Archive for February, 2011



17
Feb
11

F*ck it, Dude, let’s go bowling. *

Dear Amelia,

Just do me one solid. I cant believe I started off a letter with the word ‘solid.’ I sound like effing George Costanza. Pathetic. Let’s revamp.

Just do me one favor. There, that’s much better. Please tell me you stopped seeing me for a reason OTHER than me kicking your ass at bowling. I know, I know…you talked a ton of crap going into our second, and presumably final, date; while I played the whole “but it’s been seven years since I’ve bowled, you are going to totally emasculate me, yada yada yada” card. And then, after one sub-par comeback game, where you did indeed score higher than me, I thoroughly destroyed you thereafter.

I’d like to think that I didn’t blow a chance with a great girl because my ego got the better of me and I beat her at bowling. If that is the case, we wouldn’t have worked out anyway. It isn’t really in me to do shit like that, and if you expected me to do that, you weren’t the girl I thought you were.

But, since then…nada, nothing, zilch. Even though you told a mutual friend that you, ‘had a blast…can’t wait to hang out again,’ you came up with a few lame excuses the next few times I tried getting together with you (seriously, you can visit your Grandmother ANYTIME – I’m just kidding, that’s not really lame…it’s actually kind of adorable), and as a result I threw out this text, “Ok no worries, let me know if you’d like to hang out again,” or something along those lines. Predictably, I haven’t heard from you since. It’s been two weeks, I doubt that I will.

I don’t think it’s because of the bowling. I think it’s because this was a match.com thing, and because you are a normal human being, you most likely were going on quite a few dates in addition to ours, and simply found someone you liked more. As much as I’d like to, I can’t really begrudge you that. I simply don’t have that bone in my body though, or that gene in my DNA. I don’t know how to properly ‘date.’ You and I went out a couple times, I think it’s safe to say we enjoyed each others company…therefore I have no interest in going on dates with other females. It seems like I’d be doing it under false pretenses. Would I perhaps make out with a girl on a dancefloor whilst inebriated on a Saturday night? Of course I would. But I wouldn’t take her out to dinner that week…I’d rather see what kind of potential there is with you.

I’m pretty sure this area of conversation has come up in previous letters…which just proves this series of letters is pointless, since clearly I’m not learning from my mistakes. Unless of course, this had nothing to do with you dating multiple people at once and finding a better match (see what I did there?), and has everything to do with me making you my biatch at the bowling alley.

Sincerely,

The Dude

*The Big Lebowski (this girl and I went bowling…was I going to use another movie?)

14
Feb
11

Dear St. Valentine,

I bet, given the typical nature of this blog, you are expecting a somewhat harsh, overly sarcastic letter about how much you suck and how much I loathe you. Well, great foresight St. V, you are correct. Nah, just kidding.

While I might be a tad bitter that I’m having Valentines Day dinner with my parents tonight and thus probably ruining a truly romantic evening for the two of them that would no doubt end with a totally wild session of…Masterpiece Theatre & a glass of brandy; and I’m clearly extremely bitter that I’m still single, at the end of the day I still kind of appreciate all the love on this day. Exhibit A – the lovely Valentines Day tweet I received from the hottest, and most talented writer in NYC. I mean, I’m not going to receive something like this, “Happy Valentines Day Tweetheart!” in real life. She even called my a cyber version of, ‘sweetheart.’ I’ve got a deep red blush going just writing about it.

I would like to question your placement of the holiday though, Mr. Valentine. Having been in an actual relationship in the past over V-Day, it puts tons of pressure on us guys to come up with yet another awe-inspiring gift so closely on the heels of the Christmas/Hanukah holiday time. We barely have time to catch our collective breaths before we start getting hints about a new piece of jewelry, or color of roses, or overpriced dinner reservation we have to make. But I guess that’s neither here nor there, since it won’t be changed. I just think guys would be a bit more apt to fully delve into the passion that females display for Valentines Day if we had a bit more time to rest after Christmas.

Seriously though, I think all singles focus a bit too much on the negative today. Big effing deal, we aren’t going to get laid tonight (at least, not by someone who we actually know, or like, or will know their name tomorrow morning), but 99% of us singles are still loved by a number of people. Sure, maybe it’s only by your friends, or relatives…but at least someone appreciates you. As the oft-referred to Eddie Vedder sings,

“Oh I’m a lucky man,to count on both hands, the ones I love.”

Would I like this day more if I was taking an intelligent (possibly glasses wearing), witty, caring, sexy female out for a candlelit dinner tonight who afterwords was going to strip down into some mind-blowingly hot new lingerie she purchased for me? Yes, yes I would. But, and not for a lack of trying, that isn’t going to happen. I accept that…and I accept even more the love that is a part of my life.

Now, if we could just do something about those effing Kay Jewelers commercials…

Sincerely,

HLJ (actual initials…just jumbled).

09
Feb
11

dear damien rice,

The other night I got into a conversation at the bar with a couple of female friends of mine about wedding songs. As in, what do you want to be played (preferably by the sweet-ass band, and not a DJ) when you have your first dance with your new spouse. The conversation didn’t last long, as we were in a small, local bar, that all of a sudden was taken over by a group called the Gay Sports Alliance, or something along those lines. Trust me, I don’t have any issue with it at all, but it got extremely loud extremely quickly and normal conversation just wasn’t going to happen. I was actually psyched the GSA showed up, because I figured if any eligible females showed up, I had a waaay better chance than normal. Yet, I digress. And no, I didn’t take anyone home.

Long story short, I couldn’t really come up with a good answer. Naturally, I ran through some of my favorite bands/musicians, and most of that stuff just doesn’t cut it. “Black” by Pearl Jam? Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees?” “Burn” by Ray Lamontagne or pretty much anything you wrote, Damien? All of these songs are absolutely unreal feats of song-writing…however they are far more fitting for a breakup, not an effing marriage. I just realized why I like all this depressing music, I get rejected lots, the music is mood-fitting. Cue the sympathy comments!

Anyway, on my way home I was listening to a show of yours I downloaded (legally, I think…) from about 5 years ago, and you rocked an unreleased track, heard here…

I’m sure you remember all the lyrics, after all it is your own song, but for all those who um, might randomly stumble upon this incredibly private letter to you, this link might prove helpful. You can listen, and read at your own discretion, but it’s this line that really hit me…

I’ve got so much beauty around me I can’t move
I’ve got so much beauty around me I can’t lose

That’s what I want to be played during my first dance. Not only a shout out to the love between me and my (crossing fingers) future intelligent, funny, witty, smoking hot, honest, caring wife (I bet you didn’t even notice how I snuck in ‘smoking hot,’ did you?), but I feel like it also pays homage to my family and friends, right? I feel like it also might work in lieu of a thank you speech from me, because while I can ramble with a keyboard like Dickens, I don’t like public speaking. I can picture it now….’Franks Dad is here, that’s awesome, I haven’t seen him in like 8 years.

Sorry, I’m not a talker, I’m not a talker…’

 

 

07
Feb
11

“…the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories.”*

Dear Katherine,

Despite all my Ben Roethlisberger ‘sexual predator/rapist’ themed tweets and jokes recently (and yes, I do believe karma served him an entrĂ©e dinner last night), I do not take those types of allegations lightly. So, I am not going to accuse you of sexually assaulting me, but I think it might have been as close to a Law & Order SVU type crime I’ve ever been a part of.

As per usual in my early 20′s, during a night off at summer camp, I was not sober/drunk/shitfaced/inebriated and probably a teeny bit stoned as well. As per usual, there were about twenty other kids my age (half male/half female) in more or less the same exact state. As per usual, we had rented out a 2 bedroom condo that could sleep about 25% of the attendees, so needless to say there was lots of forced spooning and floor sleeping…and since I’d rather spoon with anyone than sleep on the floor, you and I ended up in a twin bed together. It’s not as if you were bad-looking or anything like that, it’s just that when sober, I found you incredibly annoying and immature. Of course, you were 18 years old and had not yet spent a semester at college, so pretty much par for the course. Oh, and it’s not as if I was way older than you, I was not even 21 yet, but I’ve always been mature (as I’m sure my other letters portray).

Anyway, I had no interest in hooking up with you, which I thought I made clear by shifting my position in the bed so I was not facing you, and passed out. This has been, by the way, my biggest issue when it comes to making out (and by making out, I mean getting laid). I have standards, and those standards involve more than just a pretty face or a hot body. If your personality sucks, chances are I have no interest in hooking up with you, I just (un)fortunately missed out on that DNA (un = my ‘head’, fortunately = my head…get it?).

I thought I had accomplished my goal when I started to dream…only problem was my dream involved us making out and your hand slowly moving from my chest downwards. Then I came too (read: I woke up, get your mind out of the effing gutter), and guess what? We were making out and your hand was at my belly button. Well, I’m only human so I kind of got into it. Unfortunately for myself, and probably more for your ego, the other thing that started to happen was the tequila shots from a few hours before starting to resurrect themselves in my esophagus. I blustered out a, “one sec…I need to run to the bathroom,’ hoping you’d think I just needed to take a leak…but there is no way you didn’t hear my wretching.

Bottom line is this, I want to state for the record that A. I was not puking at the idea of hooking up with you B. While you didn’t sexually assault me, I feel like Benson & Stabler would’ve successfully forced a confession out of you on Law & Order: SVU, and finally, C. I totally understand why you didn’t let me back into the bed.

Even though I brushed my teeth after I was done vomiting.

*Law & Order: Special Victims Unit




Letters sent…

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