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      My Very Own Sad-Ass Mix

      By Kelly McClure


      January 9, 2013

      Working with the same little group of writers each day gets to be intimate feeling. You read their writing. You get a sense of what they're good or bad at. Before long you're casually thinking about what their pajamas smell like, and then you ask them to make you a mix tape. Really you could demand it, because, you know, you pay them. But you ask nicely because otherwise it would feel perverted and illegal.

      William Cody Watson does our Sad-Ass music column, and was nice enough to make me my very own Sad-Ass mix. The only guidelines he was given were to make it the "saddest sad fucking sad thing you've ever done." Here's what he put on my mix, which I will now review for you all.


      There was this boy I had a crush on in grade school. His name was Eric and he had that floppy hair. You know, like that style of hair that was basically all bangs that boys who listened to Depeche Mode had in the 80s? Eric was into cool music, but he was also into being a dick. It got back to him that I had a crush on him and one day, out of the blue, he walked right up to me, flipped his hair bangs, and was like "can I talk to you?" He led me over to a dead patch of grass on the playground and was like "do you wanna go out?" My eyes welled up because I was so happy and I said "really??" And then he laughed and was like "no," and walked back to his friends. This song could have been playing in the background as all that happened. Anyway. I bet I've fucked like 75 more girls than he has by now.
      From note numero uno this song had me by the crotch seam. Oh, you're Southern AND sad? Fuck yes. I'd listen to this and flop around on the grass for almost any reason. Like I could listen to this if I was sad about something, or If I accidentally ordered the wrong ice cream cone. Whatever. For any reason. Yes. 
      I love the drum in this. It's a good way to keep time with the top of my head hitting the wall of the interior of my closet while I'm in there having a fit about something. The funny thing is I never really get sad about stuff. But this is all making me want to fall into a wet blanket of picky sadness. It's working!
      Sometimes I mix up love feelings and sadness feelings. Like I was just listening to this and thinking "can you imagine if someone sang this song to you? Like maybe while sitting at the lake or something?" And then I remembered that I was supposed to be surfing a depression wave, not a wave of pussy juice. 
      I'm starting to feel really sad. I just noticed myself making melty face. You know, where your face gets so down and loose that it's like the skin is melting off your bones? 
      I wish I could lay down.
      This song and I know each other very well. VERY VERY well. Someone could be playing this song in their bedroom, a mile away, and if their window was open and there was a medium sized breeze flitting by, one of my knees would twitch a little. 
      Radiohead, in and of itself, is depressing.
      I don't think I'm allowed to talk about Roky Erickson anymore. 
      My girlfriend talks about this band a lot, so now I'm immediately not depressed any more because I'm thinking about her butt and her skin and sex. I'm thinking about sex. Also, right after I typed that, my co-worker, Assface Mcassface, IMd me THIS
      I just shoved four pieces of gum in my mouth. See how easy it is to write about music??
      Julee Cruise will always remind me of Twin Peaks, which is a happy feeling. But then I start to think about how I went to the actual Twin Peaks in Washington at a point in my life where I was a little chunky and had no friends, and that makes me sad. Then I think about how I read in an interview once that Julee Cruise gave David Lynch a hard time over money or something for the rights to her songs, and that makes me mad. No one fucks with David Lynch. 
      I'm pretty sure I've actually cut myself to this song before. 

      Thanks, William! Thanks, Beyonce! This was nice. 


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