I’m hoping this post will have cathartic results, which might make to incredibly boring to any number of readers. I’m sure if you click on pornstars over on the right, there will be a lot of fine search results for you.

Last night I listened to Bryan Ferry’s Slave to Love (not prominently featured, but featured nonetheless, in 9 1/2 Weeks) for the first time in eight years. Seven years. Eight years.

I used to listen to it all the fucking time. Every Wednesday my sophmore year of undergrad, my friend and I went to this bar and got shitfaced for five or six hours. I actually don’t remember much about these evenings, except that we had them–and the one time we invited another friend along he spent our money on brandy, the prick–we kind of flirted with the Wendie Malick looking bartender (I almost hooked up with her later on until the prick’s fuck buddy cock-blocked me–bringing up the twenty year age difference… I mean, what the fuck, how’s that cool….), drank a lot–probably gins and tonic–and I played Slave to Love maybe three times a night.

I was harboring, afflicted by, suffering from–I was in love with someone who didn’t love me back. 

But anyway, I’d play Slave to Love maybe three times a night on the jukebox. Ol’ girl loved 9 1/2 Weeks, loved the song. What the fuck, I was a drunken moron. I’m sure my friend had a great time.

After the breaking–which, unfortunately, is punctuated with a visit to the WTC bar, ruining my life-long positive feeling about the Twin Towers–I tried playing the song again. Nope. I was done with that business.

Last night, I didn’t just start listening to Slave to Love again, I even emailed ol’ girl. It’s been eight years… she’s a Mickey Rourke fan, maybe the only other one who can fully appreciate the Wrestler comeback, so I figured what the fuck. Emailed her.

Why am I being a grown-up? Wait, I’m not being a grown-up. I’m turning the other cheek or something, aren’t I? What am I doing–it’s the cheek thing.

Why am I listening to Slave to Love all the time again?

I think it’d be fun to slow dance to with M1. I’d definitely need to brush up on my dancing… the last time I danced was with ol’ girl at a mutual friend’s wedding and I was so exceptionally drunk I’m shocked I didn’t get us killed driving home.

Off to do the laundry. Boo!