She's ferocious and she knows just what it takes to make a pro blush All the boys think she's a spy She's got Bette Davis eyes.

The singer's gf has been visiting. She is what you'd expect from me, all glitz and attitude. What it takes to be a wife in this business. Whenever I see her Bette Davis eyes pop into my head. The guys also act weird when she's around, sorta shady and shifty like she is a spy.

I personally don't trust her. She's like wanna be sociallite with a Victoria secrets charge card.  She's pretty don't get me wrong, but do I think she likes, loves or cares about him? Not a chance.

You don't need money,  don't take fame
Don't need no credit card to ride this train
It's strong and it's sudden and it's cruel sometimes
but it might just save your life
That's the power of love - Huey Lewis and The News

She met a man, plays in a band, last weekend

And he lives out on the west coast, she says she's gotta go.

I've heard you only like country music when you're in love or heartbroken. Those of course were the wisdom of a college boy. Right now, it's killin me. How do these good ol' boys know me so well?

Home

bits and peices of a country song that left me glued in the novelty tshirt section of a travel center-

Maybe surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel all alone, I wanna go home

 Another airplane
Another sunny place
I’m lucky I know
But I wanna go home
I’ve got to go home

 And I feel just like I’m living someone else’s life
It’s like I just stepped outside
When everything was going right
And I know just why you could not
Come along with me
This was not your dream
But you always believed in me

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man

I feel like this today. I ended up watching some Real House Wives of show today. I hate those type of women. I think they look like a pack of hens teetering around on their high heels. It makes me giggle every time they go somewhere in a pack. One of them was told she was nothing without her famous husband. That his me hard.

'What matters is not wealth, or status, or power or fame, but how well we have loved'

President Obama.

I'm not a princess, this ain't a fairytale...

I'm a real woman and he is a real man. I still get excited when I see footage of him and painted and primped and literally I have to say to myself, "That is my husband." No fucking way!

I love him best when we are in bed. when he is shirtless and quite and tired. The way his eyes shine in the bunk light and how close we have to be to fit, and maybe just a little bit, how much we suffer to be happy. He, more than likely, had just came off of a hour long set, full of energy and emotion. He's tired, but still playful. I have his full attention, and isn't that really all a wife ever wants?

I'm not after fame and fortune

I'm after you.
I have many random scenarios where I think I'd be more content. The first being a Lady or Dutchess, some lower lying Society women who gets to own a country estate. I don't want a castle, but merely a manor house. Again what it is that I will do all day that cements this idealistic life is unclear. The daydream usually ends with my realization that I'd be in the situation as I am in now.
I realize that in these daydreams I often am held up somewhere, be it The Plaza or my estate. I don't want to see anyone, but I still want them to see me. It's a rough life when you want your cake and it eat it as well.

I've decided that I need more make up. I have plenty and usually end up using the same dark eye make up my husband wears on stage. I also want new hair, but I can't decide what. I think my hair suites me, but right now I'm not suiting myself. I like pretty clothes, but tend to again feel most like myself in worn out t shirts and jeans. I wear vans a lot since I take them off a lot too and run around in my socks. I think it's pretty safe for me to not have shoes on backstage or before the show opens. Sometimes I go waltzing around the venue up to the nose bleed section during sound check. Once I stayed out too long and was trapsing around up there, backstage pass on and nothing special on. The two girls were sitting in their seats. They were pretty, long hair young and thin, probably too much eyeliner and a septum pricing. They looked at me like I was crazy and one of them asked, "who are you?"