My friend David hosts these wonderful parties where several of his performer pals entertain the guests. At last weekend’s bash David, himself a talented writer and performer, gave me the honor of regaling the assembled folks with tales about my love life, or as David put it, my “very personal, terribly tragic, and utterly hysterical tale of internet dating gone wrong.”
GWM not seeking married, seven-toed, gun-toting, Satan-worshipping, homicidal sociopath who isn’t out to his housekeeper
Robin Carlsson, the Swedish singer-songwriter who goes by the stage name Robyn, is no stranger to disappointment in her affairs of the heart. In “Dancing on My Own,” my #3 song of 2010, Robyn goes to a club and watches her ex-boyfriend dancing with his new girlfriend. She makes a lovable stalker, and while I never stalked an ex, I relate to how Robyn feels. There was that time I went with a date to a dance club. Sometime during our date he started dating someone else on the floor. And against a pole. And at the bar. I was dancing on my own, until I finally up and left.
I didn’t share that story at David’s party. I’m having second thoughts about sharing it here, but today is Robyn’s 35th birthday, which is a good excuse to overshare as a means of introduction to her music.
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