Where to begin? I should start off with the obligatory “Melynee is the devil.” Should. Because it’s all her fault. But, oddly enough, Amanda once had the audacity to blame moi for the *NSYNC hellhole we have fallen into. I’m really not sure why, since I could never be that evil, but she seemed to think it had something to do with me blathering on and on about “Bye Bye Bye” in email after email after email after email after…
It’s probably true. I have been known to do this. But I would just like to point out that I did NOT bring MSG to Las Vegas, and I did not even really like them until I had seen MSG for, like, the 10th time that weekend. I resisted man, I really did.
It was just fate that my room faced the jumbotron. Mmmmm…big-ass Justin, every ten minutes across the strip. Boo-ti-ful.
So, really, yeah – still Melynee’s fault. I wasn’t always like this. I used to mock *NSYNC. More so than now – and without my current “Why do I love these fuckers?” confusion. It was straight out, “Ha ha ha, LISTEN to them, have you even paid attention to their lyrics” mockage. Life was so much simpler then. *sigh* I miss it. I remember picking up one of my sister’s teenie magazines – because lord knows I would never buy one of those rags – once. Inside was an *NSYNC interview where The Boys were talking about how girls would try to jump up and grab Justin when he flew out over the audience in his stupid white jump suit. I wanted to know who would want to grab Justin.
The irony of this is just killing me. Really. Killing me.
So, where to begin? Relive my glory days – think fondly of a time when I harassed my younger sister and questioned her coolness factor, rather than the other way around? Remember the days when I was unable to distinguish between *NSYNC and the BSB? Wonder how I ever lived with no clue as to who was who?
Well folks, those days are gone. And it’s best not to dwell on them. Nostalgia’s a bitch, and I’m just not up for that. So let’s dive on in, shall we? What did it, you ask? What made me crumble in my mid-20’s like a sand castle stomped by some little bored brute? How could I fall prey to *NSYNC? ME? She who managed to completely resist NKOTB as a teenager? There’s no real answer for that puzzling conundrum. Believe me, I’ve had many a late night trying to figure that one out. I’ve given up; there is no sense to the universe. I accept this. Perhaps it was something as simple as the lack of overalls…at least, after the first few years. Oh, I’ve seen the pictures. Awful doesn’t describe it. But at least they knew when to give them up.
So it wasn’t their fashion sense. As previously hinted at, it wasn’t their lyrics. It wasn’t even the dancing – not at first. I’d say it was the release of BBB that did it. There was just something so fucking catchy about it. The fuckers. I still think they put subliminal messages in the music. There’s no way I should’ve found it as irresistible as I did. Oh, I hid it for a long time – in my apartment liking *NSYNC is a ticket to Sofa City. I laughed at the song. I defied their clever mind-control by changing the channel time and time again. But then, it got harder and harder to change the channel. If alone, I’d listen and sing along. Being stared at by a total stranger as I emoted and punched to the song at a stoplight didn’t even dampen my enthusiasm.
That really should’ve been a warning sign. I should’ve sought out help. But, as noted before, my friends aren’t exactly helpful in the sanity department. No, in fact, the motherfuckers encouraged it and made it a million times worse. I’m still trying to figure out how to thank them properly.
I still might have been okay. There was the addiction to “Bye Bye Bye,” but I really didn’t feel the need to own the CD, and I was only the teensiest bit sad when I had to change the channel to save face. The SNL appearance poked but a small hole in the dam – but hell, even Amy was smitten with them after that. Then I went to Vegas. And all hell broke loose. Melynee arrived. Armed.
After repeated viewings of MSG, there really wasn’t much point to resisting. I also believe they put subliminal messages in their dancing. They must. I’m sure those hips are spelling out something…oh, shut up. It makes me feel better. So there was the practicing, the dancing, the people with cameras taking pictures, the karaoke booth incident, which we’re not going to dwell on. I still get the shakes when I think of the rather large crowd that stood outside of the booth and watched us make the Tape That Doesn’t Exist. I repress things for a reason, yo. How bad could this Tape That Doesn’t Exist of us not-singing and not-dancing to “Bye Bye Bye” possibly not be? Amanda and I ran like sissy-girls. That’s how bad. And we’re going to leave it at that.
All my bitching aside, it was incredibly fucking fun. I don’t think I’ve laughed more in my entire life. Certainly not while running at such speeds through more than one casino. Certainly not. So I may hate The Boys, and curse them for my new uncontrollable urges to buy ridiculous merchandise (a glowing Justin heart necklace, anyone?) and for being the gateway drug to ludicrous pop, but I hate because I love.
And because I just can’t help myself. I’m sick. I need help. But until such a time comes when I no longer find their antics amusing and cute, or someone develops a hell of a 12-step program that doesn’t require shock therapy, I’m going to enjoy myself here.
And ignore the mocking of the boy. Bastage.