Guess What I Found!!!

Now I am in the midst of unpacking, wondering where, when, why I have all this crap, contemplating arson, when I found a TREASURE. I am not a journal keeper mainly because it requires a repetitive action and I have the attention span of a gnat, but I AM a list maker. So, I found a journal that I began in 1987 that has only 3 entries. The first is about my grandfather dying, the second is a list of every boy I ever kissed from 1985 on, followed by a second list with ratings that I maintained through college, song associations for them, and most importantly a KEY and a GRADE. A heart means I actually liked them, a D for intoxication, and a star if I thought it was a decent kiss. No one has all three, I am sad to report. The third page, the true phenomenon, is the poem that I wrote about my obsessions. Tennyson, Sidney, and even Allen Ginsburg need to never worry that I am going to try to have the same job title as them. The funny part for me is that I called these guys "obsessions," and for the ones I can figure out who they are, it was pretty much stalking on my part and no action. Here is an excerpt:

My new love has left for school
It's probably for the best
Cause with those eyes of baby blue,
I'd fail the moral test.

I have ABSOLUTELY no idea who this stanza was about, but I have six more stanzas for which I have figured the name of three. And the other stanzas are FAR, FAR WORSE. There is a line that rhymes with PEW. I think I will have to consult my friends from high school and see if they can remember. And I clearly need to develop some dignity and burn this poem in case it ever should be found by one of my children. I am having more fun with the ratings, trying to remember the where/when/why these poor schmucks deserved passing or failing grades. And these songs - imagine the very worst roller skating song from the 80s and I probably have a dedication for it for one of my ex-flings.

One of the best things about growing up in Mississippi is none of these boys expected anything beyond a kiss, no matter how much alcohol either he or I had consumed. I don't think that is the case today, so I have to make sure that my daughter is not left unsupervised in case she attempts poetry.

Another treasure that returned from Mississippi is what my mother called the "Birth Conrol Jesus," a bad print that used to hang over the couch in my grandmother's house. My mother always said that it was the single most effective thing to guarantee that things never went too far, because if you saw Jesus out of the corner of your eye while snogging with your boyfriend, you just had to stop. I also acquired a giant Elvis poster while in St. Louis, and I am trying to figure out how to fit the Heavenly and the earthly King into the decorating scheme around here. Once I get them hung, I will let you know.

Mama is doing okay. I am calmer. I needed the belly laugh of that ratings list.