LIP SERVICE IS ALL YOU'LL EVER GET FROM ME
I'm having one of those spells where you think you can say everything to everybody in the form of a mixtape. (Okay, I'm a fucking nerd, SPARE ME YOUR WRATH.) Anyway, there's a rotating roster of boys who don't know the real truth of my love, and they all seem to be needing a little jump start, a little staring contest, a little idea of what this headspace is like. Usually I accomplish this in step one, the all-night conversation, which is admittedly my weapon of choice. Because after you've heard my sob story from high school, my most recent drama, and the admittance that I am in fact, wooing you by talking until you break down and kiss me, you can't help but comply. But what to do when said boy is not on the premesis? What to do when there are certain spoken and unspoken things that keep all of this from ever, ever being nailed down or even real? My point is this: it's tough to have a crush. Much less five, eight, or ten.
But mixtapes . . . hey, it isn't my fault that I opened with a song about holding hands, a song about cheating, a song including a disgustingly emotional alto saxophone solo, or a song whose bridge is full of synths and goes, "Come on angel, come on come on darling, let's exchange the experience, ooohhhhh hoo." Especially when everybody knows that the real emotional center of the song doesn't hit until halfway through side B. Lip service, indeed.
I'm having one of those spells where you think you can say everything to everybody in the form of a mixtape. (Okay, I'm a fucking nerd, SPARE ME YOUR WRATH.) Anyway, there's a rotating roster of boys who don't know the real truth of my love, and they all seem to be needing a little jump start, a little staring contest, a little idea of what this headspace is like. Usually I accomplish this in step one, the all-night conversation, which is admittedly my weapon of choice. Because after you've heard my sob story from high school, my most recent drama, and the admittance that I am in fact, wooing you by talking until you break down and kiss me, you can't help but comply. But what to do when said boy is not on the premesis? What to do when there are certain spoken and unspoken things that keep all of this from ever, ever being nailed down or even real? My point is this: it's tough to have a crush. Much less five, eight, or ten.
But mixtapes . . . hey, it isn't my fault that I opened with a song about holding hands, a song about cheating, a song including a disgustingly emotional alto saxophone solo, or a song whose bridge is full of synths and goes, "Come on angel, come on come on darling, let's exchange the experience, ooohhhhh hoo." Especially when everybody knows that the real emotional center of the song doesn't hit until halfway through side B. Lip service, indeed.
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