Never was a Cornflake Girl…

Archive for the ‘Love’ Category

I went to Earnestine and Hazel’s last night.  It is without a doubt my favorite dive in Memphis.  I regret not taking Amanda when she was up there.  They have the BEST jukebox in the city, lots of blues, soul, motown, old school rock, of course Elvis and The Beatles.  I love their jukebox and they sell Red Stripe.  What more could you want??

So I go to the jukebox to add something to the queue.  It’s broken.  Well, it’ll play but you can’t see what you’re playing, you can’t shuffle through the music.  So I just start putting in numbers.

Very first one I put on, I put my “favorite” number, if I can be said to have a favorite, and that’s 22.  My friend in high school, Tron, he always said there was something special about the number 2 (it was his jersey number).  It’s also my birthday and growing up, two of my bffs were also born on the 22nd.  So I put in 22 for the cd number and then I have to pick a track.  I’ve always had this thing, ever since cds were available to middle class kids like me, about #7 on a cd.  I just noticed pretty quickly that I always liked track 7.  So I type in “2207“.  I put in a couple other random numbers and then the bartender, a cool older woman who loves to sing and dance, yells out to me, “Hey, I know that jukebox.  Whatcha wanna hear, I may know it.”

I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to hear.  “Etta James,” I said.  She nodded.  “Good choice, I know that cd.  What song you wanna hear?”  I knew the exact song I had in mind as well.  It’s sexy and it reminds me of Earnestine and Hazel’s and my favorite fantasy that is set there.  “You Can Leave Your Hat On,” I replied, hoping she’d know it but doubting her memory.  I shouldn’t have.  She rolled off the number right away.  “Twenty-two oh-seven.”  She said.

Well I’ll be damned.

You Can Leave Your Hat On by Etta James

Click the link to listen, if you like.

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Superbowl Sunday has always been an okay day for me.  I think it’s because I remember many many years ago that Superbowl Sunday was the day I learned I could have an orgasm with a man.  You girls totally know what I’m talking about.  Like, when you started having sex, wasn’t it like you could enjoy sex, but you only got off masturbating?  I’m sure this is not just me, because I know some people it takes much much longer to be able to get off with their boyfriends/husbands.

I learned this when I was pretty young I guess, I dunno.  I don’t what age a person “should” learn things.  But ever since then, nothing can really get me down around Superbowl Sunday.  In college I remember driving back up to Louisville from Decatur to party with Jeff E. on SS and we shot tequila at his uncle’s.  Chris McMullen was there.  And no one from EC was… it was like a nice little break from EC drama and madness.  Another good SS memory.

I hate football.  And pretty much like every other televised sport.  I tried to like it, I did… but nothing about it interests me.  I go to high school games sometimes, and that’s okay because I know the kids down there playing, cheering, in the band.  It’s nice to see them enjoying normal high school things, especially when I so often have to hear about all the things that are wrong in their lives.  Nice to see something go well.

Last night.  I kept it together pretty well.  Had a great great time, and I’d say it went just about perfectly.  Tonight, Superbowl party at Rae’s.  I feel certain there are a few of us who could care less about the game, and I look forward to a little wine with yall.

I just wanted to post this saying happy Superbowl Sunday.  I’m going to take the kids on a picnic at Enid before the party.  I’m sure they’ll be excited to play with Rae’s kids and we’ll all get to visit tonight.  I wonder about the rest of you, my far-away friends, and how you’ll all be spending the day.  I hope you get to do what you want and you get to spend time with some of your favorite people.  And I hope it’s magical!

I want to write lately but just can’t seem to make myself.  In two weeks I’ll be moved out.  I feel lonely but oh well, that’s all just part of it.  It’s scary but staying is scarier.  This song is fitting:

A Better Wife
Erin McKeown

i’m just something else he tried
a catalogue of interests in a catalogue of lives
i hid myself from him, i wouldn’t say it was a lie
but hiding worked its way into the way we lived our lives

it was clear that he was troubled
he had trouble with his pride
but i could never tell if the fault was his or mine
so i drew myself away, i wouldn’t say i left behind
a man who would never know the man he was inside

in a moment he was gone, i could see that he had died
by the quickening of blood and the fluttering of eyes
so i held him to my breast like all the better wives
who furnish men with love and never leave their side

i’m just something else he tried
the salt that’s left behind after tears have dried
and I suppose that i’ll go on, after all it was my life
and all that i supposed i held has come to be untied 

I started two different blogs earlier.  First, I have a lot to say about Sarah Palin.  As a woman, as a voter, as an American, an intellectual… there is just a lot to say.  I will try to have that done by the end of the weekend, but for now I just have so much more on my mind.

So I started another one, about being burned, losing a friend (no one any of you know, an old friend, I’ll explain later).  But I didn’t want to post another rant.

So I got to thinking, about how in the very near future I’m going to be pretty vulnerable and I’m going to need to learn how to protect myself from the people who will prey on that.  A certain poem started running through my mind while talking to a man tonight.  Not just any poem… since about 1998, if you asked me what my favorite poem of all time is, I would give you this one answer.  I need to repeat it again and again to myself in the upcoming months.  I hope it might be helpful to some of you as well:

Never Offer Your Heart to Someone Who Eats Hearts

by Alice Walker 

Never offer your heart 
to someone who eats hearts 
who finds heartmeat 
delicious 
but not rare 
who sucks the juices 
drop by drop 
and bloody-chinned 
grins 
like a God. 

Never offer your heart 
to a heart gravy lover. 
Your stewed, overseasoned 
heart consumed 
he will sop up your grief 
with bread 
and send it shuttling 
from side to side 
in his mouth 
like bubblegum. 

If you find yourself 
in love 
with a person 
who eats hearts 
these things 
you must do. 

Freeze your heart 
immediately. 
Let him—next time 
he examines your chest— 
find your heart cold 
flinty and unappetizing. 

Refrain from kissing 
lest he in revenge 
dampen the spark 
in your soul. 

Now, 
sail away to Africa 
where holy women 
await you 
on the shore— 
long having practiced the art 
of replacing hearts 
with God and Song.