I guess you could say I came pretty late to the game – the relationship game, that is. I was twenty-eight years old and hadn’t had a boyfriend. Needless to say I had never been asked out on a date. Long ago I decided that relationships were not and will never be a part of my life, and I was prepared to be alone. And when I was twenty-eight I realized what I was doing with my life: absolutely nothing.

I knew I needed to change, but I had no clue how. My low self-esteem and insecurities came to the forefront no matter how hard I tried to suppress them. I had been able to for years, but not any more. I told myself it was best to deal with them head on.

One Friday night I had planned to hang out with a couple of friends – my friend and her husband - and see a movie. They told me the husband’s “old friend” would be joining us. We met at my friend’s house and rode together to dinner and then to the movie. It was a standard night, nothing unusual. I didn’t think much of it. About a month later, out of the blue, I got a Myspace message from the “old friend” asking how I was, saying that it was nice meeting me. I replied with a polite message. He wrote back, and at the very end of the message, asked me out.

Now, I had never been asked out before, and I thought I never would, so this came as a complete surprise. Two days later, on a Sunday, I went out with him. It was awkward: I had no clue what to do. Not that there is a universal protocol for such occasions, but I knew could have spoken more. I tend to clam up around people I really don’t know; it’s something I have to work on. But apparently I didn’t scare him away, because he agreed to go out with me again to see our mutual friend’s band play later in the week.

That second night we were in a group setting, and it wasn’t too bad. A couple of days later he invited me over to his place. I went over and he showed me his art and his instruments and played me a bit of the music he was working on. He didn’t have anything to drink, so we got in my car to go to the liquor store. On the way I played him a couple of songs from the Peter Bjorn and John CD Writer’s Block because I’d just gotten it and was obsessed with it. I remember playing him “Young Folks” and singing along a little a bit.

In the following few weeks, we kept in contact through email. We wrote to each other nearly every day, and the whole time that Peter Bjorn and John record was in my car stereo. I listened to it incessantly on my way to and from work and school. My confidence was lifted because I thought (gasp!) someone liked me. Now, I know it’s not healthy to base one’s self-esteem on whether or not someone likes you, but I couldn’t help it. Remember, I was new to this.

Suddenly, the emails started to taper off. Then they stopped altogether. One Saturday I got an e-mail from him saying that we weren’t compatible and that he didn’t feel anything between us. Okay, I told myself. It’s fine. I had kind of expected it anyway. That part didn’t hurt. What hurt was that I felt I wasn’t good enough. If only I had been a bit more attractive, talkative, or charming he wouldn’t have called it off. I didn’t blame him. I thought it was all my fault.

For the next six months I avoided that Peter Bjorn and John CD. When any of the songs came up on my iPod, I’d hurry and skip to the next one. Listening to that record reminded me of him and the way he made me feel - indirectly. Those songs just made me feel bad about myself.

The next fall I decided I was ready to go see Peter Bjorn and John with a friend when they played a show in our town. The show was awesome, although I couldn’t help but feeling a twinge of that rejection. I managed to suppress it because I was determined to have a good time; plus, I always had and always will like the songs. After the show, my friend and I decided to go to the nearest dive bar for a couple of drinks. We had only been there for about twenty minutes when Peter Bjorn and John walked through the door.

I immediately told them that their show had been great, got their autographs, and offered to buy them drinks. Well, long story short, I ended up buying them drinks all night. It felt like we were instant friends. We laughed at the people singing karaoke, badly, in the bar. We laughed when Bjorn, John, and I got into a tickle fight. We laughed when Bjorn spilled beer down the front of my shirt and into my lap (he was pouring it in my mouth) - then tried, futilely, to blot it with a couple of coasters. He even took pictures of us singing karaoke together (we went for Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy The Silence”). When they left I gave them all hugs and kisses and thanked them for coming to my city.

Now, whenever I listen to Writer’s Block, I don’t remember that feeling of rejection like I used to. I just remember that night when I hung out with Peter, Bjorn, and John and had the time of my life. Maybe it takes meeting the musicians themselves to un-ruin their music for you.