Caught the season premiere of “The Bachelorette” last evening. The producers have really outdone themselves this time, scouring our vast country for an elite group of devilishly handsome guys who may or may not be legally retarded. These potential suitors made sure to put their best foot in their mouth forward and Emily really appreciated it. (Or at least I think she did. It’s very hard to tell since her botoxed forehead and eyes refuse to show any emotion other than “surprised fear.”) As I watched, I jotted down some helpful tips for any fella looking for love on a nationally televised reality show, so this is all in chronological order. (This post also syncs up perfectly to “Dark Side of the Moon.” Push play NOW!)
“Everyday you wake up the pain is a little less. Then one day you wake up and the pain is gone. But its like you almost miss that pain because, you know, you lived with it for so long.”
One of my best lady friends just ended things with her boyfriend. She’s like a little sister to me. We’ve got the kind of relationship wherein I regularly call her Gutterslut or Troll, since she’s 3’2”, then hold her back by pushing on her forehead while her tiny Tyrannosaurus arms swing angrily in the empty space between us.
Guttertroll fell for a boy who she felt a connection with like never before but it wasn’t a happy ending and she got her teensy little heart crushed. She’s still in the throes of the split, but she’s getting better. The crying-at-all-hours-of-the-day phase seems to have ended. Progress.* Watching her go through this makes me sad. And the want to impart words of wisdom for dealing with a breakup is at an all-time high. So here are my tips and thoughts for coping with such a period of all-encompassing despair.
*By the by, if you want to give Trollcheese words of encouragement - or mock her Yahoo email address – her blog is over here.
“There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her or turn her into literature.”
Her: Isn’t there a rap song where a guy whispers “beat that pussy up”
Her: Did you write that?
Me: No. I pulverize the pussy. Put that shit in a blender and hit puree.
Source sangredeltoro
A friend, newly transplanted to New York, was lamenting about her latest dickweasel of a suitor (She doesn’t have great taste in men.) I asked where they met. She named a popular nightclub in Chelsea and said he worked there, prompting the rest of us around the dinner table to emit a low groan. As she stared, taken aback, someone offered her particularly sage advice: “Don’t date guys who work in clubs.”
That’s because the men who staff New York’s nightlife venues – elite or otherwise – can be neatly filed into basic categories. And none of them are acceptable for romantical material. In no particular order, here are the male archetypes at play inside the club.
Her: I don’t know why I still say “we” when I refer to my old job. I think I have Stockholm Syndrome.
Me: HA. That’s better than Helsinki Handjobdrome.
Her: ex CUSE me. What?! What is Helsinki Handjobdrome? I don’t know why I’m even asking.
I really wish Tumblr let you “like” comments and responses under your own posts because you guys always have fantastic ones.
When’s the last time you got laid? How was it?
Peek-a-boo.
For a while, I pseudo-dated a girl who lives in another country. Nothing was ever defined in terms of labeling the situation, though I find her to be a fantastic person and vice-versa. For a while, it was good, but entering into a long distance relationship wasn’t something I was ready for. And continuing on with our current back and forth was doing more harm to both of us than good. She rarely comes to NYC, but she did this week. She asked to hang out and I lied about being out of town, so as not to fall back into our comfortable cycle and hurting us both even further. After coming to my apartment unannounced to catch me in my lie, I kicked her out. I met her for a chat today in order for both of us to gain some closure. After the chat, Hercules and I got real about the situation.
Hercules: When is The Talk?
Me: Just ended. Man. She looked so sad. I feel like I’m doing the wrong thing. Gah.
Hercules: What would the right thing be?
Me: I have no idea. She claims just to want a night out with drinks and dancing. She wants to be friends. But can’t articulate what that means to her.
Me: The irony is so biting. I’m lonely. All I want is a girlfriend. Here is a girl who is literally willing to worship the ground I walk on, but I’m turning her down.
Friend visiting from home: I got a new job working at the airport, so I know what I’m going to say to any models we meet when we’re out.
Me: What’s that?
Friend: ‘Hi. We both work on the runway.’
