I just heard this song by Holly Golightly & the Brokeoffs, and while I happen to really like it, I'm not sure I completely agree with the premise. Why can't one purchase a gun while crying? Is it against a state law? Is it a faux pas?
Because I think I, technically, could buy a gun while crying.
Anyway, I really like this album, which has songs like Devil Do (as in, ain't nobody gonna love you like the Devil do) and Jesus Don't Love Me Anymore (it don't matter what you get me at the liquor store, Jesus don't love me anymore). This woman has a voice like my darling Patsy Cline but a sense of irony and humor like Quentin Tarantino.
It's not everyday listening music, but then again, it depends on the day.
"You could dump me in a river, clean my sin but you might as well dump me in a bucket of gin" and "the Lord don't like it but the Devil don't mind."
These lyrics are speaking directly my inner (aspiring) alcholic. And, lo, do I have alcoholism envy lately. Again. Or still. It's hard to tell. Is it as quiet and peaceful as I think it is when one is staring into an open bottle of beer? I like to think that if I just put my mind to it, I could gaze into a glass of whiskey by candlelight for hours, foresaking all laundry and other worldly obligations. The trouble is, I wouldn't want to drink it.
And that's where I fail as an aspiring alcholic.
I've been thinking a lot about vice lately. Mostly the vices I don't have, which is most of them. Like smoking. I really hate the smell of cigarette smoke, have never smoked--not even a puff--but I was watching the ladies light up in Mad Men and it looked so pretty. Sexy pretty, not cute pretty. And then there's the relaxed look the people get, when just after they've lit that cigarette with shaking hands and blinked back the tears, they inhale, hold the smoke in their lungs, and then exhale. All the tension just seems to drain out of them.
I wonder if I missed out on something--besides lung cancer and nicotine fingers and premature aging and smelling like an ashtray--by not smoking.
I also refrain from adultery. Not even a facebook flirtation. It's good for the marriage but so boring. I was talking to a friend the other day about weight and dieting and motivation and I realized that people who cheat on their spouses are probably, as a group, thinner and more fit than those that don't. I have not a scrap of data to back this up, but I bet it's true. Getting nekkid is motivating. I haven't been nekkid in about a decade. Naked, sure. But nekkid? No. Not even a little bit.
I was listening to that John Cougar Mellencamp song, Jack & Diane, at the grocery store and was struck by the lyric "life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone." I'm not thrilled to be alive. I'm enjoying it, don't get me wrong. But I'm not thrilled. It's been some time since I've had butterflies in my stomach or that rollercoaster feeling of excitement. Of course, I don't get heartbroken or blindsided anymore either.
But still, the thrill is gone.
For example, we have a tradition called the Mojo Dance Party. The Dol hosts it. I love it because it is wicked fun. Only not wicked in the devilish sense, but wicked in the very sense. When Mr. Poppins asks me, the following morning, how the party was, I say it was great. When he asks what happened, I say "we danced and ate appetizers and drank some alcohol. We had fun." I don't have much more to say beyond that because we are all so damn responsible, even when intoxicated. Nobody throws up. Nobody cries. Nobody hooks up and starts making out. Nobody loses a friend and starts freaking out demanding "where's Jennifer? You have to help me find Jennifer!" And nobody gets into one of those awkward under-dressed and over-served girl arguments that end in streaky mascara and sobs.
I look forward to the Mojo Dance Party but I don't have that heightened sense of "anything might happen" that I used to get before, say, a high school dance. Why? Because the only thing that is going to happen is dancing and, possibly, a little impromtu sing-a-long with Meatloaf.
Do you love me forever? Right, now I'm praying for the end of time.
Not really. I'm enjoying myself. I like my life. There are no surprises. Fantastic. Everyone knows I hate surprises anyway. But they sure do make for interesting stories.
I don't think I'd ever buy a gun while I was crying but I couldn't even tell you if that was an ethical choice or not. It might just be that it's not going to come up.