Thursday, July 22, 2010

What Would I Do If I Ever Met Steve Perry?

As I mentioned in this post last month, there are a few people with whom I keep in touch quite frequently via email. Our conversations are mainly about Steve Perry, Journey, music in general, Steve Perry, Steve Perry, and Steve Perry. And since some of us in the group are writers, we may link to a piece we've written if we think the others might enjoy it. But every so often, the question of, "What would we do if we ever got the chance to actually meet Steve Perry?" comes up, and my answer is always the same: get a photo op of the two of us doing something completely random and/or ridiculous that's in keeping with this blog. Examples include, but are not limited to, the following:

-Steve and I playing either Connect Four or Battleship
-Steve and I singing a duet at some hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar (The trashier the bar, the better!)
-Steve and I frolicking in a field with adorable puppies (I'm crazy allergic to felines. Sorry, cat lovers.)
-Steve and I getting matching tattoos
-Steve and I in a heated discussion concerning the "Who shot J.R.?" episode of Dallas
-Steve and I painting each other's faces (I want mine to be a tiger--rawr!)

Out of all of those examples, I like the matching tattoos the best. In fact, I like it so much, that I'm going to answer definitively, if I ever met Steve Perry, I'd get pictorial evidence of us getting matching tattoos. Currently, I don't have any tattoos, because there's nothing that I really want on my body permanently, but you can bet your sweet bippy that if an opportunity to get matching tats with Steve Perry ever presented itself, I'd jump on it faster than a cougar on Taylor Lautner.

I can just picture it: It's Monday morning. I'm drinking some coffee and trying to put off going to work for as long as humanly possible. I check my email and see a message from a sender named Steve Perry. It reads: "SVB, you're a cool chick. I think we should meet and get matching tattoos. You in or you out?" I'd be in, Steve. I'd be in so hard, you wouldn't even see it coming, even though you were looking for it. And I realize that last sentence sounds a little naughty, but whatever. You know what I mean.

Now, what kind of tattoos would we get? At first I thought about maybe getting LOMFON (this blog's initials), but quickly nixed the idea. That's giving this blog waaaayyyy too much credit. While it's a fun time-waster, it's not tattoo-worthy. At all.

Then I thought about one of us getting "Don't Stop" and the other getting "Believin'" so that when we put them together, it reads, "Don't Stop Believin'." Kind of like when a couple has twins but can only afford to keep one, but before getting rid of the other, they give them each half a pendant, so when fate brings the twins together later on in life and they see that their halves fit perfectly together, they realize they're long-lost siblings and have an emotional reunion. But that didn't seem right either.

And then I thought, why not go old school and get tats of each other's names? So that's what I decided on. If Steve Perry and I get matching tattoos, it'll be of each other's names. I'll get one on the inside of my wrist that says "Steve Perry" and he'll get one on the inside of his that says "SVB." It'll make people wonder: are we lovers? Are we secretly married? Did we start a singing duet? And then we'll laugh and say, none of the above. We're just pals.

And, like I said before, there would be pictorial evidence, mainly so I could post it here and verify my claim that yes, Steve Perry and I actually got matching tattoos. (Although now that I think about it, getting tats of each other's names doesn't necessarily constitute as matching, but whatever.)

P.S. Also, the tattoos we'd get would be ambigrams because those are too cool for school.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Crotch Shot of the Day!

So I've been thinking, what better way to drag myself out of my staycation coma than with a rousing discussion about Steve's nethers? What, you agree? You think it's a great idea? This is why we're friends.

Oh, Steve. SteveSteveSteveSTEVE. Why do you do this to yourself, man? I mean, look at you in this picture--you're hunched over in PAIN! Sure, you may say it's because you're just feelin' the music, but come on--we know the truth. Those nut-crunchers are painful. Just admit it. I mean, we can all see it. Admitting that your boys are in agony doesn't make you a weak man; it makes you honest.

Tell me, Steve--did you have to ice down, your, you know, area after that performance? Or did you just drink the pain away?

*Picture from the Steve Perry gallery on Picasa: http://picasaweb.google.com/SteveeePerry

Friday, July 9, 2010

Question of the Day

Would you trust your skin to Sherrie Swafford?

Yes, that Sherrie Swafford. Not too long ago, I was tipped off by an anonymous* comment on this post that "Oh Sherrie" had a skin care line. After scouring the web and consulting KGB to find more information (KGB text: "It is rumored that Sherrie Swafford does have a skin care line, but no information can be found where to get it."), all I managed to come up with was this Yahoo! directory listing. That's it. No website with fancy graphics and an online store. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Just a directory listing of a salon out in Bakersfield, California that could quite possibly be Sherrie's salon, which leads me to believe that it's a small operation. The listing does have a picture, though--what do you think? I think it could be her.

But back to the question at hand. Assuming that the salon in Bakersfield does belong to Steve Perry's ex, and assuming you're actually in Bakersfield to visit it, would you buy any of her products? The one review on the directory claims that they're good products. Know what my answer would be?

HELL YES! People, this is a skin care line by Sherrie Swafford. The Sherrie Swafford who dated Steve Perry back in the day, the Sherrie Swafford who was so close to his perfect complexion she could touch it. Or kiss it. Or swipe some DNA to use in some future capacity, which it looks like she has. Guys, you know what's really in those little jars and bottles that stock the shelves of that salon in Bakersfield? Steve Perry Complexion DNA. Sherrie has found a way to harness it, mass produce it and share it with the world, so we can all dip our toes in Steve's personal Fountain of Youth. Or at least the citizens in Bakersfield can, anyway. This is the single greatest contribution to society, ever, which is why I think Ms. Swafford should be awarded the Nobel Prize in BETTERING THE FREAKING WORLD. But before she can win that award, she needs to share it with the freaking world. So, Sherrie, what gives? Why you holding out on the rest of us, boo?

So tell me--would you trust your skin to Sherrie?


*Actually, I think I know who the comment was from, but since they posted it anonymously, I don't want to "out" them if they don't want to be "outed," know what I'm sayin'?

Thursday, July 8, 2010

A Hairy Situation

The other day, my friend Taylor heard on the radio that Jon Bon Jovi was voted as having the best hair of the eighties. Now I don't know who participated in the vote or how official it is, but I do know that it is some bullshit because everybody knows that Steve Perry had the best hair of the eighties, the nineties and today. I actually think that Jesus proclaimed that Steve had the best hair shortly before turning the water into wine at that wedding, but somehow that little detail got left out of the New Testament. Anyway, apparently Steve thought it was bullshit too, so he called Jon and they battled it out as only men with cool man-hair can do.

The battle took place in the private salon on Steve's property, 5000 square feet of the best shampoos, conditioners, serums, and flat irons money can buy. It also has plenty of space, so that Steve could throw dance parties in it if he ever got the inkling. Or kick someone's ass as was the case in this situation.

Jon arrived wearing a getup that looked akin to Van Helsing's costume. His weapons of choice were a jumbo can of Aqua Net, which everybody knows can shellac everything from your hair to a baby monkey, and a family-size bottle of John Frieda's Frizz-Ease. Amateur. Steve knew that it would be an easily-won fight, but decided to humor Jon so he could lose with dignity. His weapons of choice were ultra-hold gel (the kind that turns your hair into plastic), a blow-drier that blew air at speeds that weren't legal, and a flat-iron. His outfit of choice? This one.

Jon looked Steve up and down and smirked. "You might as well quit now, old man," he said. "Bon Jovi doesn't fight fair."

"Bon Jovi is the name of your band," responded Steve. "Is your entire band here? Nope. It's just you and me, son, so you better start referring to yourself as Jon."

"Bon Jovi is my last name," Jon replied.

"I thought it was Bongiovi," Steve said.

"Your mom's name is Bongiovi."

"You sonofabitch!" Steve screamed. Jon had crossed a line. NOBODY talked about Steve's mother like that, and those who did elicited an angry reaction of Hulk-like proportions. Quick as a cat, he pointed the blow-drier at Jon and turned it on, sending his opponent careening to the opposite end of the salon. Stunned and shaky, John got to his knees.

"Go ahead! Say something else about my mom! Go ahead!" Steve taunted.

Jon quickly got his bearings and raced back to Steve, pulling out the can of Aqua Net. He aimed, and hit Steve squarely on the forehead and shellaced his face for fifteen minutes.

"Hahaha! Your face is frozen, sucka!" Jon yelled triumphantly, doing the Dance of Joy victoriously. Watching Steve careening around the salon in confusion, he grinned wickedly as he pulled out the Frizz-Ease and prepared to squirt it all over the ground with the intent that Steve would slip, fall, and lose.

"Get ready to kiss that precious title good-bye," he said, shaking the Frizz-Ease bottle for nothing more than dramatic effect. "By the way--your hair looks like a cheap weave."

Suddenly Steve stopped careening, and in one fluid motion took out his bottle of ultra-hold gel and squired Jon mercilessly until he turned into plastic and fell over backwards.

"Silly boy, you can't freeze my face," he said, towering over the lifeless Jon and removing the hairspray which had congealed into some sort of mask. "It's like butter. And while I will always and forever hold the title of best hair, don't stop believin'. These battles liven up my day. Also, you just got Journey-ed."

With that, he packed up Plastic Jon and shipped him back to Richie Sambora, who, upon opening the package, curled up in the fetal position on his bathroom floor, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and stayed in that position for three days. When he finally emerged from his self-inflicted coma, he found Jon, once again human, chain-smoking crack and shaking. Neither one had anything to do with Steve Perry ever again.