Dealbreaker.
Dealbreaker: He didn’t have the tunes to set the mood
My logical self should have known better than to date someone that I only had one commonality with, that commonality being: mirror image iTunes playlists. Yes, the infamous (and weak), “we like the same music so let’s date!” bit. I wouldn’t necessarily call this a gimmick or ploy; it’s more like a dating death trap because it never works but despite being fully aware of this I was willing to go with it in hopes of a relationship, miraculously sprouting from my music obsession.
This guy – we’ll call him Fred – knew of every little underground indie band that I raved about, Fred even had the same infatuation with the early 90s hip hop that I did. It felt like love at first external hard drive information exchange. First date and it seemed like our relationship was already heading in the right direction.
We talked on the phone every night after that and always based on the same topic – music. One night while on the phone, he decided to invite me over to his Jersey City home. I agreed. In the heat of the moment going over felt right because he was Russian which was enticing (not exactly a romance language but good enough for me), a good looking guy and thus far the conversation was good (even though it was becoming redundant). Going over to his place meant, a chance to get some action. I was more than down for this plan – especially because I hadn’t gotten any “play” in months.
I went over and was welcomed with a drink offer – which I declined – and a hug. We went to his bedroom, our first order of business, find some mood music – naturally we needed music being that this is the reason we decided to start dating. We opted to start our “hang out” with The Beatles, I Want to Hold Your Hand which was on some playlist he said he’d set up for the date. I was okay with this because, well, The Beatles are classic and I definitely wanted to hold Fred’s hand (amongst other things).
We jammed for a bit and then this jam session turned into making out – as expected. Out of nowhere, I hear, Peaches, I Don’t Give a F*ck blaring from the laptop while we’re passionately making out. What a romantic playlist. I like the song, but seriously, how inappropriate. I attempted to ignore the trash but the lyrics, “I don’t give a f*ck about my reputation” played repetitively. It was awkward to say the least and I only made it more awkward by stopping mid-kiss and cracking up hysterically which was received with a blank stare and shrug of the shoulder. We continued making out and pretended what happened, didn’t.
I never called him back after that day. I felt like the song was indirectly trying to tell me something, something along the lines of, his horrid playlists shouldn’t match his poor making out skills.
Mirror playlists do not equate to relationships, apparently.
