She ordered a couple of Alabama Slammers, and motioned Joey to the bar- the only sure way she had of getting his full attention. They saluted each other, with the customary tip of the head, slammed the short glasses of Amaretto, Southern Comfort, and a squirt of Seven-Up on the bar, and shot the sweet thieves of reality down their throats before they had a chance to effervesce onto the bar.

Her lips wet and sticky, her heart beating so loudly she was sure it could be heard over the painful rifts of AC DC’s “Balls To The Wall”, and her body still unhealed from having been branded yet again with the fiery hot poker of make up sex, the one thing that welded them together- she grabbed his arm, pulled him close, and said, ”Cant we just promise to love each other, forever, no matter what? I mean, no matter who’s right or who’s wrong, no matter who screamed first or who threw the first punch, no matter who came home last night and who didn’t, no matter who goes to work every day, and who does’t? I mean No. Matter. What.?”

“Sure baby.” he said with that drunk crooked little smile of his- and a wink- probably intended for the girl on the opposite side of the bar most likely to buy his next drink. 

Then turned and walked away…

Joey is the codependent lamentations of a woman very much in love with a man, who is very much in love with alcohol. It was written and performed by Johnette Napolitano and her band, Concrete Blonde in 1990 and released on their third album, Bloodletting. It was written about Napolitano’s troubled relationship with Marc Moreland of the band Voodoo Dolls. Naplolitano wrote the words in a cab on the way to a photoshoot in Philadelphia, having already laid the musical tracks some weeks earlier in England. Moreland eventually died of liver cancer as a result of his fondness for alcohol in 2002. The two were no longer together.

Joey
By Concrete Blonde

Joey, baby – don’t get crazy
Detours, fences, I get defensive

I know you’ve heard it all before
So I don’t say it anymore
I just stand by and let you
Fight your secret war
And though I used to wonder why
I used to cry till I was dry
Still sometimes I get a strange pain inside
Oh, Joey, if you’re hurting so am I

Joey, honey, I got some money
All is forgiven. Listen, listen

But if I seem to be confused
I didn’t mean to be with you
And when you said I scared you
Well I guess you scared me too
But we got lucky once before
And I don’t want to close the door
And if you’re somewhere out there
Passed out on the floor
Oh Joey, I’m not angry anymore

And if I seem to be confused
I didn’t mean to be with you
And when you said I scared you
Well I guess you scared me too
But if it’s love you’re looking for
Then I can give a little more
And if you’re somewhere drunk and
Passed out on the floor
Oh Joey, I’m not angry anymore
Angry anymore, angry anymore

This is my response to Jim’s Song Lyric Sunday call for songs containing the any of the following words: Babe/Cutie/Doll/Honey/Sweetie. Baby counts. Doesn’t it?

You’d think that maybe if I had known he had no job, no car, and was sleeping on his buddy’s couch when I met him- at least one item in that overly unimpressive line up would have produced a red flag. But you’d be wrong. Because, I knew. 

By the time I figured out he had no intention of ever getting a job, that he was perfectly content drinking beer, doing drugs and hanging out with his buddies, I was so hopelessly in love, or ate up or whipped or whatever you wanna call it-

There was no wrong he could not right with a properly placed wave of his magic wand. No indiscretion for which the warmth of his tongue could not insure he would be forgiven.

********

To this day I do not know if what we shared was love, or obsession or something far too dangerous for either of us to ever comprehend, I only know- that the years we spent together changed the course of my life forever.

Sometimes he still comes to me in my dreams. I’ll find him sleeping on my couch. Shirtless. Hands folded prayer style tucked between his knees. The angelic face of the eternal boy I now know he was destined to remain all the days of his life-

And all I wanna do is tell him, “I’m sorry. For trying to force you to grow up. For trying to make something out of you, you were never destined to be. For all the time I wasted harping on you to ‘get a fuckin’ job’.”

I know now, none of that would have made any difference. I could not have loved you any more.

In loving memory of

David A. Gardon

February 10, 1966 – January 17, 2004

Why don’t you get a job was written by Bryan (Dexter) Holland and performed by the band, The Offspring, which he co-founded with a buddy of his, Gregory Kreisel in 1984. The band started off as four guys, none of whom even played the guitar at the time, just hanging out, drinking beer in Greg’s mother’s garage. 

Why don’t you get a job

My friend’s got a girlfriend
Man he hates that bitch
He tells me every day
He says “man I really gotta lose my chick
In the worst kind of way”

She sits on her ass
He works his hands to the bone
To give her money every payday
But she wants more dinero just to stay at home
Well my friend
You gotta say

I won’t pay, I won’t pay ya, no way
Why don’t you get a job
Say no way, say no way, no way
Why don’t you get a job

I guess all his money, well it isn’t enough
To keep her bill collectors at bay
I guess all his money, well it isn’t enough
‘Cause that girl’s got expensive taste

I won’t pay, I won’t pay ya, no way
Why don’t you get a job
Say no way, say no way, no way
Why don’t you get a job

Well I guess it ain’t easy doing nothing at all
But hey man free rides just don’t come along
Every day

Let me tell you about my other friend now
My friend’s got a boyfriend, man she hates that dick
She tells me every day
He wants more dinero just to stay at home
Well my friend
You gotta say

I won’t pay, I won’t pay ya, no way
Why don’t you get a job
Say no way, say no way, no way

This is my response to Jim’s Song Lyric Sunday call for songs by or containing the names, (or word in the case of my choice), Tom, Dick, or Harry.