Here’s something fascinating you'll want to know about me: The music playlists on my iPhone all have ridiculously long titles. You didn’t know that, did you? The reason being, that I’ve always been a “mixtape” kinda gay, and almost every occasion, emotion, tragedy or triumph immediately inspires my need for a new playlist, uniquely blending the perfect combination of musical selections to precisely express my current mood (and almost always including at least one version of "Rose's Turn".) And because I'm so moody, my catalogue of playlists is vast, and each title closer resembles a complete journal entry than a title. Where some may simply name their playlists things like “Cardio Workout” or “Summer Playlist 2010”, mine look a little more like this:
“Today Started Out Crappy But It Just Might Be Getting Better. We'll See.”
“I Am In Serious Need Of A Vacation Seriously”
“You Can Fucking Get Through This Randy!”
“Think I’ll Order Chinese Food For Supper”
“That Chinese Food Was Amazing But Now I’m All Puffy”
“Why Hasn’t He Texted Me Back Yet?”
“I’ve Never Felt So Happy And I’m Just Worried That I’m Jumping The Gun on This And Will Inevitably Wind Up Disappointed. We'll See.”
Yeah... A few of them may be a bit much, now that I’m thinking about it. Some of you might even say "overly self-indulgent" (you're assholes, by the way.) Not all of them are like that, though. Some are simply named after boys. If you’re a boy and we have ever made out, almost made out, dated, slept together, not slept together because you are straight, been in an arguement, sat across from one another on the subway, slept together even though you are straight, spoken, or if I’ve ever had a crush on you, then Mazel Tov, my friend! There is a playlist somewhere in my iTunes named especially after YOU! You can tell your grandkids! I imagine this is how presidents feel when they get their faces on money.
To be honest, one of my favorite parts about dating a new person or having a new crush is the music you get to listen to. All the cheesy love songs and horrible pop ballads that would normally constipate you suddenly seem so crisp and relevant; written especially for your lame, faggoty self. It's like eating carbs on vacation: they don't count against you and they somehow even taste a little better!
In fact, if you’re out on a first date with me and things are going even mildly well, you can be pretty sure an hour into it that I’m going over song options for your playlist in my head. Slightly premature on my part, I suppose. But it’s the same optomistic impulsiveness that compels me, after only one date, to find your headshot on Facebook and make it my wallpaper. And I’m not talking about on my phone; I mean in my kitchen.