beware the sax

i’m starting to consider that maybe part of why i left the music scene all those years ago is all about the horns. allow me to explain. at our gig on friday night, the horn section was on fire. almost so literally that at one point, i thought they might combust. the sounds coming out of those saxophones and that trumpet damn near slayed me. i wound up having heart palpitations and falling in love with each of those men. this is fucking terrible. it’s all coming back to me now: the lure of the jazz men, the pull of the blues players. the sheer heartbreakability of hot musicians (especially those fucking sax players – they are major trouble). and i don’t mean lenny kravitz hot, necessarily. i mean ooh baby play that music right into my very soul, drown me in it and have your way with me kind of hot. oh sure, i’m older now, more solid, less gullible. but i’m not sure i’m less susceptible to the intoxicating spell that can be cast by a slick musician. maybe i want to return to singing, but please god don't let me go back to the kind of heartache that loving a musician delivers.

with any luck, i'll land me a nerdy and stable 9-to-5-er... a guy who's tone deaf, emotionally available, addiction-free, and generally unappealing to any other woman on the planet but me. um, yeah, no, that sounds god awful. ok, with any luck, i just may be in trouble.


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