, but I listen to those enough that I guess I've killed the conditional reflex.