I’m not sure the first time I was made aware of it all, but I imagine I was about fourteen. At the time I spent the majority of my free time bouncing between coffee shops and sneaking in bars to see my boyfriend… or…erm…boyfriends rock out on their guitar, dominate the drums, pour out their heart singing (…hey, it depended on the boyfriend).

It’s almost something I was born to become. Like it was set in my DNA. My destiny, to love absolutely everything about rock and roll. It was a problem then and the older I get the worse it becomes. My yearning, that is. Though these days I have accepted monogamy and have officially retired my ‘playa days’ its still completely utterly absolutely and entirely unavoidable. As often as I have denounced it, have despised it, have embraced it, loathed, cherished, hated, loved and accepted it… I am a band-aid.

I can’t help it. I didn’t ask to be this way. It’s not a conscious effort. It just happens. And I usually don’t realize it until way later. I have a problem; a slight addiction, if you will- boys in tight pants… who play in a band. I’m lying, actually, it’s just about any guy who plays in a band. Ugh, I’m lying again… his band HAS to be good.

It’s pretty bad. Before every show I’m consumed in possibility; carefully calculating the most charming statement for any given situation. I mean, I’m already in the same city block as Jared Followill… something just miiight happen. It’s not totally impossible I’ll have forgotten my cell phone in my car and on my way to grab it he would be outside casually smoking. I happen to look up and we make eye-contact. I smile. He smiles. I pretend like I’m a smoker and ask to bum a cigarette. We chat. We become engrossed in conversation. We have everything in common- I mean ever since I read that Rolling Stone article where he says he is just looking for the girl who put her feet in between his legs at night to keep them warm- I just knew we were meant to be. I mean I am that girl. I totally do that all the time. Ask any of my ex-boyfriends.

Forty-five minutes later Nacho has to come peel him away to get ready to go on. Before he leaves he tells me where they are partying afterwards. I go. We fall in love. And he whisks me away forever into Rock and Roll Love Land.

It could happen. I’m sure it has before.

I want to meet my monster black dressed in leather. I want to be his princess and the queen of his highway. Caleb, I’ll be your taper jean girl. You can follow me wherever you please, Ben Gibbard. I want to go to Spain, Ryan Adams, and I want to dance!. And believe me, Eddie, we all know there isn’t a better man. Devendra, I will be your lover! You can fill me up with love, you can be my thing and I’ll be your everything. I want to hold you’re hand. I know, we’ll be laughing at the zoo in five years time and I swear on my autographed Ben Kweller record that I’ll be your valentine when your sixty-four.

I really love Rock and Roll Love Land, I’m dying to get my citizenship. It’s a place made up of music, the people who create that music, and those who adore them for it. It was built off of drunken nights, confusion, rejection, love, sex, drugs, and passion. I want to spend as much of my life there as humanly possible. I mean, I’m a frequent visitor. As I’m sure everyone who enjoys a good show is… because that is what its all about, really. Just hanging out, listening to music, traveling, talking to strangers, and sleeping in shitty hotels. That is what I want. This constant high that sweeps you off your feet, takes your breath away, and knocks you on your trendy hipster ass. Much like when you discover a new artist whom you feel like wrote your entire life (Damien Rice, O). Or the first time you hear your favorite song by your favorite band live and tears swell up in your eyes (Ben Kweller, ShaSha) .Or the night after you sat down and talked about everything and nothing with the person who truly truly ‘gets you’ (Ben Kweller). That is Rock and Roll Love Land; a sheer dream-like surreal state of being.

It’s not the pretty face, glamorous life-style, or indie-street-cred of bagging a bandboy that fixates girls like me. It really is the music. Its this deep electric rumbling passion that circulates through our veins. It’s an explosion of excitement, love, fear, and common ideals that resonate in our gut. I mean, how many band-aids do you see lusting after Nickleback? We want to touch their music. We want to laugh with our favorite album. We want to kiss our favorite song. We want to make all sorts of love to the person who created it. But more than anything, we want to be it. Pamela Courson wasn’t just an inspiration for Jim Morrison; she IS the Queen of the Highway. She IS Blue Sunday. She became what, at the core of it all, we all love: rock and roll.

It’s not even like its our fault. They do it to us. Even the nine year old in Love Actually figured out playing the drums will make a girl swoon. It’s a very well calculated plan. It starts with a catchy guitar riff. They hook us with some pretty lyrics then WAM-BAM they reel us in with tight pants and an attitude. How can we be held responsible for our actions?

This weird paradox that exists between band-aid and band is astounding. We love them because we love their music. Through songs, albums, and interviews we have had access to parts of them; have found common ground. We feel like we know them and that they know us. Though, in reality they consciously play up on our weakness for good music and a pretty smile. The basis of a bandboys job is to evoke emotion and excitement. They have artfully mastered the ability to make any movement, action, or word overly sentimental leaving us dying for more.

“I always tell the girls, never take it seriously, if ya never take it seriously, ya never get hurt. Ya never get hurt, ya always have fun and if you ever get lonely, just go to the record store and visit your friends. ” Of course, we don’t take it seriously. It’s just so easy start to feel special when they tell you you’re pretty and plan exotic vacations to India while you’re both lying in bed entranced in a liminal state of being. We spend so much of our time fantasizing about dating a rockstar that we get lost in the infinite possibilities. We secretly let our hopes up then just as quickly and unexpected as it began its over. We do get hurt. We fall for it over and over again. They are our weakness. We want to be their inspiration- listen to Thirteen by Ben Kweller and try and tell me you don’t want to be that girl. However, we just fuel the image that eats us in the end, it’s a weird vicious cycle.

To be perfectly honest, the highs of Rock and Roll Love Land make the lows entirely worthwhile. Jared Followill has to fall in love with someone and serendipity is usually on my side. There are a million bandboys circulating through a million band-aids and each time I get tossed aside its just a matter of time until I find my rockstar. Even if its temporary. It is just a matter of time until some hurt band-aid feeling rather lonely will find my song that I inspired at the record store.