Dear (See Below) Bands,

I love your music. Love, love, love. But can you maybe try to be a little less annoying? It makes it so hard to defend you when I tell my friends about my favorite artists. Actually, it makes it hard to admit to anyone that you happen to be one of them.  And I want to make them like you, really, I do. But like that friend who has a minor character flaw that now pisses you off enough that you really can’t see the good in her anymore,  I’m finding it difficult to enjoy your music knowing how annoying you are.

Here are some heart-to-heart tips from your loving (secret) admirer to be a little less annoying and a little more rock and roll.

Fall Out Boy

You always have a spot in my 6-CD player in my car. Sugar, you’ll never go down on the playlist for me if you continue to make some of the sweetest pop punk music out there. But please, Pete Wentz, I’m begging you – cut your hair, lay off the eyeliner and put on a damn shirt when you are on a magazine cover. You need to settle down – you play bass. And, um, you have a kid?

Also, Patrick, can you please enunciate your song lyrics so I can actually sing along and not just randomly open my mouth while humming the tune to look like I know what I’m singing? And what’s up with the weird syntax and bizzare punctuation in the song titles? Thnks Fr Th Confusn. I mean, e.e. Cummings was a legit poet, while you’re just… an antithesis of all semblance of reason. And grammar. My English teacher highly disapproves.

Avril Lavigne

“I’m with you” on how most of your songs are about girl problems to which every teenager can relate. And I love how you have other gigs too, like co-writing “Breakaway” for Kelly Clarkson and even recording The Spongebob Squarepants Movie theme song (my little bro totally agrees).  But I’m pretty sure that hot pink hair, combat boots, and thick-enough eyeliner to paint a mural were out of fashion like 10 years ago. You remind me of the wanna-be punk-rocker chicks at my old high school who stood in their corner by the snack machine and talked about how “complicated” their life was and how their parents didn’t understand them. You’re married now, for goodness sakes, so do your husband a favor and stop wearing pink angel wings and acting like a “sk8er boi.” Oh, and learn how to play the guitar for real. You’re kinda getting “under my skin.”

Coldplay

The first time I heard “Clocks,” it changed my life. And continued to do so for the 100 times I listened to it on repeat afterward. You should even see my wall – there’s a giant banner that shouts, “viva la vida,” my adopted mantra para mi vida. But enough with the same gloomy, sad looks while you play haunting, heart-wrenching melodies on the piano, Chris Martin. I’m wondering if you’re able to play some different chord progressions as well, since you only seem to stick to one particular one on every. single. bloody. song. Can we maybe change it up a bit, with chords and tempos and basically not have the same harmonic patterns last throughout the whole album? Or four? Keep the accent though, please. Oh, and tell Gwyneth to lose the GOOP.

Simple Plan

My friend saw you in concert in Japan, and just like her, I must say: I’m “addicted” to your music. In a “perfect world,” I would hang out with you guys all day and do crazy stuff like dye the neighbor’s pool yellow or something, because, let’s face it, “I’m just a kid.” You seem like a bunch of cool, fun kids just making music because you can, and I love that about you. But unfortunately, you kinda remind me of blink182. But not in a middle-school-memories, emo-phase, dress-like-a-punk, nostalgic sort of way. More like a trying-a-little-too-hard, bad-album-titles, life-is-so-unfair-let’s-cry-about-it sort of way. Skateboarding is a sport, not a prop, and yelling at your parents on a rooftop in the pouring rain? Effective, but kinda cheesy I must say. Maybe there’s a reason you’re “still not getting any”…

Miley Cyrus

My guilty pleasure of all things guilt-full and pleasurable is “See You Again.” It’s on my workout playlist, my clubbing/dance-party playlist, and my blasting-in-the-car playlist. To the point where I’m headbanging and screaming out the lyrics with my girlfriends, and looking like a mad woman to the car next to us. But oh mah gah. There is so much advice and wisdom I wish to impart upon you that’s long enough to last a whole Oprah episode. You’re obviously not as big as a band, but your ego is big enough compete with one. Can you please act your age and stop dating older men that are probably not into you and more into your…assets? And stop taking those trashy MySpace pictures that even my 12 year old cousin knows not to take? You’re probably one of the reasons sexting is such a problem these days among teens. Or maybe just why television shows are going down the drain. Whatever happened to old Disney classics like Even Stevens and Sister, Sister? Dump the TV show and the drama queen act and just behave more like the role model you’re supposed to be for young girls. Then I won’t be so embarrassed when someone sees you on (every single one of) my iPod playlists.

Love,

Your (Not-So-Secret-Anymore) Admirer

I was also extremely depressed, dropped out of high school (only for a semester!) and spent three hours a week in intensive outpatient therapy.

However, times have changed and I traded in my razor blades for wine glasses and my sorry, pathetic teenage attitude for a much healthier, positive one. I became happy. Baggage-less, I thought. Completely devoid of any negativity from my past.

And then, as all love stories begin, I met someone who I had absolutely everything in common with and with whom I got along flawlessly for the first six months. I thought I was over my years of self-loathing and teenage drama, and if I could hold a healthy, (somewhat) adult relationship, then I was convinced.

Seriously, this relationship was awesome. We were like male and female versions of each other: We were in the same major (yes, boy magazine journalism major!), loved cheap beer and foosball and basically couldn’t keep our hands off of each other….any time, anywhere.

But, eventually my insecurities came to the surface and the relationship became a huge emotional mess, for both of us. I’m talking the whole screaming at each other in public and then pouring beer on each other to even the score kind of mess. There it was again; all that baggage I thought I tossed years ago, staring me right in the face, mocking what I thought was my new life and new super-happy relationship.

I might be an extreme case (in fact, I know I am), but after the failure of this relationship, that was all lovey-dovey, fairy-tale, red roses on the outside, I began to question, quite Carrie Bradshaw-esque-ly, if we can ever really escape our pasts.

Seriously, what the hell is baggage anyway? What does it include? It is just the bad stuff? The good and the bad? The good, the bad AND the ugly? And if it does include it all, then don’t we all have some baggage?

By the time we hit college, we all have some life behind us. We’ve all experienced some kind of hurt, heartbreak, betrayal, death – something that has contributed significantly to who we turned out to be. And as we get older and start to develop as adults, more and more stuff happens to us. It’s just inevitable. It’s just life. All that life creates feelings and I guess, those feelings are deemed emotional baggage – little trash bags of negativity that pile up in our once-pure hearts and threaten our future relationships – with both ourselves and others.

But if we all have it, then what can we use to judge what is normal or abnormal baggage? You hear stuff about it all the time. So-and-so had so much baggage. Another so-and-so can’t date right now because she has too much baggage. And even another so-and-so lied and said he had too much baggage because he didn’t really like the chick he was dating all that much.

Baggage = the death of relationships.

But, in defense of my once-crazy self, let me be the first to say that we ALL have baggage. The difference here is how you choose to deal with it. If the dude you are dating has a horrible emotional past – mother left when he was 4, dad was abusive, ex-girlfriend broke his heart & stole his money/apartment/car/dignity etc. – but he is able to hold his head high and still find joy in life, then by all means, let him have his baggage – and claim it, too

However, if said dude gets aggressive with you, makes you feel guilty that you’re gonna leave just like his Mother/ex-girlfriend/car did, THEN there is a huge problem – one you definitely need to get away from until the guy gets himself into some serious therapy.

Honestly though, there’s nothing wrong with a little baggage. Baggage makes us different, unique, interesting. Baggage is, in essence, what makes us – it’s what adds dimension to our life story. I’ll be the first to admit that I got some, in my proverbial trunk of life, that sometimes crawls it’s way out. I know you do, too. But it’s all about making a CONSCIOUS effort to be happy about TODAY, not dwell on the losses, ex’s and craziness of yesterday that separates awesome chicks like me and you from the rest of the crazies.

And if you do find yourself in a relationship with a dude with too much baggage, remember there’s not much you can do to help the situation (unless you are a professional therapist, of course)…besides locking your doors & putting in for a restraining order.

Seriously.

[photo from www.mikeblissett.com]

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“Internet Love Song.” …By an emo kid with a ukelele.

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I wake up and I eat matzoh.

Then I go about my daily day (see?! I can’t even think of a better way to say this!) and find something I can eat for lunch (surprisingly difficult even in lower manhattan).

Then I’m cranky at people until dinner, at which point I am tired of trying to think of what to eat and end up having a fudgesicle.

Actually, I think I might be losing weight, but only because eating has become so calculated and joyless that it’s not even worth it.

I mean, this is not a big deal. I can’t have bread. To channel my grandmother for a moment, this should be the worst thing that happens to me.

But I have to admit, it’s really affecting my mood. I just feel empty all the time. I mean, not in an emo way. In a I-would-like-some-bread-in-my-tummy kind of way.

Today on the train I had an elaborate fantasy about a garlic knot.

I’m glad this thing is almost over.

Oh yeah, thanks for letting us escape from Egypt and whatnot, had gad ya.

You know what makes me feel like an idiot? When some kid who can’t even use a toilet yet has proven himself more talented than me.

Even though some of the words are a little hard to understand (1-year-olds are really slacking in the diction department these days) and there’s some slightly Emo-ish screaming at the end, I’d say this kid is pretty damn on point.

Cheers to you, baby in a diaper. You’ve already surpassed half of Hollywood.

After a few drinking games and too many shots of tequila it would have taken a bold letter tattoo of “the golden rule” tattooed straight on my FACE in order to obey it. Tequila makes rules exempt and makes best guy friends the perfect lay. Until the next day…

My best friend was like my brother (insert disgusted face here). He knew everything about me, the guys I dated, my bad habits, my snarky attitude and what I looked like with no make up and how red my zits could get. We would stay up late playing poker and card games, or searching for an ice cream place that was open past midnight and if they weren’t he’d stop and buy me my favorite mint chocolate chip at the grocery store. We had inside jokes and I made fun of his blonde girlfriends and he made fun of my skinny emo boyfriends. We were each other’s exact opposite of who we were typically attracted to.

The first time we slept together the sexual tension was palpable. One day we were speaking to each other doing Anchorman impressions and the next day we were — wildly attracted to each other (blame it on the inebriation). We were so attracted, in fact, that we managed to have sex with Ong Bak The Thai Warrior playing on the screen in the background.

…Nothing like kung fu to get you going.

The next morning, I remembered what happened and surprisingly didn’t want to scurry into the bathroom to check for morning breath, or hide. Waking up to my best friend was, oh sh*t, it was nice. He grumbled in his morning voice and I left for work while he slept in, he was comfortable enough to stay without me, in my apartment…because after all, he was my best friend.

A few weeks passed and it was like nothing happened, we continued doing the BFF type things we’d usually do; watching reality tv and ordering pizza…then, we slept together again. And though we were going through the best friend motions, I was going through the beginning stages of developing a major crush A major crush on someone I already knew so well, which I recognized as turning into the potential to want; a relationship.

The night I decided to tell him, I hadn’t thought it through — a losing game of Sevens decided for me. I pulled him outside and immediately started CRYING. Crying?! Why in God’s name was I crying? (I am convinced I was weeping straight liquor from overflow, and it had nothing to do with actual emotions)

“I, (sob) just (sob), like (sob) you, (sob, sniffle, sob, sob) SO MUUUUUUUCCCH (Full out wailing ensues.)“

He didn’t seem shocked. Obviously, since all night long I’d been acting like a bumbling teenage girl, batting my eyelashes and flirting.

“You’re amazing, you know how much I love you (holy hell…I’m about to receive the, ‘we’re better off friends’ line) but….I’m dating someone.”

My bawling was so intense at that point that I couldn’t define the difference between my snot and my tears. I was gushing from all facial orifices. And what did I say…?

“IS SHE BLONDE?!!! (Scream/sob)“

Of course she was.

I needed to excuse myself for a Kleenex. In the bathroom, as I attempted to wipe up mascara and well, snot, I peeked out the window only to see my best friend RUNNING, full speed, Olympic track-star running to his truck, and then peel out of the parking lot.

Oh, hell.

The next day I could barely stomach what happened, I had cried so hard mascara wasn’t just on my face it was on my damn kneecaps. I was the vision of Damsel in Distress: tortured heart, hangover, ratty hair and yesterdays make-up. This had to be undone.

I called and pleaded for him to forgive me for being such a….fool. He didn’t answer I assume out of fear. Sadly it took about eight months for us to get back to where we were; 3 months after the episode we were acquaintances, 6 months later we were “friends”, and thankfully now…we’re back to normal.

So is sleeping with the best guy friend a good idea? I wouldn’t advise it. But thankfully, our relationship was strong enough for it to be salvageable.

Have you ever slept with your best guy friend and what happened??? I know not everyone can be lucky enough to remain friends, but SOME people also manage to make their best guy friend their best boyfriend.

What happened to you?

What’s better than a southern punk rock sounding band comprised of tattooed boys who have some serious chips on their shoulders? A southern punk rock sounding band comprised of tattooed boys with serious chips on their shoulders who are FROM ENGLAND.

Most people call them Gallows, but after spending a couple months on Warped Tour alongside them this past summer; I call them The UK’s Answer To The Shitty American Hottopic-esque Bands Polluting The Minds Of Today’s Teens, instead.

They’re angry. But they’re honest. They don’t prepackage themselves with the sorta fashion you’d expect out of a festival like Warped Tour these days. In fact, Gallows pretty much don’t give a f*$k about anything.

The singer literally spits lyrics about a girl cleaning his cum off of her face. Now, hold your feminist horses….because believe me….I have a point. Maybe you don’t like the idea of this dude singing with lyrical content like this, but let me ask you:

If you were a singer who was angry and writing lyrics about an ex, can you swear to god that you would never ever arrogantly reference your sexual past with that person as a sort of bargaining power for an even more vengeful song? I certainly cannot.

It’s not like Gallows are womanizing or degrading…they just tell the truth. I LIKE the fact that the singer is so brutally honest. I LIKE that he’s not some eyeliner wearing emo boy trying to serenade his way into a girl’s pants. And…I know I might be crazy, but I like the way he simulates jerking off while singing the above lyrics at a show. It’s not proper. No freaking way. But if you are into punk music and have been asking yourself:

“What the hell happened to the scene? When did it become so lame?”

Then go listen to Gallows. Now.

http://www.myspace.com/gallows

Plus, you might as well admit it: British guys can get away with talking a lot more shit than American boys. It’s the accent. End of story.

He didn’t look like a stalker. He looked like a nice, well-mannered twentysomething with a fashion sense that lurched toward the emo.

He didn’t sound like a stalker, either. He sounded nice, and friendly, and totally easygoing.

But even as I walked into the coffee shop and saw the sleek blond hair, the stylish hipster belt, and the anti-used-car-salesman smile of a nice-looking 23-year-old, there was still a little part of me that feared I was meeting with a middle-aged alcoholic in (a really good) disguise.

He was polite, funny, interesting, and sweet. He knew that the idea of dating someone I had met online scared me, so he did everything he could think of to make me feel more at ease. He opened car doors for me, he knew how to cook, he wasn’t messy, and he kissed exactly like how the guys in my Prince Charming dreams always have.

Thanks to OKCupid, my life had become one big Kodak moment—one big temporary Kodak moment, that is. I was scheduled to leave in three weeks for a semester abroad in China, and I wasn’t about to turn down any guys who’d offer to take me out for dumplings and tea there just because of some contrived connection I had with a dude I’d met online at home.

I sat Danny down a week before I was scheduled to leave. “I have to be single when I go to China,” I said.

“I completely understand,” he answered. “That’s fine.”

I got on the plane feeling great. Then I found out that as soon as I’d left, Danny ran out and bought a wall calendar and a thick red marker. “What’d you do that for?” I asked.

“To mark off the days until you come back with X’s, of course,” he said. “I already made plans for the day you come back, too. I can pick you up at the airport and then you can come back to my place and sleep until you’re not jet lagged anymore. You can just stay there for as long as you want!”

“Uh,” I said.

It only got worse from there. As I’d predicted, I met someone else in China before too long (I might be fickle, but at least I know it), and I called Danny to tell him. His daily “I love you” messages waited for me each morning on OKCupid, and even though I barely replied, he still didn’t seem to understand that we weren’t dating. How ridiculous was it, I thought, that I had to call and break up with someone on the other side of the world who I wasn’t even going out with?

The phone conversation was ugly, and I listened to variations on “How could you DO this to me?” for upwards of two hours.

When I finally got back home, I had a cup of coffee with Danny. Then, a couple of days later, I received an email from him that basically said, “Please never speak to me again.”

Danny’s reason for wanting a lifetime ban on my company was, as I understood it, because he was so desperately in love that any thought of me sent him into a tizzy of unbearable memories from the scant three weeks during which we occasionally saw each other. For this I can hardly blame OKCupid. No, I guess their only crime is not offering a Warning: May Cause Addiction disclaimer at the top of my profile.

This amazing band from the UK will definitely be one of your favorites! Check out their video for “Lassoo” and if you like it, get it here!

They’re on tour with Motion City Soundtrack and Mae and it’s looking like Metro Station is about to blow up! Check out their video for “Kelsey” and if you like it, get it here!