Category Archives: country music

Country music: Living vicariously

I’ve had Music Choice’s “Today’s Country” playing in the background as I do chores. I’ve wanted to point out a couple of really great songs through which to live vicariously for a bit now. Men, no offense, but these have to do with women pissed all to hell by men. I’m very sure there are plenty of love and break-up songs by men. In fact, I know there are. But back to these two.

The first, “Mama’s Broken Heart,” is from Miranda Lambert’s LP Four. It’s about a woman who, reasons unexplained, is dumped by her boyfriend and kind of loses it. When I first heard it, I laughed really hard because it reminded me of someone I know really–ME! The woman in the song is apparently in a small town because people start calling her mother who then calls her and tells her to “Hide your crazy.” I swear to God, that is something my mother and my old (i.e. 60 years and older) cousins would say. I’m no push over and they don’t get it.

Here are the lyrics:

“Mama’s Broken Heart”

I cut my bangs with some rusty kitchen scissors
I screamed his name ‘til the neighbors called the cops
I numbed the pain at the expense of my liver
Don’t know what I did next all I know, I couldn’t stop

Word got around to the barflies and the baptists
My mama’s phone started ringin’ off the hook
I can hear her now sayin’ she ain’t gonna have it
Don’t matter how you feel, it only matters how you look

Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up
Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady
‘Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together
Even when you fall apart
But this ain’t my mama’s broken heart

I wish I could be just a little less dramatic
Like a Kennedy when Camelot went down in flames
Leave it to me to be holdin’ the matches
When the fire trucks show up and there’s nobody else to blame

Can’t get revenge and keep a spotless reputation
Sometimes revenge is a choice you gotta make
My mama came from a softer generation
Where you get a grip and bite your lip just to save a little face

Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up
Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady
‘Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together
Even when you fall apart
But this ain’t my mama’s broken heart

Powder your nose, paint your toes
Line your lips and keep ’em closed
Cross your legs, dot your I’s
And never let ’em see you cry

Go and fix your make up, well it’s just a break up
Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady
‘Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together
Even when you fall apart
But this ain’t my mama’s broken heart

The second song is from Carrie Underwood’s LP Blown Away and is called “Two Black Cadillacs.” I haven’t purchased the entire Lambert LP but I do have Blown Away. Even so, this song didn’t jump out at me initially. Then, I heard it on radio. I had to listen to it a couple of times before I got it. Then I thought to myself, “Uh huh. It doesn’t matter whether you’re black or white. If a man does TWO women wrong, he needs to pray they never team up.” The guy in this song didn’t pray hard enough because he ends up in the ground after one woman finds out about the other. The second one didn’t know about the first, either. I’ll leave the synopsis there and just let you read the words. I love it! It is because of songs like this that country music is the fastest growing genre in the music industry.

“Two Black Cadillacs”

Two black Cadillacs driving in a slow parade
Headlights shining bright in the middle of the day
One is for his wife,
The other for the woman who loved him at night
Two black Cadillacs meeting for the first time

[Chorus:]
And the preacher said he was a good man
And his brother said he was a good friend
But the women in the two black veils didn’t bother to cry
Bye, Bye Bye, Bye
Yeah they took turns laying a rose down
Threw a handful of dirt into the deep ground
He’s not the only one who had a secret to hide
Bye bye, bye bye, bye Bye

Two black Cadillacs, two black Cadillacs

Two months ago his wife called the number on his phone
Turns out he’d been lying to both of them for oh so long
They decided then he’d never get away with doing this to them
Two black Cadillacs waiting for the right time, right time

[Chorus:]
And the preacher said he was a good man
And his brother said he was a good friend
But the women in the two black veils didn’t bother to cry
Bye bye, Bye bye
Yeah they took turns laying a rose down
Threw a handful of dirt into the deep ground
He’s not the only one who had a secret to hide
Bye bye, bye bye, bye bye
Yeah yeah

[Bridge:]
It was the first and the last time they saw each other face to face
They shared a crimson smile and just walked away
And left the secret at the grave

[Chorus:]
And the preacher said he was a good man
And his brother said he was a good friend
But the women in the two black veils they didn’t bother to cry
Bye bye, Bye bye
Yeah they took turns laying a rose down
Threw a handful of dirt into the deep ground
He’s not the only one who had a secret to hide
Bye bye, bye bye, bye bye
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

God, HELP!!

I’ve read nearly all of my first journal begun one week after I’d contacted Glenn a full decade ago this past March 22. I began it as a woman absolutely giddy with happiness at being able to talk to the man she loved more than herself seven or nine years after he hung up on her when she came out to him in the wrong way, granted, but not deserving of a discussion at least, to; a woman barely hanging on to life, being purposely reckless in the hope Fate would relieve her of the agony of not knowing why he turned on her all of a sudden in mid-conversation, blamed her for even thinking that he’d had any interest, telling her he didn’t care whether she rejected or embraced her love for him because he wasn’t “going there,” saying that she had been “dyking around for a decade,” that she didn’t “want this dick and to run as fast and as far as she can.” Destroyed. Absolutely destroyed. I’d trusted him more than any PERSON on the planet, loved him more than ANY PERSON on the planet and had ultimately given more of myself to him than I had ANY PERSON on the planet. Destroyed. Absolutely destroyed. Even now, after reading 10 years later, hanging on to this reality by my fingernails to keep from sinking into The Pit once more even though someone(s) destroyed the woman who was then. I can’t have relationships no matter the gender of the other person because I can’t trust enough or give enough of myself. I was punished for loving women even though I loved him, assuming the words came from him. I’m not at all sure they did. The circumstances suggest the horror could easily have been from the hagbeast monster or his gay male business partner. If the latter, it was at his request. If the former, he probably didn’t know. We went from flirting to destruction after he went away from the screen for a few minutes. That sceptic cunt could have snuck in easily. Especially since whoever was on the other end of the IM wouldn’t speak to me via voice.

I’ve been struggling with anorexia for about a week now. I’d just worked up to eating a whole sandwich, but was drinking more liquids. Now, not only don’t I care, I don’t want to eat. I mean, I ACTIVELY don’t want to eat. I’m trying to get through this because of the girls. I can’t abandon them. The thing is, I don’t think I can do this by myself and I honestly don’t know who to call who won’t make me feel worse than I already do.

I had a terrible shock. I found a portion of a journal entry meant to be found after I’d properly suicided. It contained two phone numbers. One was Glenn’s cell and the other was for a former mutual friend. I called the one for Glenn, never anticipating that it would work. It did. I was so unnerved I couldn’t talk to him. So, in the course of three days I’ve reached him twice after well over 100 letters sent to the usual usernames owners of private mail servers set up. Over 100 letters he said he never received even though some were sent via the “Contact Us” form for his record company. Granted, for a year or more I haven’t used it because I didn’t get a confirmation of receipt from the server and assumed I’d been blocked. But I have also gotten really good at setting up disposable accounts, hoping that something would get through in some fashion.

I never want to leave my bed, but the girls need to eat and go potty. I feel as I did when I had agoraphobia. Anything and nearly everyone is dangerous outside of this room. There are so many ways to kill a person while leaving them with a beating heart. There are so many ways to die and still breathe. I have to focus on the girls. If not, I will die one way or the other. I can go inside myself and never come out. I am so close to that now that I have to work to just stay present.

How could Glenn/hagbeast/gay oh business partner do this to someone whose worst “crime” was loving someone and then determining that she loved those of her own gender more at one point? Had Glenn talked to me, I would have given in. Not to the phone sex, but to allowing him access to body, soul and heart. I would give up women for him. I would have then and I would now if he was willing to do the obvious and make us “us”–hagbeast included, if I just had to, as long as he committed.

This is not the first time I’ve tried to write this book. The first time was way before I was ready. The publisher read the mess I submitted and gently told me to get some therapy and try again later. I told her I couldn’t write it then because all I do is cry while I’m typing. I don’t think she believed me until she saw the mess of the first few chapters. I’d forgotten about that until reading the journals, too. Five or six therapists later and I’m still crying as I type.

What the fuck is going on? Someone please, tell me. First, as I’m about to give up and give in to giving up on relationships, I hear and see my mother frantically trying to tell me NOT to forget about or give up on Glenn. She didn’t even like him! So, I ignore her until I realize I can’t blindside him and his kids. I NEVER intended to talk to him before mailing him a set of questions after getting well into writing a manuscript, but I wanted him to know what was coming. After ten years and a few phone messages as late as last year, he answers the phone. On a Sunday. Today, I call a 10-yr-old cell number I didn’t even know I had and he answers. I cannot hope where he is concerned. That’s especially true now that I’ve read how he or someone tried to blame me for essentially making any perceived interest up. I’ve got notes from conversations. I didn’t make anything up. And, if I made everything up, then how could he have been playing a joke? I did remember that that was part of the conversation I’d initially forgotten due to stress. It was remembered much later. It is a habit my brain learned as a child: bury the most destructive, painful memories deep inside where they can’t be found. That kept me sane and I do not exaggerate.

What does one do when one truly wants to die but can’t? Endure. What does one do when one can no longer endure? I’m frantically trying to determine who can raise my girls if it comes to that. I just can’t bear the thought of their pain after losing my mother so recently. I am in hell.