When I was 19-years old, I had terrible luck at dating and even worse luck with getting vinyl to play on my turntable.

I sat the needle down on the vinyl and braced for myself for this original copy of "Fleetwood Mac" that I found in a bargain bin at a record store.

"Monday morning, you sure look-k-k-k-k-k..."

The vinyl skipped, and it wasn't the kind of skip you can ignore, it was skip that causes the needle to get stuck in one spot.

Frustration flew over me and I lifted the needle to try a different track.

Once again, the next track skipped. Every. Single. Song. Skipped. On. That. Album.

So my best friend and I did what every normal teenage girl would do; we drove back up the Indy to buy the remastered edition. Low and behold, guess what? Even the brand new, remastered edition, fresh out of the package skipped as well. Now we thought Ashton Kutcher was pranking us at this point, so once again, we drove to Indy to get this figured out. We had are conspiracies; the album was haunted, the government did it, and so on. But it turned out it was just my $69.99 turntable I bought at Target causing the problem.

You're probably thinking, "why did she care so much about this album? It's just vinyl!"

To me, it wasn't just an album. The summer that I was 19-years old I was going through that "phase." Some days were really bad while others were almost magical. One minute I'd be on the best date with a cowboy, the next minute I'd be blocking him on Facebook. And for some reason my life felt like a never-ending Fleetwood Mac album. Even one of the guys I dated looked like Lindsey Buckingham! That phase was full of long nights playing car karoke with my best friend and moments crying together at the Taco Bell, listening to "Monday Morning."

That whole summer, every Monday no matter what, we always texted each other "Monday morning you sure look fine," to each other. Every. Single. Monday.

Why?

Because we've all been that broken record. We've all been that record that no matter what we do, it just doesn't work. Some days are good, some days are bad. We are just waiting for someone to pick up and go out of their way to fix us. We all go through that phase that make us feel like we are useless and no one will ever come along.

At the end of that summer I headed back to college and I taped that album, the original copy, next to my lofted bed. I woke up to it every morning and every Monday I texted my best friend. Even now, after two years, we still text that little ritual.

I would eventually download that album in digital format but sometimes when I start feeling brave, I pull that album out and test it on the turntable. And every time, it skips.