I'm a great groupie

9-12-09
I'm a great groupie.
I had a lot of practice in high school as the 'secretary' of Blues Club. They'd jam and I'd drool, taking mental notes. I remember the start of club meetings where the boys would set up their guitars and drums and I'd move around some chairs trying to be useful. There would be the obligatory "sexual favors" joke and we all laughed because it never got old and some of them hoped one day it wouldn't be a joke. Sometimes I did too.  They'd tune the guitars and turn up the amps and Josie and I would take seats where we could see the guys we thought were the cutest. She ended up dating one of them and they are still together. Musicians broke my heart.

I have a thing for drummers.
I appreciate music, even if I suck at it. The only thing I can play is the radio. I've given up on singing. Maybe one day I'll expand my knowledge of songs on the piano to more than two and a half, but for now I have a thing for drummers. The only thing I can even begin to try to trace this to is the human body. In the music I dance to, like a good groupie, I follow the drum beat. I let the rhythm control my body. It's the drums that make me want to get up and move. Who doesn't love that transition from tame to wild? And so my only conclusion is that I go for the ones that can move me. Strumming is all well and good, but I like the ones that know how to bang and hold and clash. The drums are the heart of the band and boy do they get me. Heart-to-heart; what a pathetic attempt at trying to figure myself out.

What kind of bullshit am I trying to write here? Who am I kidding? I like the drummers because they're fuckable. I like them because they're dangerous and we all like to rebel one way or another. I romanticize the fantasy, but when it all boils down, I'm left with the blatant truth that: I have a thing for drummers. It's a shame he's one of them. Drummers let you down in the most predictable ways. I'm not letting it ruin the butterflies for me though and, who knows, maybe I have no reason to be bitter and cynical.

Isn't it Frou Frou who sings, "There's beauty in the breakdown"? Here's to a beautiful breakdown. They jam. I break it down. We all go home sore- sore hands, sore heart. Those drummers- they sure know how to play.