Got to catch the plane at 7:30

There is this one song that, for lack of a better way to describe it, makes me want to shoot myself in the head whenever I hear it. That's Robby Rosa's (of the Menudo -- you know the Puerto Rican former bandmate of a young not yet gay Ricky Martin) "If you're not here by my side". And no, don't even think for a second that it is because I feel empathy for the song. Au contraire my dear readers, it is for the exact opposite reason. Whenever I hear that song, it is so bad, and I can't believe it became so popular then it was played over and over again, that I lose a pint of will to live. Kill me now! Run me over with a bus, just make that darned song stop.

I was reminded of that feeling when our next door neighbor (in our work living quarters) played the song so loud and proud that I nearly lost it and almost committed the first ever if-you're-not-here-by-my-side-homicide. I was waiting for dear neighbor to sing along, that would have definitely pushed me over the edge. But alas, the song ended with nary a hum from next door. Not even during the chorus. He doesn't realize how fortunate he was -- I was readying our kitchen knives...

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DISCLAIMER: For the young kiddies who follow my blog, whenever I post something like this, it is supposed to be funny. It is an exaggeration. I am not insane. I will not hurt anyone over something so trivial.