Music and Female Affections

I did it all for the nookie” is a common refrain for a lot of guys. I too have done things for the nookie. Once I started noticing girls in junior high, just about everything I did from then on out was an attempt to impress and hopefully bed young ladies. I have worn what I considered high fashion such as brown leather deck shoes with no socks and Member’s Only jackets to get noticed by the fairer sex… it wasn’t a good look then and it is not a good look now. I have purchased gallons upon gallons of alcohol and then consumed by me to get my “courage” up. I have used horrible lines that wouldn’t even pass as decent in the worst pick-up bar in the country… one of my most memorable being “don’t I know you from somewhere?”  I have begged, borrowed, and stolen just see some panties drop to the floor. These weren’t always my proudest moments, but they are moments that most guys experience. Men and women have roles to play in this friendly game of “the hunt.” Don’t hate me, hate the game.

A wise man once told me “nothing in life is free, especially the affections of a young woman.” By affections, I assume he meant nookie. Whether it is actual spending of money or sacrificing of dignity… everything has a price. In the end, one has to conduct a cost-benefit analysis and determine if the nookie is worth it. With great trepidation, I am now going to admit to what I have done musically for the nookie. Music is near and dear to me, and I have an extensive musical palette. Some of the following examples are embarrassing, and some resulted in me becoming a fan of said musicians. In the end, I have to admit to myself that I am was willing to listen to anything if I thought it would get me laid. Naturally, this sacrifice was reliant upon the young lady in question being a music lover. I once (willing) dated a young lady that had no musical tastes whatsoever… which in retrospect is probably the most damning thing I have ever done. How I had any sort of relationship with a woman who was incapable of musical taste is completely unfathomable to me today… I was young and the young do stupid shit.

– The Cure: She wore black before Goth was an actual style. She worked in the language lab and smoked herbal cigarettes. She was petite and she wore glasses. Her graceful manner, as she flitted around the lab, had me enamored. How I was supposed to focus on the Russian language program I was listening to is beyond me. “Friday I’m In Love” was her favorite song, and even though I didn’t have language lab on Fridays (Tuesdays and Thursdays only), I felt this song was made just for us. I wasn’t a Cure fan, I had heard them before…but I owned nothing from the Cure and didn’t see myself wearing anything black. I now own a black suit… but black shirt and black jeans isn’t my fashion. Johnny Cash had that market cornered and there is now way that I am going to attempt to hone in on JC. My language lab lover would listen to nothing but the Cure. When we were alone, and doing things that college students of the opposite sex do when they are alone, the Cure had to be playing. I was still a metal listener who had branched into Nirvana… yet for this multilingual woman I was willing to give this make-up’d weirdness a try. The Cure is still a little too emotional for me, but I do appreciate them and will listen to them now and then. Unfortunately, these days the Cure reminds me more of attempting to learn Russian than the Goth girl.

– Milli Vanilli. Yes, as I have stated before, I went to a Milli Vanille concert. My girl friend at the time was a fan. Said girl friend meant the world to me and I couldn’t imagine not buying tickets to Milli Vanilli concert. This willingness to sacrifice all my musical self-esteem is one of the reasons that I know, in my heart, that I desire to be a giver and pleaser. I’m such a giver, I sat through a “live” version of this song. I knew they sucked, and on some level, I think she knew they sucked, but she liked the bee and the bop of this lip-syncing duo. For the record, this is before the massive pop culture bomb that informed all of us that Milli Vanilli did NOT, in fact, sing their own songs. This is before we were all crushed at the realization that some music is nothing more that bogus shit. So… in total ignorance and total lack of pride I purchased Milli Vanilli concert tickets. A week prior to the concert… wait for it… wait for it… she DUMPED me. Ah the heartache and pain. The week preceding the concert I was a jumble of conflicted emotions and wondering which was the more horrible truth: A) my love of my life had dumped me, or B) I had two fucking tickets to a Milli Vanilli concert and the nookie that I had bought it for had dumped me. Fortunately, a good friend (Melana there is a special place in Heaven for you) went with me… and amazingly we were completely entertained for the whole concert. I have never bought tickets to a concert for a woman ever again.

– Whitney Houston. It may be bad manners to speak ill of the dead, but this was one of those moments that I realized that I would be willing to do anything for a little leg (emphasis on a “little” because this relationship wasn’t consummated). It was high school and my sweetheart wanted to see Whitney Houston. Fortunately, this sweetheart wasn’t so into Whitney that I had to listen to her any other time other than this concert. Yes Whitney had some range and put on a show, but a 17 year-old red-blooded American boy cannot enjoy Whitney on any level. Whitney didn’t sing to or for me. This song is definitely not for me or any other male on the whole planet. High school is bad enough, but couple the awkwardness of teen years with a girl friend who “loved” those sappy Whitney ballads is enough to shame anyone. I willingly bought the tickets, and fortunately the girl friend didn’t dump me prior to the concert… however I do believe that did happen a few weeks later. When I heard about Whitney’s death, I was glad to know I was more bothered by her sad demise than my own personal shame of having seen her in concert. Sometimes my getting-nookie memories are less important than real life sadness.

I could probably list example after example of what I consider musical sacrifice on my part. I could tell you how I have suffered through endless playing of John Denver, the Carpenters, Barry Manilow, Till Tuesday, Suzanne Vega, Cindi Lauper, Seal, Sarah Brighten, Debbie Gibson, Rick Astley, Bobby Brown, Fine Young Cannibals,  New Kids on the Block, ABC, Janet Jackson… yes I can go on and on and on. Conversely, I can regale you with the numerous times I forced Metalica on tender ears and, for some odd reason, how the body (and head) connected to those ears put up with it. I’m sure my attempts at romancing to Metalica is just as embarrassing as my willingness to sacrifice musical pride (such as listening to Maroon 5) for a shot of leg. BUT… I will not listen to Lionel Richie for any woman… Period.

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