Sister, Do You Know My Name?
Okay, so there's this girl I barely know. One thing I do know about her is that she has a very cool name. In fact, her name is easily in the Top Three Girls Names I've Ever Encountered:
1. The Girl I'm Writing About Right Now
2. April Dawn
3. Candy Rock
I'm not going to give her full name here, because I'm guessing I have at least one or two stalkers in my readership (I'd be surprised if I didn't) and they just shouldn't have that kind of info. Besides, I would stalk her myself, but I'd rather just type her name into google.com and see what happens. It'd be kinda fun, and I'm sick of typing my name into it and seeing the same old results.
I've only met her once. I barely remember what she looked like, how she acted. I was likely preoccupied with Not Being A Dork (a common affliction with yours truly) and plus it was at an art show that had no booze. Without any liquid courage, I'm sure I shook her hand and then resumed staring at my shoes.
But I'm confident that she is smart, sexy, thoughtful, and funny-as-hell (that last one being most important in my Girl Ratings, in case you're wondering.) And as I stated above, her name rules. Did I mention she scored me a White Stripes ticket? Because ultimately, that is what merits her this honorarium. Because while I was in northern Minnesota on a Saturday in May sporting waders and chest-deep in 48-degree water trying fit dock sections together, she was buying me a White Stripes ticket on the request of a mutual friend.
And I love that. I love how music fans look out for each other. I love our secret languages. I love our disagreements. I love discussing the histories (official, esoteric, and revisionist.) I love the acrobatics of keeping up with new stuff. I love how everyone is digging trashy guitars and drums these days. I love how analyzing lyrics is now a secondary hobby. I love how the White Stripes are seemingly, suddenly the favorite band for all of us. I especially love that I will be at their show on July 13th. And when I hand that ticket over to the tattooed-covered dude with the funky hair and black teeshirt at the door; I will smile, thinking of Amie.
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