Monday, November 6

(in your face, Britney and K-Fed)

Okay actually my new new guilty pleasure is dancing in my bedroom to the boyfriend’s band’s album. I bought it the first time I met him, two summers ago at one of their shows, which I attended for both curious-stalking reasons and “I really like this music” reasons. I was playing it cool (read: sitting outside the venue, hoping to bump into him) at the end of the night when he approached me. I most likely hug-greeted him (always the flirty one, Paige) and then we went our separate ways.

Actually, we how we first ‘met’ is a different story. He was writing a weekly column and I was devouring every word, reading and rereading and pointing out his byline whenever I saw it in print. It just so happened that my very-public praise was seen by an acquaintance of his. Emails were sent. I found out he had a band. I squealed whenever I got a message from him. And then we met at the show, and went our separate ways.

Of course, throughout all this “separate” time I was still dance-listening to the album, getting giddy over his writing, calling in radio shows to request songs, and dreaming up love stories between him and I. (Which, for the most part, revolved around a scenario where his column one day included a declaration of love for me—girls have the best expectations, eh?) And, skipping to the point, the following summer we fell madly in love and now we’re one of those irritating couples who can’t even stop making-out to pay for some groceries.

So the album is suddenly back in my rotation because it’s like re-reading old diary entries, but better. It’s listening to the boyfriend before I really knew him, and being able to remember all the silly and sometimes embarrassing pre-relationship things I once thought about him. It’s adorable! Or perhaps this is just another symptom of being annoyingly lovey-dovey. I’ll let you decide.