An open letter to Taylor Swift.

Dear Taylor,

It seems like every time I’ve turned on the radio for the past few years, my hearing has been assaulted by your music. Most times I can’t change the channel quick enough. On rare occasions, admittedly, I jam along – always in private, and always feeling shameful and kind of dirty afterwards, like I just emerged from a six-hour Real Housewives marathon. You’ve got a song or two that are undeniably catchy, and I will admit to downloading Teardrops on my Guitar at the lowest of low points in my life. You’re talented, I will give you that, and popular beyond my comprehension, not just with teenage girls, but with grown adults who should really know better.

Here’s the thing, though, Taylor. You’re just trying way. too. hard.

Give it a rest. Lock it up for a few months. BE SINGLE. It’s one thing to fill up your iPhone with the numbers of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors. Girl, you landed Jake Gyllenhaal for awhile, and that is to be commended. (You also slept with John Mayer, and I really hope you got yourself tested after that one.) But this is what I have an issue with – the fact that after you date these guys, you play the victim card and write a song about it. And not just a breakup song – no, a very specific breakup song, with hidden messages, so all of us can sit around and try to figure out who each song is about.

You are the master of vaguebooking in musical form. If you weren’t Taylor Swift, you’d be the girl posting Taylor Swift lyrics on Facebook.

Girl, I really do give you props for dating all these guys. (Seriously. Jake Gyllenhaal.) And I’d normally say who you date and how you handle it is your business, despite you being a public figure. But you make it our business. There is actually a slideshow out there called The Definitive Guide To Taylor Swift’s Former Boyfriends. You want us to talk about it. When you have dated John Mayer, and you write a song called Dear John, what the hell else are we supposed to think?! That it’s a coincidence? America may be gullible when it comes to politics and actual news, but we are on top of things when celebrities are involved.

Now you’ve got a new album out, and I’m stuck hearing that effing never ever getting back together song over and over and over again. And it’s catchy, so I hear a nanosecond of it and it’s stuck in my head for the rest of eternity. The thing is, I don’t believe it. Not for a second. You’re the girl who breaks it off with a guy, plays that damn song for a week, and then says “You know what, I should text him, I left my shoes at his apartment,” and next thing you know you’re back together. Or if it’s not him, then two weeks later you meet a new guy, and within two days you’re staying at his apartment. The point is, you can’t be single. You are 22-years-old, and you’ve got more ex-boyfriends than I hope to have in my lifetime.

So here is my friendly, unsolicited advice. Shut it down for a few months. Shut it down for a year. Do not go on any dates. Do not start another new relationship. Just be you. If you keep writing obvious songs about every man in Hollywood, none of them are going to want to date you anymore anyway. And then what? I worry about you, because you’re the girl who can’t be alone. We all know people like you, the serial monogamists, who jump from relationship to relationship without breathing in between and then wonder why things don’t work out. The only difference is that our friends don’t write songs about it.

So go out and have some fun with your girlfriends. Drink some margaritas. Stay at home alone, in sweatpants, watching The Breakfast Club and eating ice cream. Stop playing the victim who keeps getting her heart broken by all these mean boys. Stop acting surprised when you win every award known to man and people want to put you on magazine covers. You are beautiful and rich and talented. Act like you’re beautiful and rich and talented and not the dorky high school girl who has a crush on the quarterback of the football team, because every quarterback of every football team in America wants to get in your pants.

Even though they all know you’d write a song about it after.