The Drummer's Kid's Llama Did What?!?!?!

If you know me, you already know about music and me. If you don't, I'm about to tell you.

It's like this. I like music. All kinds of music. I probably couldn't deliver a note in tune if I devoted the rest of my life to the endeavor, but I sing my heart out when I'm alone or around the unfortunate people with whom I'm comfortable enough to do so. Those who've been lucky enough to witness my astounding vocal abilities have been treated to everything from Flaming Lips to Jars of Clay to Culture Club to the freakin' theme song from Sanford & Son to Three 6 Mafia to Jack Johnson to Hank Williams, Jr. to Joy Division to random hymns* to A Perfect Circle to the abominably catchy tune from those Outback commercials (sorry, Roommate!).

Now, all that said, if at any given point while I was trying to shatter glass with these ditties, you were to ask me the title of the song or the artist or the album title or anything of that nature, I'd likely not be able to tell you. Don't even get me started on what year the song was released or how the band chose its name or any other music-related minutiae; I'm happily oblivious.

Everyone reading this who considers her/himself a serious music aficionado just cringed or flinched or spit at the monitor and vowed to never return to this site. That's all fine. I understand you're really passionate about your music. I admire that passion and give you all a huge thumbs-up. It's great that you found something that's so important to you. Way to go, you! Seriously.

Thing is, I'm never gonna be that girl. I've had friends try to turn me onto their favorite bands. It's always appreciated. To an extent.

I'll gladly listen to your old favorites and your new favorites and any others you want to send my way. And, most likely, I'll even enjoy doing so. But when you start quizzing me on where the band members met or why the drummer is singing lead these days or what exotic animal actually inspired that chorus or whatever the hell else you might find so freakin' important, I'm lost... Actually, as I said before, I'm lost when it comes to remembering artists' names and song titles. The rest of it, you can absolutely forget.

Yeah, yeah... dating...

SWB recently told me he had known from the beginning that his friend's (recently-kaput) relationship wouldn't last because the girl wasn't obsessive about music, which he said was "pretty much a requirement for admission to (his) circle."

Ouch.

If it wasn't completely obvious before, this tidbit was pretty much a red-lettered announcement sent certified mail screaming, "I only dated you because I thought there was a possibility you'd have sex with me. By the time I agreed to go out with you, I'd lowered my standards so far that pretty much anyone with a vagina would have sufficed."

Hey, I got it! I'd gotten it a while back. It's okay. Really. (Mainly because I didn't have sex with him. Way to go, me! Seriously.)

What's not okay is that these music-obsessed guys keep coming. No, actually that part is okay. It's when they start giving me tons of shit for not having this interest in common with them** that I start to find my patience dissipating. It's not as if I mislead them and pretend to know more about or that I have more of an interest in music. Perhaps it's because they don't realize how important it is to them that the person they're dating be really, really, really into music.***

So take witness to this decree, to be adopted as Belle's SOP henceforth. When the music thing comes up, I'm using a new tactic. I used to spew some generic line about liking all kinds of music. Now I'm just going to give whoever is asking some version of this spiel. If they don't like it, they can go hang out with SWB and all the other music lovers out there arguing about the greatest bassist of all time. I'll happily continue belting my out-of-tune rendition of whatever comes to mind and save myself the trouble of trying to impress them with my inevitably faulty memory.

* The hymns and worship songs are holdovers from a time when Belle was pure and holy and striving wholeheartedly for a close, personal relationship with a specific higher power, who shall remain nameless.
** Meanwhile, am I hassling them for not being obsessed with knitting or making mosaics or painting or whatever-the-hell obsession I'm entertaining this week? No. I'm not. (Of course, I realize this is a pretty weak line, considering my "passions" however deep, are short-lived and soon forgotten. Give a girl a break though, wouldja? Variety is the spice of life... or something...)
*** Or perhaps it's because they've devoted so much time to their precious music that they haven't gotten their rocks off since Jesus was a baby.****
**** I really, really, really tried to refrain from such a lame and bitter stab, but obviously I couldn't resist.