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Also, just watched the AI finale and lost my shit over Tom Jones. Bouncing up and down on the couch, clapping, squealing lost my shit. Almost threw my panties at the TV. Was reaching down and digging for them when I thought better of it.

In other news, Liv disowned me today.


I guess I should explain about Tom Jones and I should put it as simply and succinctly as possible:

TOM JONES IS HOTTER THAN SHIT.

Back in the old days, over on the old Trust The Process boards (John Taylor's old message board, long gone now) I would say that all the time. A lot. Probably to the point where people wanted to hop in their cars and drive down and punch me in the twat just to shut me up. I didn't care. Because TOM JONES IS HOTTER THAN SHIT!

It's true. There is something about that man that just makes me want to get up, jump around, dance like I have a mental issue, squeal at registers that cause dolphins to beach themselves and bats to fly into trees, and divest myself of any manner of underwear I might be wearing and toss them in his general direction after writing "SNIFF HERE" with an arrow pointing to the crotch in Sharpie.

So, yeah... I was already loving the American Idol guys doing a Tom Jones medley, and I was amazed that Liv knew most of the words to all the songs (and not because I play them at home, because I don't,) but she knew ALL of "What's New, Pussycat?" and most of "She's A Lady". And then OMG TOM FUCKING JONES FUCKING WALKS OUT ON FUCKING STAGE AND I FUCKING LOSE MY FUCKING SHIT.

I'm literally squealing "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD IT'S TOM JONES!!! IT'S TOM JONES! TOM! JONES! JONES! TOM! TOM JONES!!!" and bouncing up and down on the couch and flailing my arms and squealing incoherantly with "TOM!" and "JONES!" coming out between squeals and breaths.

It was really quite undignified, but really, FUCK DIGNITY. IT'S FUCKING TOM FUCKING JONES!!!

My Thom just shakes his head and keeps on painting whatever WWII piece of weaponry he's working on now (I think Italian tanks, but it's hard to keep up...)

Liv, on the other hand, stares at me in complete and utter horror. "Mom, stop it..." I keep bouncing and squealing. "Mom?" I start seriously thinking about going for my underwear and say so. "MOM! OH MY GOD, MOM. GROW UP!"

She might have left the room but I honestly don't remember and didn't care. I'm a horrible mother.

I can't explain it unless perhaps I learned to love (I suppose I should say SIR) Tom Jones in utero, but I don't know of my mother even likes Tom Jones. (Hell, she was a straight woman with a pulse in the 60s. OF COURSE she loved Tom Jones. DUH.)

And let me explain something here--the man will be seventy two next month and still does about 200 shows a year. And still kicks ASS.

So yeah, Tom Jones IS hotter than shit. And can still get it. Orlando Bloom (who???) WISHES he had that much sex appeal at 34, for Chrissakes.



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crevette

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