John Clayton Mayer, love of my life, you are the ripe age of 35 today. Well, yesterday, but I wrote this in my brain well before the clock struck midnight.
Not only are you a fox, like a “I’d let my head hit the bed withOUT your hand behind it” fox, but you have gotten me through every break-up in my entire 25 years. Without fail, you have released an album that exactly coincides with the particular brand of heartbreak I’m sipping at that precise moment. You saved me from a lot of dark nights.
A lot of people don’t appreciate you, but you know I always will, baby. You’re not too poppy like a lot of folks tend to say, despite that really fucking weird “Say” song you put out, but we all make mistakes. You’re not the bad guy people make you out to be, because if anyone actually listened to songs like “I Don’t Trust Myself (With Loving You),” “My Stupid Mouth,” or hell, even “Daughters,” they would say “Oh, yeah, maybe that guy has some issues like we all do, but at least he’s honest about them.” Th’fuck’s wrong with honesty?
Oh, and did I mention you play a mean guitar? CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE SHIT THAT GOES ON IN “OUT OF MY MIND?” IT IS UNPARALLELED, BABE. UNPARALLELED!
So thanks. Thanks for the mean pickin’, the soulful singing. Thanks for “Room for Squares,” then “Where the Light Is,” then “Battle Studies,” now “Born & Raised,” and all the others in between. They all did, and still do, get me through the worst and the best moments of my life.
Oh, and how could I ever wish you the happiest of 35ths without mentioning the fateful night I climbed my way to your platform as you were playing “Why, Georgia?” I somehow eluded security and used the heads of two strange men as my stabilizers. I probably made sure the girls were lookin’ mighty fine, and then I looked up, right into your eyes, BEGGING you to look at me. You scanned the crowd, looked into my eyes, kept moving, MY HEART WAS BROKEN, but then… then you did a damn DOUBLE-TAKE and stared at me as you sang “Everybody is just a stranger, but that’s the danger in going my own way.” And then you held that gaze until some floozy threw her bra at you, and we all laughed, me out of psychotic anger that my MOMENT, my time with you was gone.
That bitch. Still love you anyway, boo. THANKS FOR THE MUSIC!