Petty Bitch

I'm talking about myself.

Here's the story:

I have great, great, great music. I love old 60's and 70's music so much, and have about a thousand cd's at home. And over the course of the last six months, I have lovingly carried cd's into the office and loaded them onto my iTunes here at work.

My playlist has brought a lot of joy to many, many people here. Or so I have been told.

But you know what I realized?

I was musically slutty.

You know how you try to look at other people's playlists and get a sense of who they might be? ("Oh my GOD, he has Kenny Loggins on his playlist?" Okay, so my hardon for the hot retoucher wilted a little bit when I saw that one. Of course, his hotness prevailed over Kenny Loggins and I had to admit to myself that - ahem - I love Kenny Loggins.)

Well, I realized today that I had loaded close to fifteen hundred of my own songs onto my iTunes, which any one of these chuckleheads could listen to on the network. And I further realized: crap, sharing my playlist with THESE people -- that's like group sex with a bunch of folks I don't even like.

So in a quiet fifteen minutes or so, I very deliberately did two things: I dumped over a thousand songs from my playlist AND made my sharing password required.

So yes, I am a petty bitch. I took my toys and left the playground, so to speak.

Dear Hot Retoucher, it's not you, it's me.

Dear fellow sweatshop employees, it's not me, it's you.