Etta James died. Sadly I never really listened to her music much. Her death only reminds me of the time my friend, Jackie, lied to me about recording one of her songs in Garth's basement. She lied because after recording that song in my boyfriends basement, she fucked him. She fucked him on the couch in the recording studio that I use to hang out in. In the house I would eventually live in. And they both lied to me about it. They fucked each other and then lied about it. For months they lied to me, even when I asked if it had happened. Even after I had discovered the day of recording, they failed to tell me the entire truth. For months, I was lied to. This is what Etta James reminds me.
It is all a little amusing. I was such a stupid kid.
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