I seriously slacked on my goal to write down all of my stories for posterity last year and am rectifying that starting with this little gem.
Once upon a time I was dating this guy who was a musician. Actually, come to think of it, most of the guys I dated were musicians, except this one guy who was a massage therapist. I highly recommend dating guys who are in massage therapy school and need to practice giving people back massages to pass their tests, by the way.
Anyhow, this particular happened-to-be-a-musician guy and I had been dating for a few years, the sort of long term relationship that makes you think he likes it and he’s gonna put a ring on it even though you’re still super young. (That’s how we do things in the deep south. Welcome to Atlanta where the playas don’t play, y’all.)
When I was twenty one my great-grandmother passed away and he accompanied me on the eight+ hour trip to her funeral. Afterwards it was decided that we would drive a little bit out of our way to Memphis and go to Graceland on our way home. I don’t think that I have to tell you that this was not my idea. Apparently, boys who are musicians are very inspired by Elvis and all dream of one day going to Graceland.
(Aside: I just asked my husband for verification of this and he says he has no desire to go to Graceland but he might just be saying that because he knows I went with an ex-boyfriend and so we can not use him as a test subject for this theory.)
Back then I was still angling for a diamond and so I was all “Of COURSE I totes want to go to Graceland the day after my great-grandmother’s funeral. Obvs.”
Now, I am still unsure if my then-boyfriend was aware of this or not but as it turns out, the day that we went to Graceland also happened to be the anniversary of Elvis’s birthday. Which is also the one day of the year that hardcore Elvis fans from around the globe make the journey to Graceland to pay a week long tribute to the late singer.
It. Was. Amazing.
We walked through Elvis’s car collection and his home with people who were dressed like Elvis, or talking like Elvis, or only quoting lyrics from Elvis songs as conversation.
At the end of the tour you could walk through Elvis’s private plane. I had never been inside a private plane before and so even though I had had absolutely zero knowledge about Elvis or his music prior to this spontaneous trip to Graceland, I somehow got all caught up in the glittery excitement of the gold trimmed private plane and was all “OHMYGOSH IT’S ELVIS’S BED! I HAVE TO SIT ON ELVIS’S BED RAT NAO!” despite the fact that we had been severely admonished to not touch anything on the plane.
Apparently they have cameras all over that thing because that is also the story of how I got kicked off Elvis’s private plane.
I am not proud of my rebel ways, y’all.
This is the part where I tell you that I found Graceland absolutely fascinating. I am not even being snarky, I am so glad that I went even if it was when I was still in that stage of “pretending to be someone I’m not so that some boy will like me.” (I am also really glad that I outgrew THAT stage.) If you ever have the chance to go to Graceland, do it.
We were so absorbed in Graceland that we did not think about the fact that we still had an eight hour drive home until the sun started to set and then we were all “Oh, fudge.” (Only we really did say fudge because we were super southern baptist.)
We decided to stay in downtown Memphis for the night and upon reading this will be the first time my parents learn of such a thing because while I was technically an adult, I also was definitely not supposed to be spending overnights with boys I was dating because of the aforementioned reference to being southern baptist (even though we honestly kept it totally chaste.)
Downtown Memphis has a strip of jazz clubs, maybe it has a name, I don’t remember, but I do remember that we went from one to another just sitting and listening to live music. I had my first ever alcoholic mixed drink that night. I don’t know why. Maybe it was Memphis.
I was just barely twenty one so I had no idea that I was such a lightweight because all I had ever had to drink prior was a glass of champagne on New Year’s Eve and the occasional glass of Arbor Mist, which is still my favorite even though everyone continues to insist that it is not, in fact, real wine.
(Keep telling yourselves that, Arbor Mist haters. More fake blackberry merlot for me.)
I literally had one tiny little drink that night and then we took the trolley back to the hotel, where my then boyfriend carried me into the room and tucked my fully-dressed self in and I remember this only very hazily.
(In my emotional breakdown following that particular break-up I said some not-so-nice things about that boy but I should really give him lots of credit for being so gentlemanly that night.)
The lessons here are as follows:
1) If you’re going to date a musician, be prepared for them to talk about Elvis and if they seem extra-cool about driving you eight hours out of state to attend your great-grandmother’s funeral near Memphis, double check to see if the trip coincidentally coincides with Elvis’s birthday .
2) Never have your first real alcoholic beverage alone in the middle of a strange city with a guy who could totally take advantage of you (dear ex-boyfriend, thanks for being a stand-up guy in that situation) (seriously kids, that was stupid of me, don’t do it.)
3) And if you decide to break all the rules and spend the night with your boyfriend in Memphis, don’t tell anyone about it, just write about it on the internet real casual like about a decade later and then find out whether or not your parents still read your blog on the regular.
4) Go to Graceland. It is such a cool trip.
(I apparently took no photos in Graceland because it was before the time of digital or cell phone cameras ((I AM SO OLD)) so thanks to social_stratification for this one)
