Please bookmark the correct page at Princess of Irony

Heartbreaks over expectations never verbalized.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Apr. 05, 2005

There are three things I could be doing right now, productive things… work things. But I have this memory buzzing around in my head, actually a whole slew of them.

I made the mistake of listening to The Wolf* this morning while I was getting ready for work. (*you can follow that link and listen live if you so desire)

Mister went down to Houston last night to stay with some friends of ours. He has a job interview today at one o’clock, and another tomorrow back here in Dallas at 5 pm (please pray for him or send him good thoughts), so I was alone in the house this morning and I really cranked the radio while I was showering and putting on my face for the day.

My cat is really one hell of a dancer. Don’t let him tell you any different. He’s just modest.

The reason I said that I made a mistake by listening to the Wolf, not that it is a bad station, it’s really quite good… the reason I said that is because it is purely country music. If you have ever been a fan of country (and western! ha ha ha… bah dum chhh) music, if you have ever given it half a chance (move along gatsby) then you know the kind of hold it can have on your memory. The kind of pull it has on your heart when along comes a certain song on the radio and you are trying to apply your mascara just-so… but you have to stop… with your mouth half open… looking like a carp out of water while your mind races back to 1991…

No no no… I don’t have time for this. I don’t want to think about those steamy summer nights in Beaumont. Or that little saloon built off of county road 698 in Nacogdoches by a guy you could swear was lost in this century, a Wyatt Earp style mustache gracing his upper lip while a bandana encircled his neck. That little saloon where I could drink ice cold Lone Star beer night after night, while dancing on the shiny-but-warped floorboards, my head tucked under the chin of some good smelling cowboy named Tommy.

It’s too late… lost… lost in the words of some Kenny Chesney song about how some sweet, tall drink of water said those words to me and more… pledging time, love, honor and to move the mountain the earth and the stars if only… if only… if only what?

The memory surrounds me …. of being at a bar called Boomers one evening with the rodeo club. A handsome young buck approached me at the bar and asked me if he could have the honor of knowing my name. He removed his hat and bowed slightly to address me and I, within moments was completely smitten by the unassuming charm of a young man with the unlikely moniker of Joe Glenn. He bought me a beer and asked for a dance, I obliged, finding a wonderful and strong leader. When he led me back to my seat and my friends, he placed me in my chair with such care and manners that I stood on tiptoe and placed a small kiss on his cheek. When I turned around, Joe Glenn was laying on the floor with his hat over his heart saying, “I can die a happy man now.”

A song nags at my memory and threatens to open the closet of all of the “Dancing with Jason, D’Wayne, Troy and Chad Memories” and throw them all over the floor. Really, I do not have time for this mental enema right now, thankyouverymuch… ::sigh:: Doug Stone’s In a Different Light… fine… fuckity fuckity FINE.

But you are only getting the short version. I am in no mood for crying at the office. Do you hear me?

So much time is lost thinking about this stuff. But I can not help it…
Have you guys seen that Old Spice deodorant commercial where that chick and her friend are sitting at the kitchen table and in the background their retarded (not literally) boyfriends are jumping around like Mantled howler monkeys on crack about some football game or something. Then one of the girl’s boyfriends runs in and hugs her. She smells him. This triggers all these memories of them on a ferris wheel, eating brie, throwing feces together (what? He’s a howler monkey.) and the tag line is something like, “Scent is the strongest link to memories.” Or something. I call bullshit. I think it is music.

These four men Jason, D’Wayne, Troy and Chad shaped me, shaped the way I dealt with college stressors, the way I dealt with disappointments and victories and the way I felt about my loyalties and loves. They helped me through and were part of budding relationships and relationships that could do nothing but end in disasters. But every time I hear that song I can think of more than one time that I spent in each one of their arms dancing, laughing, crying or talking. One of the most special memories, I will tell you about soon enough.

The first. Gah, Jason. For some reason I fell for this guy so hard, but refused to really tell him what I wanted from him. I would try to act like, “Sure… whatever you wanna do is fine man. Spades tournament? Cool. I’m gonna go dancing at the Garage. You’ll just meet me there for the jitterbug thing? Yeah, that works… whatever.” Ya see, here’s the deal. This guy was the best fucking dancer I had ever danced with in my life, up to that point. I met him the first day we moved into the dorm and since he was rooming next door to one of my buddies from high school (Greg from the previous post… Stacey’s husband… yeah, that story is for another time…) I was like… Bonus. Interesting looking dude from Beaumont. Right on.

I was fresh off of my long time relationship (ended almost a year before) and swearing off men pact and the only crush I had had in a long time was on … get this… Richard Lewis. And here comes this brooding coonass from Beaumont with a grin, incredible rhythm and a cute little ass. Order of one please.

I weighed in at like 115 pounds and Jason could throw me around like a rag doll. One night we busted a move and he forgot to drop his elbow. WHAP! Right in my eye socket. Nice, a black eye right in time for parental visitation week. But when my parents saw us dancing and the level of athleticism, they had no doubts that it was a little risky. It was awesome… I guess I just assumed that the level of athleticism would continue into the bedroom.

Now I realize that I am a grown woman and I should have no shame for what I am about to say because it has nothing to do with me, because at the time Jason and I were in no way in any kind of wanton action but… I’m still mortified by the fact that he fell asleep on me. I was in his room, I snuck into his room to be more precise. He asked me to be there and it took a lot of doing for me to get over there without getting in trouble and the bastard fell asleep on me! I felt so unimportant and unloved and everything was UN! I snuck back out of the boy’s dorm and broke up with him the next day. I’m not even sure if he realized that he was dumped.

Thereby finalizing the education I received through Jason. I would continue to receive heartbreaks over expectations never verbalized though… because that’s the kind of gal I am dammit!

Troy… ah… the hillbilly, and I say that with affection. Troy wanted to play with me like a little doll. He was a big 6’3” bruiser with a mop of unruly blond hair and big blue eyes and this huge grin. I met Troy and his roommate D’Wayne through the rodeo club. Troy was from New Caney and loved to dance… SOLD! Boy can shake it like you can not believe. He can move that big ol body to anything with a fuckin beat! Jitterbug? Hello, Mr. Jason’s replacement… (Troy was my parent’s favorite to watch me dance with) and his waltz?… like buttah. All stiff upper torso with travel underneath. He acted like I was this little girl with the big wounded eyes and the Georgia peach smile wielding the power of rhythm, sweat and suggested sexual prowess all through music and proximity of hip to hip. There was only one problem with Troy’s theory… I’m just a big dork. Myth? BUSTED! (See?... Discovery Channel dork even. Heh.)

D’Wayne. (Sue = tearing up) D’Wayne equals my heart. That is all. Oh, the memory that I talked about earlier… D’Wayne has this voice like… like… Ok, imagine. No, better yet. Do this for me. Go to this link scroll down… click on the song called In a Different Light and then imagine your best friend in the world singing that to you when you have had a bad day. Or in that same sweet soothing voice singing If* by Bread to you when you have such bad dreams that you can’t sleep. Or… ::sniff:: when you get so blasted drunk at the bar (maybe to forget or maybe just so I could sleep) that you can’t even get your own pants off to pee, he helps you pee and then puts you to bed and sits next to you, watching vigil over you until you wake in the morning to make sure you are ok. (big breath) D’Wayne taught himself to dance in the mirror of his dorm room before he stepped a foot on the dance floor and he is one of the smoothest dancers. He can really polka too. And you get the added bonus of listening to him sing while you dance with him.

*you can follow this link the same way to hear the If song too.

Chad… sweet Chad. He calls me Sue Mamma (still). He came to college at seventeen on a scholarship from fishing. He’s smart as a whip and his momma raised him right. He is respectful and has wonderful manners. But shit, if you got the two of us together when we were in the mood to get tore up from the floor up? We would get in So much trouble… (please see the above paragraph about drunken behavior). When I hear Shenandoah’s Next to You, Next to Me I get a big ol grin and think about Chad. Maybe fishin in the dark or doing something retarded together at a bonfire… or his big heart. Dance with Chad ladies… if you are in Dallas… call me. He has this long legged slow moving grace that really travels. He can two-step, three step and waltz. And Chad can fix most anything mechanical. If a friend was in need of something, if their car broke down, Chad would fix their car for them, spend his time and energy to make sure they were taken care of… if they would just get the parts. Poor thing, married a mean ol girl... a local from Nac, just like me. Thank goodness we both got out.

These men were friends and confidants and sometimes lovers, but the music takes me back to them. Damn you 99.5 the Wolf, wasting my day. Not like I had anything to do with wasting my day… no siree bob!


Back Issues ::: Current Issue

Please switch to the site. - Friday, May. 23, 2008

- - Monday, Apr. 14, 2008

C'mon y'all - Friday, Feb. 22, 2008

C'Mon! - Wednesday, Feb. 13, 2008

- - Friday, Dec. 28, 2007

Follow this Link to the Cheese Club. Enter your photo in our Cheese Off Contest!

100 Things About Me

Sign the Guestbook

gmail me babies

Notified users get the dirt before EVERYONE ELSE!
Enter your email here:
Powered by

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.

To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

My Amazon Wish List.

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by
[ Registered ]

Rate Me on Diarist.Net By Clicking Here


Who Links Here View blog reactions