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Advice Crush: Dear Boogie

October 27, 2010

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed by Brendan Boogie are his and his alone. They do not reflect the opinions of Boston Band Crush or its parent company Shake Weight. Pantomime jerk-off your way to toned upper arms!

Dear Boogie,

I’m a 30-year-old with a thick golden mane and some aggression/affection issues. I have a very specific type of stud, and I haven’t had much luck finding him here in Boston. I’m flicking away these twee indie rock weaklings like flies, and usually end up spearing them with the business end of my Les Paul. My repair bills from Mr. Music are piling up, and all this galloping away from the Boston P.D. is getting exhausting.

The guy I’m looking for has to be a real rocker: confident, fun-loving, hard-drinking, writes a good hook, makes a guitar scream and enjoys a good gang vocal.

Any idea on where I can find a guy like this (if they even exist in Boston)? I feel like I’m running around the track. If I can’t find one soon, it’s back to the desert for a life of solitude.

Rock Pony

Dear RP,

I’m not really surprised you haven’t found your dream guy, Rock Pony. You kind of made him up.

Having a “type” is sort of funny that way. You name a bunch of qualities you find in a person and then expect to meet that person. There’s only one problem. Why in the world would that EVER happen? It makes no sense whatsoever. Just wanting something doesn’t make it magically exist, not matter what Santa or that Oprah book says.

Types are dumb. Stop having one. All it does is set you up for disappointment and failure. I’ll accept a list of things you DON’T want, i.e. no guys with hairy toe knuckles or (shudder) guys going for their MBAs. Having a DO NOT FUCK list seems at least slightly reasonable. What’s more, it doesn’t completely narrow down your options unless you’re being ridiculous about it (“Guys that turn oxygen into carbon dioxide are such homos!”). But having a list of things that you want? Shut it down. It’s childish and it’s holding you back.

Let me go a little further and wow you with a little instant pop psychology for you, Rock Pony. You’re having trouble finding your type of guy for one of two reasons:

Reason #1: You already met him and you somehow blew it so you’re spending your remaining days measuring every guy you meet against him. OR

Reason #2: You are setting up an impossible-to-meet standard because you’re afraid to be close to someone and this way you can safely be alone without it being your fault.

Blammo! I nailed you, didn’t I? But I dig you, Rock Pony so I’ve got you covered. Since I don’t know which of the two it is, I’ll give you solutions for BOTH.

Solution for Reason #1: Memories are notoriously inaccurate. Even if your ex was the greatest guy in history, that means he was probably a douche fountain only about 49% of the time. (Note: A douche fountain is a fountain of douche). Focus on the bad times like the time he spilled chocolate Ovaltine in your douche fountain. I’m sure there were a bunch of craptastic memories. There always are. Don’t let your memory play games with you. It’s fucking with you.

Solution for Reason #2: Here’s the deal – intimacy is hard. It’s kind of scarier than almost anything except heights, spiders, and American voters. But the bigger the risk, the bigger the reward. Take a gamble or two. Start off small by allowing a puppy to see your underwear. When you feel comfortable with that, move on to allowing that guy on the T to sniff your hair in that oh-so-special “only on the MBTA” kind of way. If you dismiss every potential suitor by using some arbitrary list of attributes, you’re throwing away scratch tickets before you even scrape off the gross silvery stuff. And if someone hurts you, you’ll be fine. It’s just pain. You’ve been through it before and survived.

On the off chance that the reason is NOT one of the above… wait, that would mean I’m wrong. Hmm… that seems rather unlikely, doesn’t it? But I’ll tell you what – I’ll do you a steady. If any “real rockers” reading this that they can handle the sexy ball of nutso that is Rock Pony, send me an email at I’ll forward your info to Rock Pony and see what’s what. No cock pics, please. You’re not a professional quarterback, goddamn it.

And you say I’m not a hopeless romantic.

Soundtrack to your misery: Look! A Pony! – “Jersey Barrier”

Need your rock ponied or your pony rocked? Shoot Brendan an email at or write anonymously at the fancy dan submission form below:

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