My Playlists

I love music, but my tastes are beyond eclectic.  The last couple of days, I’ve been loving Mariah Carey’s “O.O.C.” because I have been out of control and I love the way it feels.  I’ve also been listening to Blink 182’s “What’s My Age Again,” but in my head it’s more like “what’s your name again?” There are a lot of “sweeties” and “loves” lately.  It’s a bit funny and totally sad.  My texting war with the ex last night was punctuated with texts from a few other men and it was a roller coaster until I decided I could “do not disturb” him.  Nice, right? I don’t try to keep track of who I’m talking to like I used to.  Years ago dating was a game and I wanted to gather as many pawns as I could.  Now it’s about finding the one I want to spend my time with and I almost hope they catch me because I’m playing a game I’m not interested in.  Really, I only respond to them for the most part.  When he’s special I’ll let him know I’m thinking of him.  Otherwise, my affections die off slowly.  I find men will go where the attention is and they’ll seek it out elsewhere if they don’t feel it.  And they call women shallow.

I can date myself.  I have been.  I’m freaking awesome.  I just want to share my awesome, not my body. Not really.  I still listen to the DiVinyls song “I touch myself.”  I was thinking about sex and the big “O.” I can easily say that every time I’ve ever tried to give one to a man, he willingly and easily accepted it, whether or not it was reciprocated.  Amy Schumer gets it and she says, You’re Entitled to Orgasm. (All of my gals and gays say, “love her – yas bitch.”) Since my expectations are so low, I expect an amazing person to spend my time with.  His personality can make up for what I no longer expect, but he shouldn’t expect it until he proves his awesome is in every ounce of him. (I can predict that tonight will require gelato.)

A fairly recent make out session happened when I was in an Adele mood.  I think it broke him because he was fairly sad when we parted ways. He may be too much of a sensitive type for me.

I indulge in peanut M&M’s and Megan Trainor because that reminds me of Hollywood Sunsets and I love the feeling of those swoon worthy memories. Hotness overload, right?

Britney Spears, Katy Perry and Shakira bring out my inner vixen.  She winks at strangers with red painted lips and swaying hips while driving because that’s how I get through traffic.

I was teaching my 9 year old pager codes because he’ll need them for his cougar phase in a decade and a half if my online experience is any indication, but that usually comes with Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” because I need to be in Junior High again for that, but I skip the black nail polish.

When I’m in an agry at the ex mood, I put on Alanis Morissette and Taylor Swift.  Those moments morph into loud singing and the singing brings on the happy again.

I listen to Metallica, Blackstreet, Jars of Clay, Bonnie Raitt and the Judds, Eve and the Ruff Ryders when I think back to lovers past.  DJ Quick too, but those were dark days and I don’t revisit them often.

When my writing is more technical and requires deeper thought to decipher it, I will listen to classical music.

My sad moments belong to Mariah Carey and Natalie Merchant.

When I’m in a dancing mood, it vacillates without reason toward Madonna, The Cure, Lady Gaga, and anything else that doesn’t hold me hostage in lyrics.

And on days when I just want to get lost in memories and feelings, I shuffle it all and skip things here and there because my words are born in my feelings and the music coaches it out.

 

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