You’re great, you really are.
You’re always there when I need my fix of 90-00’s pop music, busting out classics like Nivea’s “Don’t Mess with My Man” and Willa Ford’s “I Wanna Be Bad” in the clutch. When I’m having a particularly angsty day and all I want to hear is Eminem screaming about drugs and Kim with increasingly murderous rage, you somehow sense this and throw all of his comedy hip-hop by the wayside in favor of the emotional disaster that was The Marshall Mathers LP. You have a sixth sense in this way, and for that I am eternally grateful.
However, sometimes you really suck. If we were dating, I’d have the, “It’s not you it’s me” talk (when we’d both know it was really definitely you). If we were friends, I’d suggest you lay off the juice and get your life back in order. If you were my mom, I would’ve gotten emancipated a la Macaulay Culkin years ago.
You have a tendency to do me wrong in the dirtiest of ways: throwing a cog in my morning routine of getting ready while jamming out to volume eleven-level tunes, and even worse, leading others who happen to be enjoying my excellent taste in music to believe that I ‘liked’ a Creed song. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.
If you want us to remain friends, here are the three ways in which you need to check yoself:
1. Stop assuming I like JLo as much as you think I do – Sure, I had a tap dance to “Let’s Get Loud” in my sixth grade recital, and I love to imitate the Ja Rule rap in the “I’m Real” remix, but that’s about the extent of it. Why oh why must every other song on my Christina Aguilera radio be Jennifer Lopez, especially the most recent, god-awful dance mixes? Sure, I’d love to “be it on the floor” tonight, but right now I’m five minutes late for work and I simply don’t have time. Furthermore, if I am forced to follow being “it on the floor” with “doin’it well,” I’m most definitely going to drop too low and pull something and then my plans are shot to hell. Stop forcing me to channel my inner Latina, it’s strenuous.
2. Don’t pigeon hole me into a decade – I like Madonna. I will give a hearty thumbs up to old-school, “Vogue”-era Madonna. I’ll even give “Hey Mr. DJ” Madonna a few minutes of my time. Keep her comin’. But it is musically racist of you to believe that just because I like Madonna, I all of a sudden want to be bombarded with the shittiest music of the 80’s. I’ve also liked Pat Benatar, Cyndi Lauper and Queen, but then you come at me with Flock of Seagulls and it’s the equivalent of telling someone a story for twenty minutes only to have them respond with, “Wow, that’s crazy.” At least pretend like you’re paying attention.
3. Learn to take a compliment – “Are you still listening? I mean it’s whatever, I’m just paying for everything you hear and you haven’t liked or disliked anything I’ve played in the past hour… No it’s totally fine, I don’t mind footing the bill; you’ll get me next time right? LOL. It’s just, you know, I’m paying for all of these songs and I feel like you’re not even appreciating them. You could always upgrade and actually pay for the same exact service without Vistaprint commercials popping up every fourth song, but it’s okay because I’m totally fine with shelling out for this music!!!” Hey asshole, maybe you’re just not fucking up for once and I’m actually enjoying every song being played. Way to ruin the flow.