Sunday, January 29, 2006

FYI

Dear Guys Of The World:

Honestly, Boys. Is it too much to ask for you to figure out what you want before you approach me? Because I'm plodding along, doing fine, until you drop in and throw me off schedule. And disappear when you feel like it, and then drop back in when your life starts feeling a bit stale. You see, it breaks my flow.

If you find yourself bored for a few minutes, why not turn on the TV or do some sit-ups? Or, I don't know, read a book? Nap? Update your iPod? Change your light bulbs? Wash your dog? Call your mother, or better yet, the girl you're actually going out with? Or work, as that's what you are getting paid to do. What?? You mean you didn't think I'd realize you only ever think of me when you're bored at the office? P.S. That really f*cks me off.

You know, there are countless productive things you can do with those 2 empty minutes that do not lead to being named F*ckwit Of The Week (nota bene: if you think there is honor in being bestowed this title, you are either an incorrigible ninny or in elementary school and should stop reading immediately).

This must be what Men Are From Mars... is referring to when it compares men to rubber bands. Men need space; it's nothing personal. I understand the concept. I've seen it in practice. The problem is that when you leave the pot on the back burner for too long, you'll find that your soup has evaporated by the time you feel like having it for supper. Or grown mold. Or has already been devoured by someone else. What do you think of that, then?

It's sad when that happens. I kinda thought I liked you until I started to ferment in my Le Creuset. Even while emanating dangerous alcoholic fumes, I pondered other things in a quest for patience. But by the vinegar stage, when I start burning acid holes in the enamel, I've had it up to here.

A month, Gentlemen. Uninterrupted. Would that be enough space for you? Because any longer than that and I've begun my Eternal Sunshine-style memory eradication therapy.

All a girl wants is to spend time with you and be treated decently. (In the case of those girls who dump a guy because she didn't get a Louis Vuitton for Christmas, that's a whole nother post.) It's pretty simple: be a friend or be gone. None of this back-and-forth, neither here-nor-there bullsh*t. It's tiring. Deep down, most girls are more Armani than Versace - an analogy that will be met with dubiety by some, and probably missed completely by men but it is FACT, nonetheless.

On my part, I will compromise by taking anything you say or do with a grain of salt. You have been warned.









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