Growing up in the South and wishing to assure myself there were, indeed, cool people who didn’t listen solely to the backwoods rhumba that is country music. Thus being the voracious acquirer of knowledge you know me to be, I sought high and low for the kind of auditory pleasure that I could hold as an example of personally pleasing Southern music. Though out of my generational range, I fell in love with the Atlanta Rhythm Section. Now this was in the eighties and early nineties, so the internet consisted of lame graphics, bizarre rumors and 3 hour downloads… my search-fu wasn’t a fully developed super power, either, so I relied merely on the “Atlanta” moniker to convince me this WAS Southern music.
What’s that go to do with anything, you ask? Oh, Ms Lauren might at times seem random, but really? I’m merely providing you with a background for my sensually arousing blog topic tonight that’s completely connected to the subject at hand. And if you’re paying attention, you’ll see I’m also luring you a bit deeper as part of a psychological ploy to bypass those fear sensors inside your grey matter. I’m just an ordinary girl telling you an ordinary story about a song I enjoy. Nothing more, yet… and nothing less. You have your own stories and you can relate, so you get comfy and relaxed. This is familiar ground. This is a safe, secure place. We’re just two people enjoying a casual conversation… or are we? Shh… don’t think about that yet!
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