The first time I fell for a musician, I was in my teens and had just discovered punk. A band called the Dead Boys from Cleveland, Ohio, had made their way to Los Angeles to debut their new album. It was the first I had heard of them, but after listening to their hit Down In Flames, my girlfriends and I became fans. We must have looked like little girls parading around in our best punk gear, which consisted of black straight-legged jeans and our thrift store vintage tops and pointy heels. With spiked hair and black eyeliner, we were out on the town. It didn’t take long for us to find the guys by the pool and before we knew it, we had become acquainted. That was how it happened. It was pretty easy for us fresh-faced teens to get attention from the opposite sex, and these musicians were no exception. As much as we charmed them with our foolish banter and constant blushing, they charmed us even more.