"Can we, as a country, all
: September 2002:
What's Your Fucking Problem?
The second-biggest roofie
sick of hearing about chicks who date broke musicians,
love love love them, feed them, give 'em money,
clean them up and show them off at parties like
drunken tattooed unicorns, inevitably BITCHING at
them later on about how "you're drunk/high/fired/going
on tour/fucking your ex AGAIN???!" and guilt-trip
them about they should settle down, grow up, and
if you will, you've won the lottery. WOO-HOOOO!
checks from the lottery office are pouring in every
week. Suddenly, they stop...long before your total
winnings have been doled out.
you cry on the phone to Joe Lottery Guy, "Where's
the rest of my dough?" The voice on the other end
is terse and hurt-sounding.
I'M sorry. You LIKE all the money you're getting?
Well, one wouldn't THINK so, since you've never
ONCE THANKED ME FOR IT."
were probably too busy ENJOYING your money and HAVING
FUN to think about thanking the guy sending it to
you. "FORGET ABOUT IT," you stammer, "WHATEVER,
I UNDERSTAND," [click]
you want your lead guitar player boyfriend to stop
spending your money, lying and cheating and want
him to, essentially, change?
"lycanthropy" is a myth among white people. It's
a sacred skill, called "shape-shifting" among Lakota
Sioux and a few other native American cultures,
I think, but your boyfriend sounds less like a werewolf
and more like your garden-variety, underfed, overstoned,
white Oregonian Band Dude. Usually, what you see
is what you get with O.B.D.s. He won't change. Let's
look at you.
a groupie. You fancy yourself a muse, but in reality,
you're just a girl with an apartment and a job who
likes to fuck guys in bands. You feel compelled
to pay for things so these guys will like hanging
around with you because, well, they GET stuff. Low
self-esteem begs to be exploited.
A lot of my male musician friends are uncomfortable
with all of your
generosity at first...but the van DOES need new
tires, and you INSISTED...
aren't bad people, but they're usually only good
for a hot stab in the van or making out once in
a while. I repeat...they won't change, nor should
they. They're perfectly happy being who they are,
and for cripe's sakes...you're paying them to be
just that. If you're the one who's unhappy...duhhhhh.
when you say "change," WHAT exactly do you mean?
Change into what? What did you want in the first
place? Well guess what...I'll bet THAT GUY, the
nice, responsible guy you want your current thing
to magically morph into...tried to talk to you at
the bar you met Junior Rockstar at...and I'll bet
you totally dissed him. You might have even cackled,
"whatta fag!" to your girlfriends. THAT GUY prob'ly
walked away while you were meowing for the oh-so-cute
150-pound yoke of broke bullshit you're carrying
around right now.
you won't dump him because you're afraid he'll get
famous without you. You like the idea of being a
little helper on his ride to the top, where one
day, maybe, he will pull you onstage during his
acceptance speech at the MTV Music Awards and tell
the world that YOU were the only one who really
stuck by him. YOU were the ONE who made it all happen.
Then, as he hands you the shiny spaceman statue,
he kneels and begs you to marry him while the camera
sweeps around the packed-and-cheering auditorium
to catch Fred Durst wiping a tear away while he
mouths the words, "Man. That was so fucking beautiful...."
you think that's amusing, good. Get hip and move
along to a person who suits you better. If you don't
get at all what I'm saying, you're prob'ly gonna
keep cart-wheeling into dead-end relationships until
you're one of those sagging hags plopping along
behind your swollen 49-year-old boyfriend, carrying
his guitar stand into his piss-stink happy-hour
gig where you blend into the background smoke and
bad whiteguy blues. While you quietly chew holes
inside your cheeks....you know you coulda been somebody
on with your bad self.
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