Posts Tagged ‘girls



02
Mar
11

it would be nice to think that since I was 14, times have changed.*

*editors note: I’m sick +  I want to ski today because I got a new jacket and want to show it off + I have “real work” to do = repost from a letter back in November. Enjoy. Again.

Dear Meghan,

I should state from the very start that I’m extremely grateful for what went down between the two of us for those amazing and gut-wrenching three minutes between us in the camp dancehall circa 1995.  If you hadn’t absolutely crushed me as a young teenager, we probably wouldn’t have the friendship we have today; which, as you must know, means a great deal to me.  However, that being said, I hated you with 100% of my soul for about two days.

It took an assload of courage for me to come up to you at that dance.  I was (my use of the past tense here is questionable) awkward, gangly, freckled, metallic (in the mouth region), but I will give myself some credit because I was the best tennis player at camp, as if I thought you might be impressed.  You, on the other hand, were/still are tall, hot, blonde, smart, sweet, southern belle who was the creme de la creme of the female camper population.  I’m pretty sure all of the younger male counselors wanted to ask you to dance that night as well, but apparently their jobs were too important.  Questionable decision on their part…crap food, crap pay, crap cabin…I think I would have sacrificed that for a dance with you.

There in lies the problem though, I didn’t need to sacrifice anything, for a dance anyway.  I sauntered up to you, actually that is complete bullsh*t; I walked timidly up to you, looked up into your eyes since you were already taller than me, and asked you out, and you surprisingly said, “yes.”.  It should be entirely clear to you now, I ASKED YOU OUT.  As in – Do you want to go out with me? Or, do you want to go steady with me? Or, as the old timers might say, may I court you so we can go necking in the woods later?  Unfortunately, you heard none of these.

What you heard, perhaps over some awesome mid 90s song like “Return of the Mack” or “Runaround,” was, “Will you dance with me?”  Well of course you said yes, we were relatively good friends and a dance was absolutely harmless.  We were like 13 or 14, it wasn’t as if I was going to try and make out with you like I did with this broad.  And so, we danced for a couple of minutes.  Me thinking that this was the beginning of what I was sure would result in my first boob grab sometime down the road; you thinking three minutes of dancing wasn’t going to kill you.

that could’ve been us…forever

Well, at some point it must have clicked, and you realized what I actually asked.  You broke our contact, and while very sweet about it, proceeded to stomp all over my heart.  I can’t quote you on what you actually said, because I was too busy trying not to cry, but I think it was along the lines of a bumbled, “I’m really sorry…I thought you just wanted to dance…I don’t want to go out with anyone this summer.”  Thanks for putting me down easy.  Of course, when you went out with JR (not the dude from Dallas) later that week, it stung a bit.

Was it the braces? Freckles? Did I have bad breath?  Oh, I know, you just couldn’t stand going out with someone who was better at tennis than you.  Seriously, it’s not a big deal, we would have never worked in the long run.  Something tells me a long distance thing back in the mid 90′s between to teens would have ended badly.  I still love you…as a best friend. Ok I gotta stop this letter now, I think that last line marked my first supremely cheesy line.

I’ll dance with you anytime,

Me

*High Fidelity

25
Feb
11

“I got to get outta here, pronto. I got a stage five clinger.” *

Dear Jo,

Why did you have to be so effing crazy? And I’m not just talking typical “I’m a female so I’m going to be just a bit off the reservation.” No no. You were a full 2, maybe 3, cans short of a 6-pack.

You were a friend of a friend (presumably, you still are), and were in town visiting for a long weekend. We kind of clicked from the get go, but unlike everyone else that Memorial Day, I had to work on the Monday…so left the final get together early, and missed out on the part where you made out with one of my friends, and then did substantially more with another (I try to keep this as family friendly as possible, so let it suffice to say that put the initials ‘T’ & ‘F’ together and you can figure it out).

So, I pretty much wrote you off. But two weeks later you were back in town, and all over me. It was tough to resist – you were a league or two above me in the looks department, extremely fun, and like I said, on me like white on rice. So, the opportunity presented itself, and I took you home. Little did I know, this meant we were now ‘together.’

Listen, I was then & still am now…all about building a potential relationship. I’ve never been the casual hookup guy, so trust me when I tell you I had no intention of hooking up with you that night, dropping you off the next morning, and then never talking to you again. I had every intention to maybe grabbing dinner that weekend, a few phone calls during the week, and seeing what happened. However, when driving you back to our mutual friend’s house the next morning, a certain song came on and we both loved it…to which you exclaimed (with not a hint of sarcasm), “THIS CAN BE OUR SONG!” You are lucky I didn’t drive off the road.

I should’ve been a man about it and put the kibosh on things right then and there…instead I was a different kind of man about it and told you that it was a great idea for you to come up the next weekend. I think the low-cut shirt you were wearing, in addition to your rather ample rack made it incredibly difficult for me to put a stop to it. Plus, its not like hot blondes are throwing themselves at me on a regular basis.

Anyway, do you remember going crazy on me at the bar the next week? When you said I wasn’t paying enough attention to you, and that I was still in love with Kara. I sure as shit do, and I was less than impressed. Then when we were trying to discuss the matter in a calm state, which I realize now is impossible with you, you told some stranger at the bar that I was “a ritard for not being interested in you.” She agreed and berated me. Thanks for that, Jo.

Of course when we got back to the house we were all crashing at that night you tried to make up for it by calling yourself “my girl” in front of everyone, and I’ll be honest…that didn’t help matters. We went to bed, and yada yada yada (we were drunk, did you expect me to not make out with you just because I was annoyed with you?), woke up and you claimed you couldn’t remember anything from the night before. And luckily, you had to rush back home for one reason or another.

Well, sometime between then and when you called me a few nights later, someone informed you about your behavior and you apologized. And while I accepted, I also told you it was probably a good idea for us to “cool off.” Then you swore at me, and I knew I made the right call…despite your “ample rack.”

Not to mention you’ve now tainted Bloc Party for me.

“Your Man”

ps – I am glad to hear you have settled down with a guy who can put up with you, because I don’t think you are a good person. I know it was all my fault anyway…I am extremely difficult to resist (HEAVY on the sarcasm).

*Wedding Crashers

21
Feb
11

“after seeing you for a couple of times, you sorta got stuck in my head, Costanza” *

Dear Jillian,

I just sent you a real email wishing you a happy birthday, and of course asking you to put in a good word for me at your place of employment. But I felt kind of bad that it’s been almost a decade, so I figured it was high time I send you one of these letters as well.

We met at camp, when I was 17 or so and had absolutely no clue had to read signs from females. That sentence implies that I do now…but rest assured I’m still sort of an assclown when it comes to that. We got close, but you made it painfully clear you weren’t interested in making out or anything along those lines by hooking up most of the summer with a red-head. Way to pour salt in the wound (just kidding, I have nothing against gingers…they do have souls). But then, on one of the last nights out I found myself alone with you, both inebriated, and you gave me the most backhanded compliment of all time.

You pretty much told me that you always liked me as a friend, but weren’t attracted to me…but the more you got to know me, the more attractive I became because as everyone knows, my personality sparkles. What I should’ve done was kiss you right then and there, instead of focusing on the beginning of your explanation, where I (still) think you called me ugly. In my mind, you basically compared me to George Costanza in this classic scene (effing youtube rules…can’t embed it, but go to the 51 second mark and you’ll catch my drift).

Thanks for comparing me to a short, stalky bald man.

It’s not as if I outwardly got angry at you for calling me unattractive, I was just kind of dumbfounded. What precisely, did you want me to do with this new information? Mind you, your ginger-boy was like 30 feet away, and even though it was just a ‘summer camp relationship,’ the two of you were still together, as much as you can be. So, instead of just going for some tongue action, I stalled and stammered out,

“I kind of want to kiss you right now…” To which you responded (with a small twinkle in your eye I might add), “You don’t need to ask my permission.”

At which point, of course, Ginger walked up to us. If “Old School” had already been made, I’m sure I would’ve said, “Good talk…see you out there.” But it hadn’t, and since I rarely speak in anything but movie quotes, I just stumbled away awkwardly and left you to explain.

So, in short…I regret not kissing you, but I can’t imagine the makeout session would’ve been worth pissing off a red-head.

Sincerely,

George

* Seinfeld

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?)




Letters sent…

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