Bad Boys, Revisited

In the midst of an email to a friend, I tossed out the words, (incidentally, this was while I was listening to a live performance production on PBS of Ray LaMontagne – not a small thing, it turns out – what music): Listening to Ray LaM on TV.  Trouble Trouble Trouble Tamed By a Woman.  Yep, he’s the one.  No one’s sung that to me yet.  And it’s getting short on time.  Where’s my Bad Boy to open his heart to me?  Bad boy…. there’s the problem.  The Good Guys interest me hardly at all.  Ack.  There’s my next column:  In Search of the Good Bad Guy.   Double Ack.

Oh dear.  It’s quite unsettling when the truth just babbles forth, unfettered and uncensored, when you’re not paying attention to yourself.  I hear that happens when you’re drunk, but I can’t quite attest to that.  And nothing much that I’ve heard from obnoxious drunks, (one of my least favorite categories, but ahead of the dangerous ones), has ever been of heartfelt value.  While it sounds like I must’ve been drunk to say such a thing, I assure you I’m not, but right now a Mexican Martooni in the dark hours, listening to the katydids, or cicadas, (I never seem to get them quite right, still), well, it sounds not so bad at all.

I must be a little stirred up by this Slippery Slope Ranch business.  I’ve heard and spoken to voices I haven’t heard in a while, (and no, not those voices the crazy people hear in their heads, lest you think I’ve gone a bit off True North…. more likely West), and it can’t help but grease those old wheels – the ones for which you wish the Picker Guys on TV would come and give you money to take off your hands.  Oh, I’d be the one who probably wouldn’t let them go anyway because I’m so fond of old, rusty things – that’s treasure to me.  But old memories and Ray LaMontagne singing those songs that grab you by the ragged edges of your heart and remind you that it got torn – well, I guess it softened me up a little.  Not so much as to put on my old Victim t-shirt and mope around, but enough to make me remember and think a little bit, of things that I just don’t think so much about anymore.

I’ve already started my new book, or blog, or whatever it is to be.  Like I said in my last missive, sometimes you have to reach back to go forward.  Back is somewhere I don’t wish to spend much time, because it’s a Black Hole of sorts, and I left too much of my life down there.  I don’t mind and in fact love a cloudy or rainy day now and then, (and right now we could use a deluge), but I choose to be one of the Sunshine People from here on out, and avoid those dark mole holes.

Part of the necessary story of the Slope includes things I don’t like to give much spotlight to, but it warrants a backbone of background.  It will be interesting to hear how it comes out – of me.  Interestingly, I’m not so angry anymore, and Ambivalence is getting close enough to me that I can pet it, sort of like a feral dog you want to trust you, and you can get to be friends.  Actually, I’d like to get on very familiar terms with Ambivalence, maybe Friend him on Facebook.  Not a bad guy to know, in some specific situations, but I don’t want to spend that much time with him.  Maybe I just want to use him and have my way with him and then leave him behind.  Have I become that kind of woman?

I’d wondered how this was going to work – how I could keep contributing to Queenie Says, and then spend time creating the new one, (which will remain unnamed until I tie it down), and how is it all to work?  It’s all beginning to take shape, and it reminds me of the old movies or plots of “a play within a play.”

All it takes is Time, and Time is all we have.  Really.  Time IS all we have, and it is our choice, or SHOULD be, how we choose to spend it.  How to CHOOSE to be happy, or content, or peaceful, when confronted with such huge challenges that are delivered unwanted to our doorsteps.  I know I have written of this concept before — When did we order that package that just got dropped off, or why?  And is it already paid for, or do we have months more payments to make?  Everything’s supposed to be a Gift, right?  Ha.  Ask the people in Joplin, or Mrs. Weiner.  (There are enough comedians and politicians and newsmen dealing with that one, but it’s hard not to…. oh never mind.  I propose we switch the comedians with the politicians, and I have no idea what to do with the newspeople.  I think they’re part of the government anyway, so let’s just have the comedians do everything.  After all, Alec Baldwin might run for mayor of New York now.  Won’t that be fun…. Really!  …….. Ah well, I think I digressed again.)

So the telling of the tale of the Slippery Slope will necessitate me to bubble up memories of the Bad Boy.  The one that got away.  The one I ran from.  The one who ran away.  The one who was so much damned fun, (or NOT), and the one that damn near took the wind out of me.  I suppose I’m the one that got away, and it was a good thing.  Fie and hell and damn, and there you go.  I’ll have to cogitate on how to write about it, without exhuming the body or letting the ghost run amok for any length of time.  Like the body in Deliverance, or The Tell Tale Heart, we don’t want any sightings or reminders.  The history will be short, and the rest will be the story of Now, for Now, like Time, is what we have.  Of course a little digressing now and then is not out of the question.

And from my message to my friend, I am forced to ask myself:  Am I still in want of the “bad boy” to perk my interest?  I obviously am not attracted to anything resembling, dare I say it, normal.  I say I appreciate Responsibility, but have yet to meet the Responsible Bad Boy.  They may not make such a thing.  Those terms may be mutually inexclusive.  If you see one, let me know.  And no more cruel jokes of them being perfectly delightful boatmen on the Colorado who are young enough to be my son.  That is just beyond amusing irony, but was somehow entertaining at the time, in that merciless sort of way.  The first one I fancied was so young I wished I had a granddaughter to give him.  The last one was breathtaking, and would have been for the daughter I didn’t have either.  (I just can’t get that Cougar thing going, or even want to.)  Perhaps the next one will be of sufficient geezerhood to be mine.  I told my river buddy I wished I could find a riverman my age.  She said I wouldn’t want him – he’d be too old and broken down.  Tell me that couldn’t possibly be the truth.

OK, here’s what it is, then, if we’re into manifesting.  A Responsible Fun Man… with a little bit of breathless thrown in.  Now that does not mean breathing impaired, thank you.  Perhaps I can just take his breath away, or vice versa.

Hope springs eternal, y’all.


2 Responses to “Bad Boys, Revisited”

  1. Why do you want bad, or why do you think you want bad, still?

    • queeniesays Says:

      Well, you see, at the end, at the last manifestation stage, I did without the bad part. It went to a Responsible FUN guy in the dreamseeking. No bad left. Done with bad. It was quite some time ago that I came to my senses, though obviously that could get a bit misconstrued in this post. It was just a weak moment while under the influence of RayLaM. That “Tamed By A Woman” song. Just sort of swept me away…. and Queenie always was one to get swept away, back in the day. Maybe still a bit in this day. Or a late night. But no more BAD. Done and done, not to worry.

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