Three Imaginary Girls

Seattle's Indie-Pop Press – Music Reviews, Film Reviews, and Big Fun

{Let Rachel Flotard of Visqueen take the sting out of your heart. Send your love advice questions her way at}


Dear Rachel,

Is it ever okay to play your own band's CD in bed right after… well, right afterwards? I just started dating a musician and he has does this more than once. I can't decide if it's endearing or incredibly narcissistic. What do you think?

hugs and kisses from~
curious about post-sex songs


For the love of everything holy.

Springtime in Jersey. I was 14. Put my bedroom speakers up to the screens on my windows and cranked "Stairway" to get l'amour attention of burnt 17 year old pizza delivery freak (long hair, hand painted "Ride The Lightning" cover on back of his jean jacket, undoubtedly disgusting even by 1986 standards).

In my 16 Candles thought-processor, he'd be blown away at the fuckin' blacklit Zepp vibe I was giving off with my faded Benetton Rugby, braces and pre-teen chunkster ass.

This was New Jersey, this was BAD, and if you ask my younger sister who was front and center for the disaster, (and whom to this day offers the story to strangers everywhere) it was my most sphincter-twitching embarassment of all time.

Your letter reminds me of that feeling.

Dump him.




{When she's not providing solace for the lovelorn, Rachel can be seen and heard playing for her band, Visqueen. But don't let that intimidate you! Send your love woes her way!}