Shallow Single Girl, BBKF, and Love Songs

“Dear Diary,

I was at the gym this morning and there was a sad chubby girl on the treadmill to the left of me. Maybe she was so sad because she has hundreds of miles to jog before she’ll be able to vacuum the living room without panting. Anyway, she started crying while walking on the treadmill. I wouldn’t have noticed if 1) I hadn’t left my headphones in the car and 2) reading lips from re-runs of Friends episodes wasn’t such an impossible feat. Nothing left to do besides watch people. As if crying weren’t strange enough, as soon as she realized I was watching her, some freak, startled movement of her arm sent her iPod flying out of the cup-holder. I looked over just in time to see the earphones being yanked from her ears, and whipped into the air to follow the pink, click-wheeled blur that had already passed over my head, well on its way to its landing place on the back of the treadmill to my right. The treadmill belt carried the iPod to the floor as Sad Chubby Embarrassed Girl looked at me and laughed, “I’m destined to make an ass of myself.” Then she stepped off her treadmill, fetched her iPod, and continued her workout as if nothing had happened.”

Such could be the journal entry of the skinny girl on the treadmill to the right of me this morning. Who, by the way, was wearing a highly offensive amount of perfume and hairspray for the gym, which is how you can tell if someone is extremely single, shallow, and on the hunt for a man with big muscles. It’s a foolproof test, because there's no other reason to look and smell like that at the gym. See, even if you had just come from, say, a black tie banquet at 6 in the morning, and weren’t an extremely single, shallow, and on the hunt for a man with big muscles type of girl, you would wash your face and pull your hair into a pony before frolicking off to sweat your pits out. But I digress.

First of all… skinny, single, shallow girl’s journal entry would have been a lot more interesting had she known the name of my iPod is “Boo Boo Kitty Freak” (hereafter referred to as “BBKF”). Secondly, I was crying on the treadmill for you, dear reader. Why you ask? Let’s start from the beginning:

The Celebrity Playlist section of iTunes is shortly becoming a nuisance to my stash of iTunes gift certificates. (I buy the gift certificates for myself so I can feel better about spending money on music for BBKF. I know it’s stupid, but it makes me feel better nonetheless.) It’s a nuisance because although I am not one for celebrity infatuation, I am addicted to reading what specific celebrities enjoy. The problem comes in when, for example, I had to purchase three songs simply because I have a girl-crush on Nicole Kidman, and her playlist contained three songs I didn’t previously own. ***I could now type any number of excuses along the lines of, “no I’m not a stalker,”and, “yes I know myself well enough to not need others’ opinions in order to form my own,” but bottom line is, there’s no excuse for what I’ve done***

It’s apparent I’m not the only psycho addicted to the playlists: iTunes wouldn’t keep paying celebs to create them if all you crazies out there weren’t eating them up like you do. So for all you said crazies, in case I ever become a celebrity, or just because you love me, or if you don’t love me and just like to read reviews, I am compiling McKenna Gordon’s playlist. The challenge is, my music taste is so vast (opera to metal, jazz to punk, country to classical) that my heart starts palpitating and my head swirls around when I even dream of trying to narrow everything down to a top-ten list. So I’ve decided to make several playlists: best workout songs, best love songs, best skrew the world songs.

This morning on the treadmill I was scouring through all of BBKF’s love songs, in order to come up with my top ten. Somehow I lasted an entire 45 minutes of my jog/walk/thing while listening to sappy songs that averaged approx. 12 beats per minute. Anything for you. Meanwhile, I’m feeling extra romantic, probably due to 1 part Steve doing the dishes every night this week and 1 part him dragging my ghetto bootie out of bed to go to the gym. And who ever knows what’s up with my manic hormones? That combination alone is lethal. Add to it all, I came across a newly discovered love song (thank you, Kristen; I hate you, Kristen) that caught me a bit off guard and I started crying on the treadmill. No big. Happens all the time to completely normal people!

So here’s a sneak preview of my first playlist: Top Ten Love Songs. Go iTune James Blunt’s Goodbye My Lover immediately. Listen to it after you get home from the gym so that single skinny girl doesn’t deface you in her shallow diary. (And if there’s any question in your mind after listening, my take is: she died. It’s not a break-up song.)