Sometimes before things get better....

I'm on tumblr, looking through my follows (not the tags, though, because, yeah, learned my lesson) and someone posted a list of "songs that make them want to fall in love". Ok, fine. On that list was Chicago Is So Two Years Ago.

It blows my mind that anyone would think that. I mean, guys, the opening lyrics are "My heart is on my sleeve, wear it like a bruised or black eye. My badge, my witness that means I believed every lie that you said." Can't forget this part, "And every pat on the shoulder for attention fails to mention that I still hate you."

Oh, yeah, this part, too: "You want apologies, girl you might hold your breath until your breathing stops forever, forever. The only thing you'll get is this curse on your lips: I hope they taste of me forever."

Don't get me wrong, I actually really like this song, it's one of my favorites for when I'm really pissed off, but I just don't get how it would make you want to fall in love.

Getting ready to dye my hair again and I've been making the bff listen to Save Rock And Roll all night; she's been surprisingly not bitchy about it. I'm guessing she agreed when I pointed out that she should have at least a passing familiarity with the music that she'll be seeing live in Sept.

But this record guys, holy fuck -I can hardly articulate all the things I love about it.

First -and one of the biggest for me, I freely admit- Patrick's fucken voice. I've always loved it, yes, and I'm inherently biased towards thinking he sings better than anyone in the known universe, again yes. But I can't be the only one thinking that his voi e and range and style and just everything is so much there this record -more in your face and confident and clear and gorgeous. Patrick has finally decided to own his fucken voice and, jesus fuck, does he own it.

And the music, man. With Joe adding his own talent to Patrick's genius, they've got this monster of guitar riffs and pianos and kick ass bass lines (not bad for a shitty ass bass player, hmmm?) and drums that feel like they can dictate your heartbeat at any given minute.

And woven through the beats and guitars, bass and drums and melodies and in Patrick's voice is Pete's words. He's grown up, just like all of us, but he still knows how it feels to get your heart broken and kicked around, how it feels to be alone. And he still knows how to relate it to you in a way most people would never think of, but the underlying viciousness that made Take This To Your Grave so memorable and releatable is gone. He still wants to get back at who hurt him, but that's human nature. At 32, Pete knows things don't always work out, he understands it in a way he didn't when he was 21. And he knows now that sometimes the best revenge is being happy, is proving that you can, in fact, live -and even thrive- without. Pete knows what we all do: as satisfying as it would be to see someone who broke your heart choke and crash, there are more important things in life.

They -Pete, Patrick, Joe and Andy- have grown up but, then again, we all have. Everyone grows up eventually, it's a fact of life. It's another fact that the bands that changed your life when you were 21 may come to be nothing more than a fond memory when your 31. If you're lucky, extremely lucky, your favorite band not only grows with you, but still speaks to you, still makes you feel more than you really are.

There are a lot of reasons why I love Fall Out Boy, but the music has always been on the top of the list; they've spoken to me, understood me since I was 21. I'm extremely lucky: my favorite band has grown with me, they're still speaking to me.

They've saved me more times than i can count and it's beyond anything I can explain to know that they'll still be there for me for the considerable future.

Save Rock and Roll. If anyone can do it, it's Fall Out Boy.

Sorry about the random spamming today, guys (and not even about anything good; I fail today) but I was combing through the bookmarks on my phone and realized that all my hard and fast OTPs (you know, the ones that I can't read with anyone else except with each other) all have one quality in common: they would all, in a heartbeat, pass the Broccoli Test.

Think about it: Patrick/Pete, Punk/Colt, Sabin/Shelley, Kirk/Spock, Sam/Dean, Gerard/Mikey, they all have that same connection. They could look across a produce aisle at their partner and raise an eyebrow and not only would the other person know that they wanted broccoli for dinner, but that they wanted it steamed and covered in cheese, too.

It's more than a best friend thing -or in the case of Sam/Dean and Gerard/Mikey, more than even a brother thing. It comes from years of knowing and relying on each other, days and weeks and months -sometimes years - of being, literally and figuratively, on top of each other; sharing clothes and space and beds, until you can't remember what belongs to who and what the term personal space means.

It starts off as a best friend -or brother- thing and after a while, it takes on a life of it's own and keeps growing, keeps redefining itself in moments and feelings and songs and roadtrips.

I don't even do it consciously -they just pick me, I swear.