Friday, May 1, 2015

The Music Or The Misery?

*This IS most definitely a music post.  You have not accidentally arrived at an angsty chick blog.  Hang in there with me, boys and girls.

Up until I turned around 12 years old, my only friends were of the male persuasion, by my choice.  Boys usually say what they mean, even if you don't want to hear it or you wish they'd elaborate past a four word sentence or possibly, I don't know, show a few more emotions than Mr. Spock.  When I was a girl, boys didn't give a shit if I hadn't put my Bonne Bell lipgloss on, they just wanted me to get outside already so the kickball game could get started or because they needed a third baseman. 

When I turned 13 years old or so, I started to allow girls into my inner circle but my circle still consistently had boys in it.  I remember sitting outside my girlfriend's house the morning after a slumber party, waiting for my parents to pick me up.  They couldn't have gotten there fast enough.  The entire night had been filled with passive aggressive, female BULLSHIT and I was so over it.  I specifically remember thinking that boys wouldn't have acted that way.  At most, they would have gotten into a little physical scuffle, gotten it out of their systems, ate a fucking popsicle together and called it good.

Some of the best advice and insights I've ever gotten in life came from teenage young men while drinking seltzers, parked at Gordon Lake in my hometown, gazing at the stars and just talking about life.  They were the best counselors.  They gave me the courage to girl up and just ask a guy out if I really liked them.  No games.  That confidence my male friends gave me way back then benefits me still to this very day because I asked my husband out first.  I was so convinced he was the one, I didn't want to wait, I didn't want the games, and I just went for it.  I would never have done that without the experience of having male friends in my life.

I have more male friends in my life now than I ever had in the past.  The "newer" male friends, the late arrivals, add insane humor to my life and I feel lucky to be included in any group they ask me to be in, from fantasy football, football pick 'em pools, super duper secret Facebook music groups and most especially this music blog.  Single girls, if you have a male friend who doesn't want up your skirt, cherish him and listen to his advice.  It's the best unbiased, unfailing, straight up advice you will ever get.

So, I think I've established the fact that I like boys, right?  They're awesome.  You can't question me on my feelings about these human beings who just happen to have penises. But here's the deal:  Even now, it is so frustrating how dense boys can be.  Some boys need an assigned seat on the short bus.  For eternity.  I don't want to leave anyone on the short bus who has the capability of getting off so here's my small attempt to pay it forward to all the guys out there.

So you're attempting to woo a fair lass who just happens to be a music freak?  Are you finding it hard to even ask her out because she is never separated from her huge, expensive headphones, listening to music at an alarming volume?  Would you like to give her a gift better than the most extravagant flower arrangement and all that other useless crap?  Has the wooing already been completed long ago but you'd really like to speak to her in her preferred language, which is fluent Music?  Then read and learn from this (relatively) short blog post how to totally sweep or re-sweep that music chick you dig off her feet, boys.    

One of my favorite movies of all time is High Fidelity.  You can't convince me that John Cusask's character Rob Gordon didn't have a distinct advantage over every other schmuck out there.  Sure, he could be a raging asshole and I hated him for it but I loved him for the fact that he always seemed to get his shit together over music.  The Top Five lists, the obsessing, the cataloging, the associating every event in his life with music.

Rob Gordon, ass hole supreme, had me in the palm of his hand by the time the very first scene in High Fidelity was over.  The camera panned slowly from spinning vinyl down a coiled headphone cord, which was blasting "You're Gonna Miss Me" by the revered (at least by me) Texas band the 13th Floor Elevators straight into the ears of Rob, who was desperately trying to keep his shit together via music because his girlfriend was leaving him at that very moment.

I saw myself in this scene so much it hurt.  Every music freak can identify with this because it's what we do every single day to cope with whatever it is we're feeling, happiness included.

Here's the thing, guys.  You don't have to give a shit about music.  You don't have to be fluent in everything music, you don't have to show up to record stores and have raging debates over The Top 5 Songs About Death or The Top 5 Side Ones ever.  However, if you care about a chick who DOES care about music, listen closely.

Pick some bands you've heard on the radio that have gotten your attention, let's say a song you heard on the way to work this morning that you find yourself humming at lunchtime.  Then go to Spotify and listen to full albums by these bands.  Don't have a Spotify account with unlimited access?  Ask your girl to borrow hers for a night.  She'll be thrilled you did and that fact alone could get you laid.  From my experience with Spotify, you can use the same account but your girl can't listen while you're logged on.  Make sense?  Moving on.

Wait, you're on a roll now, damn it!  Don't stop there, lover boy.  Make a night of it.  Run a bubble bath, drink some beer, and listen to a few bands you like.  There are literally thousands and thousands of playlists about love and flowers and romance and even sex on Spotify.  They're already there for you.  Effort on your part is so minimal, it's a crime.  Listen to some of those pre-made playlists and if a song reminds you of your girl...  sit down for this...  are you sitting down?  SEND IT TO HER!

I know, I know.  That's some heavy shit, isn't it?  Your mind is fucking blown and you may not even be able to make it to Hooter's tonight to meet the boys but guess what?  Here's the best part:  Nothing about this costs a penny.  It's free and you don't even need a condom.  You don't even have to make your mouth form words or, God forbid, use interpretative dance to express what you're feeling or not feeling.  Bullet dodged, baby.  All it takes is for you to give half a shit and some of your time.

You want to know what your music freak girl's thinking?  Go to her music account to hear what she's been listening to.  Here's the thing about most music freaks, regardless of gender.  I don't listen to any music mindlessly or by accident.  I have playlist after playlist (very few of my playlists are marked public because that would be like handing my diary over to you), titled by emotions, events, activities, for everything in my life.  If I'm playing it, I'm feeling it.  Music is daily life to me, minute by minute, hour by hour, and it's deliberate.  If you want to know what I'm thinking, go see what I've been listening to.

What was that?  Oh, you don't know where she goes to listen to and talk music?  Well, have you asked her?  Yeah, yeah, I know.  It will require words and that's really, really hard.  Here ya go, copy and paste this shit, my friend.  You don't even have to give me credit for it, seriously.  You ready?

Hey, gorgeous goddess.  What's your Spotify account name?  I'd like to follow you on there so I can see what music we have in common.

Boom!  You are a god to her and I just expedited sweet, sweet lovemaking for you.  You didn't even have to say "What do you want to do tonight?" or "I love you" or "I want to see your boobs."  You're welcome, fuckers.

I only have knowledge of Spotify and because those are my only music accounts, but both places have all the stuff I've been listening to lined up neatly in charts, by days, weeks, months, most listened to, etc.  Other music sites may be different. Your mileage may vary and all that shit.

So you've sent your girl a few songs that reminded you of her and you're getting laid so often you're running out of bodily fluids?  Yes?  Good.  Down a bottle of Gatorade and ice those balls because you're ready for the next step, my friend:  Custom Mixtape.

Now, Rob's standard was really high, I know.  Don't be afraid that you're going to put the wrong songs on it or that they'll be ordered wrong or worded wrong.  You may feel stupid and out of your depth but the truth is, your girl will love it if it's heartfelt and you went to the effort.  No, she won't like every song on it.  That's the way music goes.  It's individual to every single human being.  I guarantee you, though, that she will come away with at least a few songs that mean the world to her because you heard them and thought of her.

Don't get overwhelmed.  I know it's a big task.  A mixtape doesn't have to happen (and shouldn't) overnight.  Start with the few songs you've already sent her.  Compile it over time.  The songs may change with the depth of the relationship, the subject matter, etc.  It makes a really good timeline of your relationship, I think.  If things don't work out with your music chick in the long run, I apologize for the fact that you'll never be able to listen to those songs again without crying and curling up in the fetal position but hey, we tried.  Right?  Right?!

I know I came down hard on you guys but I expect to hear from you, telling me how this advice worked for you.  Now go run those bubble baths, boys.  I'll leave you with my favorite scene from High Fidelity, to lighten the mood. 

Full disclosure (and also outing myself as an Army of Darkness geek), you can find me and all my music dirt at: and

Till next time, y'all.

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