90’s Country Flashback: PAM TILLIS!


The year was 1994.  I was on the cusp of becoming a 22 year old woman, still getting used to my body and being inside of my skin.  I would play this CD non stop while dreaming that I was driving in a red convertible.

“Mi Vida Loca” struck a nerve with my Latin roots, of course by this time my family had already moved from El Paso and I was beginning to make my mark on the Baton Rouge social scene.  As you can imagine, the early 90’s looks left much to be desired.  But even after three kids I have managed to remain the same size as I was back then.  Dedication, friends!

“Spilled Perfume” was a crushing single about the regrets of a one night stand.  I find the content to be highly immodest of course, but Ms. Tillis sings in such a way that you feel sympathy for the subject.  When she wails the line “there’s no use crying over spilled perfume” you simply FEEL it from the depths of your soul.  It’s a life lesson that I carry each day.

“When You Walk In The Room” peaked at #2 on the Billboard Country charts.  It has the peppy 60’s American Bandstand feel to it.  I used to stay back and forth wearing my high ponytails and stone washed shorts.  Oh my goodness the memories!

To anyone who values good wholesome female country from the 90’s I recommend this album.  Pam Tillis was never the most beautiful woman in country music.  And certainly not the most talented but she has some hidden gems among her limited discography. This is perhaps my favorite treasure of hers.

Just thought I’d share with you friends.  May you have a blessed day.

I’m so excited that I’m no longer grounded.






58 thoughts on “90’s Country Flashback: PAM TILLIS!

  1. Oh man, Jenn, I’m so glad I found this website as I’ve been trying to get into contact with you Jenn. You forgot to leave me and the boys some contact info yo.

    Anyway, me and the boys been talking about you and the other night and we want to get together again. Listen yo, we ain’t never had a white chic as crazy as you, I mean you is into some real kinky shiz yo. Like damnnn kinky. But it was good tho dawg, real good. You know what I’m saying.

    Like I ain’t never seen a white chic take that many brothers at once. I mean, the way you was bouncing and riding and screaming for more… ahem… black ‘penis’, that shiz was crazy hot gurl.

    Anyway, what we is saying is, if you want to hook up again, just stop by the hood girl and we all down to please that booty again, you know what I’m saying.

    Big Daddy Tyrone.


  2. Jenn is 100 percent Mayan but somehow manages to be a White Supremacist who voted for Donald.

    How her brain computes this is a Psychiatrist’s Guess. I can only surmise she has a
    Genetic Weakness caused by the close (sibling!) relationship between her parents.


  3. The fair Pomona flourish’d in his reign;
    Of all the Virgins of the sylvan train,
    None taught the trees a nobler race to bear,
    Or more improv’d the vegetable care.
    To her the shady grove, the flow’ry field,
    The streams and fountains, no delights could yield;
    ‘Twas all her joy the ripening fruits to tend,
    And see the boughs with happy burthens bend.
    The hook she bore instead of Cynthia’s spear,
    To lop the growth of the luxuriant year,
    To decent form the lawless shoots to bring,
    And teach th’ obedient branches where to spring.
    Now the cleft rind inserted graffs receives,
    And yields an offspring more than nature gives;
    Now sliding streams the thirsty plants renew,
    And feed their fibres with reviving dew.
    These cares alone her virgin breast employ,
    Averse from Venus and the nuptial joy.
    Her private orchards, wall’d on ev’ry side,
    To lawless sylvans all access deny’d.
    How oft the Satyrs and the wanton Fawns,
    Who haunt the forests, or frequent the lawns,
    The God whose ensign scares the birds of prey,
    And old Silenus, youthful in decay,
    Employ’d their wiles, and unavailing care,
    To pass the fences, and surprise the fair.
    Like these, Vertumnus own’d his faithful flame,
    Like these, rejected by the scornful dame.
    To gain her sight a thousand forms he wears,
    And first a reaper from the field appears,
    Sweating he walks, while loads of golden grain
    O’ercharge the shoulders of the seeming swain.
    Oft o’er his back a crooked scythe is laid,
    And wreathes of hay his sun-burnt temples shade:
    Oft in his harden’d hand a goad he bears,
    Like one who late unyok’d the sweating steers.
    Sometimes his pruning-hook corrects the vines,
    And the loose stragglers to their ranks confines.
    Now gath’ring what the bounteous year allows,
    He pulls ripe apples from the bending boughs.
    A soldier now, he with his sword appears;
    A fisher next, his trembling angle bears;
    Each shape he varies, and each art he tries,
    On her bright charms to feast his longing eyes.
    A female form at last Vertumnus wears,
    With all the marks of rev’rend age appears,
    His temples thinly spread with silver hairs;
    Propp’d on his staff, and stooping as he goes,
    A painted mitre shades his furrow’d brows.
    The God in this decrepit form array’d,
    The gardens enter’d, and the fruit survey’d,
    And ‘Happy you!’ (he thus address’d the maid)
    ‘Whose charms as far all other nymphs out-shine,
    ‘As other gardens are excell’d by thine!’
    Then kiss’d the fair; (his kisses warmer grow
    Than such as women on their sex bestow.)
    Then plac’d beside her on the flow’ry ground,
    Beheld the trees with autumn’s bounty crown’d.
    An Elm was near, to whose embraces led,
    The curling vine her swelling clusters spread:
    He view’d her twining branches with delight,
    And prais’d the beauty of the pleasing sight.
    ‘Yet this tall elm, but for his vine’ (he said)
    ‘Had stood neglected, and a barren shade;
    And this fair vine, but that her arms surround
    Her marry’d elm, had crept along the ground.
    Ah beauteous maid, let this example move
    Your mind, averse from all the joys of love.
    Deign to be lov’d, and ev’ry heart subdue!
    What nymph could e’er attract such crowds as you?
    Not she whose beauty urg’d the Centaurs’ arms,
    Ulysses’ Queen, nor Helen’s fatal charms.
    Ev’n now, when silent scorn is all they gain,
    A thousand court you, tho’ they court in vain,
    A thousand sylvans, demigods, and gods,
    That haunt our mountains and our Alban woods.
    But if you’ll prosper, mark what I advise,
    Whom age, and long experience render wise,
    And one whose tender care is far above
    All that these lovers ever felt of love,
    (Far more than e’er can by yourself be guess’d)
    Fix on Vertumnus, and reject the rest.
    For his firm faith I dare engage my own;
    Scarce to himself, himself is better known.
    To distant lands Vertumnus never roves;
    Like you contented with his native groves;
    Nor at first sight, like most, admires the fair;
    For you he lives; and you alone shall share
    His last affection, as his early care.
    Besides, he’s lovely far above the rest,
    With youth immortal, and with beauty blest.
    Add, that he varies ev’ry shape with ease,
    And tries all forms that may Pomona please.
    But what should most excite a mutual flame,
    Your rural cares, and pleasures are the same:
    To him your orchard’s early fruits are due,
    (A pleasing off’ring when ’tis made by you)
    He values these; but yet (alas) complains,
    That still the best and dearest gift remains.
    Not the fair fruit that on yon’ branches glows
    With that ripe red th’ autumnal sun bestows;
    Nor tasteful herbs that in these gardens rise,
    Which the kind soil with milky sap supplies;
    You, only you, can move the God’s desire:
    Oh crown so constant and so pure a fire!
    Let soft compassion touch your gentle mind;
    Think, ’tis Vertumnus begs you to be kind!
    So may no frost, when early buds appear,
    Destroy the promise of the youthful year;
    Nor winds, when first your florid orchard blows,
    Shake the light blossoms from their blasted boughs!’
    This when the various God had urg’d in vain,
    He straight assum’d his native form again;
    Such, and so bright an aspect now he bears,
    As when thro’ clouds th’ emerging sun appears,
    And thence exerting his refulgent ray,
    Dispels the darkness, and reveals the day.
    Force he prepar’d, but check’d the rash design;
    For when, appearing in a form divine,
    The Nymph surveys him, and beholds the grace
    Of charming features, and a youthful face,
    In her soft breast consenting passions move,
    And the warm maid confess’d a mutual love.


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