Oops
Don't invite the object of your affection to your experimental music concert, spill beer on her at intermission, and expect her to stay until the end.
Don't invite the object of your affection to your experimental music concert, spill beer on her at intermission, and expect her to stay until the end.
I just read a One Sentence from 2007 about someone who apparently sang an E sharp, and I just need to point out that this is extremely idiotic because not only is E sharp actually F, but E sharp also first appears in the key of F sharp, and it would save a lot of time to say the song is just in G flat.
When she popped in the Al Green CD I assumed she was giving me the green light, but after I kissed her she broke the news that she had a boyfriend.
I thought the world had ended when my newly repaired computer returned without my music library.
We call each other soulmates and yet we still can't agree on how much Radiohead sucks.
Darling Nikki was probably not the best song choice for family karaoke, Christmas, 1984.
I finally offered my lyrics to the guy in the school metal band a day after they disbanded.
While waiting for a local gig to start, a stranger came up to me to say that he'd seen a photo of me on my blog that day.
Mom unknowingly ate the mushroom chocolates I left in the fridge after the music festival.
Yesterday, at my ripe old age of 43, my young son had to explain to me that the band was spelled and named "The Beatles" due to a music beat and not "The Beetles" after a bug.
I wondered why someone would want with one extra drumstick, then realized "buy two get one free" probably refers to pairs.
After saying "I am missing my G-string" out loud, I realized that nobody knew I was talking about my guitar.
Until that afternoon, I never realized how many songs I had with your name in them.
We were going to stay up all night recording experimental music on his computer like John and Yoko, but then his mom came in and told us it was time for him to go to bed.
As a 31-year-old white male in 2008, I finally grasp the political truth in that Public Enemy cassette I rocked in 1992.
My distaste for hip-hop music had always been clear, but now, as I watched the rapper rap and the DJ spin, I stood in awe at their obvious talent and I wasn't so sure about myself anymore.
I asked her to tell me what the song meant, but a few weeks later she showed me.
After spending hours searching the internet for information on a band, I stopped liking them the second I discovered they were an alternative Christian group.
As his favorite song played on my mp3 player, I realized why he tried to kill himself.
My friends made me listen to metal music, in hopes of making me hardcore.
Each time one of my best girl friends calls with news that they are engaged I automatically play "Another One Bites the Dust," in my head though I feign excitement and tears for them.
I deliberately listen to songs I loved freshman year to bring myself down.
Even after I told him I never wanted to speak to him again, he still thought it was important to let me know about the new Radiohead album.
If it weren't for all the songs about suicide, I wouldn't be here.
Upon entering practice room 158 this morning to find a large penis scratched into the wood of the piano, I realized once again that college boys never do grow up.
Much like the song written by "Garbage," I am always happy when it rains.
He's dead, he's been dead 30 years, he will stay dead, deal with it and move on.
I stopped listening to Family Force 5 after I realized they were a Christian band.
I was in the frozen food section when his favorite song came on the radio and I had to sit down to cry.
When sharing music becomes foreplay, you know you have something beautiful.
I told her that John Mellencamp had ruined my life, and when she revealed that he had ruined hers too, I got the kind of goosebumps that let you know your life is about to become more interesting.
I knew it was going to be a long ride home when he put 'Nothing Else Matters' in repeat mode on the car stereo.
On the day I miscarried, I drove to a job interview, and when the Misfits came on the radio, I wondered if I'd still be able to listen to songs about killing babies after I'd lost my own.
By learning all the lyrics to Johnny Cash's "I've Been Everywhere" in less than 5 days I completed my 2007 New Year resolution.
Today, while listening to my iPod, I learned that my taste in music sucks.
The work week seems to be a repeating blip that echoes a nasty scratch on the record of life.
A mix of anxiety and euphoria exploded within me the moment I placed the needle on the record.
I didn't realize my house was on fire until a complete stranger opened the front door and I thought to myself over the high-bass classic rock, "Is someone downstairs cooking waffles?"
Wiping the dust from my CD's, the ones we never listened to throughout our marriage, I was suddenly struck by the harsh realization that this silence was not his failure, but mine.
My friend Bob loved his vinyl records so much that he used to obsess about which ones to save if his house caught fire but when it actually happened he chose his girlfriend instead.
Walking out of the club after the memorial concert for a man who was supposed to perform that night, snow fell quietly to the sidewalk.