2. Alice in Chains, "Down in a Hole (unplugged)"

 

Not only had I gotten her tickets, but when work had prevented me from going at the last minute (I know) and she couldn't find anyone to take my spot, I'd generously invited my fun, handsome new co-worker Darren to join her. They'd had a great time at the show while I worked late. I'd smiled at my desk, thinking of them enjoying it. Tickets and and a new fun friend! Double gift! With a touch of grim foreshadowing!

I walk the twenty blocks to her place, practicing my lines. "I am embarrassed to have tried so hard with someone so pathetic." A winning mix of scornful disapproval and emotional detachment, I think. I knock, and as she opens the door, my script falls away. I opt instead for an uncontrollable shower of tears and snot. Regrettable.

"How could you?" I sniffle.

"What did I do?"

"You know what you did! You cheated! And after I got you Alice in Chains tickets!"

"What? I can't believe Darren told you!"

"Darren? I was talking about the baker whose dick you sucked last night!"

"Oh shit."

Two dudes. Two consecutive nights. Awesome. Time for some more tears.

3. All, "Breakin' Up" 

 

A few hours later, I sit in the narrow space between my bed and stereo, bawling and scanning my CDs for the perfect breakup song. Something to hit those exact note of frustrated rage that I have in mind. The Offspring? Nope. Rancid? Definitely not. Dinosaur Jr? Not even close. Ah, here it is. I pull out All's Pummel and skip to track 11. "This is it, man," I say to my friend Aaron, who's arrived to console me. "'Breakin' Up.' This is exactly how I feel." The song starts with over-compressed guitar and these immortal lyrics:

What if we could talk it over
If only we could somehow find a way
Maybe we could just start all over
If only we weren't breakin' up today

It's amazing how our appetite for allusion and metaphor is inversely proportional to the emotional duress we're under. When my life is in perfect balance, I'm all about Ted Hughes poems about depression. But when the hurt comes on, nothing soothes quite like high-school-diary directness.