My eyes and sinuses took that thing I wrote this morning about having a hard time staying in my skin to heart. They’ve spent the entire day trying to escape my skull in the most painful manner possibly. Not even my trusty Claritin-D has helped. Of course, I have convinced myself that I have built up a tolerance to my wonderdrug and am doomed to spend summers with a pinched looked on my face. This look is the only thing that seems to help relieve the pressure.

I’ve also convinced myself that it’s some kind of psychosomatic allergy to work. I never, ever have to take any pills when I’m at home. Not ever. This is proof enough. I tried to convince my co-workers that we probably work in one of those sick buildings with mold in the walls. They weren’t buying it at all.

Also, since they have decided they are ruling the day, my eyes and sinuses voted Outkast right out of office and we’re now currently listening to Marah’s “Why Independent Records Stores Fail” over and over again.

It’s a soft, slow song about a record store clerk in love with the bony-fingered 45-buying girl in his record store. It’s all about the awesome. There’s a line that goes “How am I to let you know that I’m kinda T. Rex meets The Jam” that makes my stomach get butterflies. Then he goes on about “I ain’t too good at saying things, but I could tape you certain songs.”

Then and then, this is the best part of all, he talks about holding her gently swaying hips to his.

And well, that’s all it takes to make me swoon. I am that easy, and clearly I have a lonely-record-store guy fetish that has just come to my attention right now.

I really have to give the mad props to my glasses-breaking buddy Monkey who gave this song to me. It’s really just the awesomest song to ever awesome (in a way that’s totally different from the awesomeness of Hey ya!)