Dear Business Card Guy,
I was flirting, you dumbass.
I was flirting and you leave me with a business card?
If this was Working Girl I’d be impressed, but this is 2013 and I’m a dude.
It’s called a cell phone number.
Dear Drunk Girl,
Look, miss, I’ll put up with a lot.
I mean, entirely too much, really.
Like, when you started slumping over and using my shoulder as a glorified head rest and drool receptacle?
Wasn’t happy, but I let it happen.
When it came time to split the fare?
I said, “don’t worry about it, I got this one. Just get some rest.”
Or how about when you forgot your phone at the bar and I, a complete stranger to you, had to get the driver to turn the cab around and I had to run inside to grab your phone for you?
Not a highlight of mine, but happy to do it.
Still, when we got to your place to drop you off and the guy I was with got out of the front seat so he could sit in back with me… well, do you remember what happened there?
Yeah, ya grabbed his ass.
I’m fine with a lot, especially when it comes to drunk folks, but that is not your ass to grab.
That is my ass to grab, got it? Got it?!?
SO you best check yourself, before you- well, you know the rest.
You hafta understand something.
When we know each other, and you see me out on my run? Honking will do you no good.
I listen to music. Loudly. I can’t hear your car horn, nor would it really help the situation.
The situation, of course, being you recognizing me.
I’m thrilled that you recognize me. Truly, I do.
Sadly, I can’t say the same. I mean, I’m sure I would, but when you’re driving in a car, you’ve got a distinct advantage.
You have several seconds to see me, whereas, well, more often than not, I just see a car passing.
I rarely look at drivers cuz, when we’re headed in opposite directions, I can probably only see the driver for a split second.
So, please, don’t be offended when I don’t wave or respond in any way.
Chances are, even if I did hear you, I couldn’t really see who or what I was supposed to be waving to, okay?
It’s nothing personal.
It’s May. Or as we like to call it in North Carolina, the start of summer.
Why, then, can I see steam rise from the ground when my dog pees in the morning?
Why does it look like I’m smuggling BBs under my undershirt when I go outside?
For God’s sake, Weather, get your act together!
Dear Metro Chinese,
We hafta stop meeting like this.
“Like this,” of course, referring to me in my boxer briefs and insanely hungover.
It’s starting to be a problem. I swear I have clothes. I just don’t like ‘em.
You can understand that, right? I mean, all of your delivery folks look they don’t like you, so I’m sure you can relate.
Anyways, seriously, I’ll start wearing pants… yeah, I didn’t believe that either.
Dear Relationship Gods,
What kind of sick game are you playing?
I mean, have you ever noticed how this thing goes?
I start getting interested in someone, they say “it’s not you, it’s me” or give me the “just friends” speech and all of a sadden, the blindfold is off.
Like, I can’t stand the way he chews or I remember how laying down with him, his shoulder-blade would always dig into my left pec or something.
It doesn’t mean that they’re bad people. In fact, I know that it’s a defense mechanism.
Still, maybe you could stop being such a dick? Maybe? Cuz I feel bad when there’s that whole reveal… makes me think that I might not be that nice of a guy.
So knock it off!
Dear Clerk at Greenlife,
Thank you for asking me how my calculus test went… now, what are you talking about exactly?
Forget the fact that I didn’t even take calculus when I was in high school, did you seriously think I was a high schooler?
Ya know, now that I think about it, I was wearing a Hellboy backpack so maybe it isn’t that far outta the realm of possibility, but still…
Dear Internal Clock,
Exactly what kinda game are you running, sir?
I mean, seriously, can we at least talk about this?
I get it, ya gotta have a weekend schedule. Those 9 PM – 3 AM shifts would kick your ass otherwise.
But somehow, I get through those just fine, don’t I?
When you finally get off work and get back home, of course you’re gonna crash.
But still waking up at 8 AM, like you would any other day?
That’s just unacceptable. It’s called sleeping in. Those days you wake up at 8… well, it’s usually cuz you’re an old man and went to bed at 11 the night before, but you need your rest!
Or else, ya know what happens?
That’s right. You fall asleep on your date. Not like, during the date (although that happened too…) but literally on your date.
You’re lucky he just went with it… even if it was pretty mortifying.
So maybe next time just sleep a little later instead of sleeping on some poor unassuming guy, eh?