Do you know what it means to be a hook-up?
I mean, I <i.think ya do, and I’m trying to keep it… well, would you believe me if i said PG-13?
No I do not want you to ask me how my day was, nor do I want to hear about your niece’s dance recital.
I mean, c’mon, you’re kinda ruining it over here… now I hafta think about you as, ya know… a person.
Okay, that came out wrong. You’re a person. I take it back, you’ve always been a person.
Maybe not a person I was interested in sitting down and having a coffee with, but yes, a person nonetheless.
I just meant… Jesus, what did I mean?
I guess I just meant, maybe we can save the feelings stuff for your therapist and not the guy you just, ya know… met?
That’d be just great, thanks.
It’s been real, but I think the time has come for us to split ways.
Normally, I would say “it’s not you, it’s me.” Hell, more often than not, it’s not even a lazy cliché I’m using.
It usually is my fault.
But this time? This time it’s on you.
If it’s not smog, it’s superficiality.
If it’s not pointless conversations about organic produce, it’s an equally meaningless discussion of who knows whom.
If it’s not endless traffic, it’s… well, you get my point.
But I don’t think this is entirely one-sided. I think, whether you admit it now or not, you’ll be glad to be rid of me, LA.
Hopefully we can both grow from this experience.
Dear Random Guy at IKEA,
I swear, I wasn’t stalking. Like, pinky swear. In fact, if we’re gonna play that game, you may have entered IKEA before us, but you were behind us every step of the way, including our unplanned stop for Swedish meatballs.
Anyways, you may have noticed that I was trying not to stare. I’m not very good at that.
But whenever I would look, you would smile so I figured it wasn’t too terrible.
That being said, I wish our taciturn relationship had lasted a little longer, but what can I say?
Like Vince Vaughan and every other improbable male lead in a romantic comedy, I’m afraid of commitment.
35 minutes was a good run for us. The knowing smile at the end? Like something out of an overrated Sofia Coppola movie?
That was my favorite part.
But take comfort in knowing, it wasn’t you, it was me. Actually, it was a little bit you.
You spent half of our relationship looking at drapes. I mean, what the hell?
Still, I wish you all the best and hope you find happiness at the next store. Maybe a Crate & Barrel or The Container Store?
Just some helpful suggestions, I wanna see you happy.
Well, we had a good run, but I should probably go.
Take care of yourself.
Dear Nice Guy,
Everybody likes you. No, seriously. You have what most of us have, and that is the insatiable and borderline pathological need to be liked. Don’t feel bad. I’m the same way.
The only thing is, well, I’m realistic. I realize that, whether I like it or not, there are bound to be times where I am not well-liked.
So when you gave me the “just friends” speech? Totally fine.
Would I have liked a little more originality? Sure, but what are you gonna do about it.
It was the incessant “sorry” at the end of every sentence from you.
You don’t have to apologize for feeling the way you feel.
But “sorry” never feels like a genuine sorry. It usually comes out as “sorry you probably think I’m a dick right now.”
I don’t. You’re not. But please, quit trying to be the nice guy in a pseudo-breakup.
I just really need to not like you for five minutes.
We’ve been friends for awhile now. I’d like to think I know you… or rather, you know me.
Sure, we were a little cautious at first, but who isn’t in any new relationship?
In time, we got over it and in time, I even grew to love you. You knew me so well. Who else knew that I like to end my texts with words like “yo” and “dawg” (not to be confused with “to” and “saw”)?
I knew when I got a new phone, things would be different. We had history. All of a sudden all of it was gone. I know it’ll be hard for you to trust me again, but please, just give me a chance… give us a chance.
P.S. In the future, my most frequently texted word is “cunt” so you can stop correcting it to “vinyl”
Dear Homo and Hag,
Yours is truly a relationship that will last throughout the ages. Well, that is until something with a 30-inch waist and decent arms comes along… but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
The fact of the matter is, when the Religious Right is taking about homosexuality being unnatural, they are undoubtedly referring to the relationship between a fag and his hag.
After all, you really think the likes of Newt Gingrich can understand why a man would hang out with a beautiful woman and not try to fuck her? Such things are beyond him.
But the Religious Right may not be far off. Not about the homosexuality thing. They’re way off base there. But the complex dynamic between gay man and straight woman? It’s kinda… bizarre, if you think about it. Especially when you consider the co-dependent nature of most of these relationships.
So I’m gonna tell you what every Judith Light Lifetime movie will tell you. “If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.” Inspirational shit, right? Basically, deal with the fact that you’ll both be alone at some point. It’s healthier that way.
And for God’s sake, stop calling TiVo-ing Grey’s Anatomy and eating 94% Fat-Free Orville Redenbacher popcorn “date night.” It makes us all look bad.
I’m happy for you. Believe me, I am.
I’m glad that you’ve found wedded bliss or your other half or whatever you wanna call it, but not that I’ve taken the obligatory sentence to validate your life choices, lemme explain mine to you.
While I appreciate the fact that you may have a friend that you think I’d “really hit it off with,” it’s really not necessary.
See, here’s the thing. I’m single by choice. I know people say that all the time, but have you ever stopped to think that it might be a real thing?
It’s not just some fallacy in a Katherine Heigl rom-com. You know, “single by choice” until she meets the right man and he tames her wily ways?
There are some of us that are legitimately not interested in the life of domesticity you so proudly subscribe to. So I’m glad that you’ve found Mr. or Mrs. Right, but I’m not looking, and if you could stop looking for me, that’d be great.
I’m happy for you. No, really, I am.
I know I sound bitter most of the time, but that’s just cuz I’m dead inside. It’s nothing personal.
But if you could do me a favor?
I know we’ve talked about the whole “holding hands and walking slowly” thing, but then there’s the whole issue of, well, your public displays of affection.
I hadn’t walked more than a block when I saw a guy and his girlfriend pressed up against a wall, two lesbians making out on a bus bench, and a gay couple holding hands.
Now I know what you’re thinking, and yes, my neighborhood is surprisingly diverse, but that’s not the point I’m trying to drive home here.
Between the discomfort of watching the act of loving cannibalism (seriously, it looked like one of the women was eating the others’ face off) and the oh so subtle reminder that I am indeed single, there’s just no reason for that.
I mean, I hate to be cliche, but the concept of getting a room, at least before you’re charged with public indecency, might not be a bad way to go.
Dear Guy Clearly on a Date Talking on His Cell Phone,
I don’t even know where to start.
I mean, common decency dictates that the person you’re with at least deserves your undivided attention.
But let’s go ahead and assume, for your sake, that your livelihood is directly involved with that phone.
Maybe you’re a stockbroker? Lord knows you look like you have the cocaine addiction for it… or maybe you’re an agent and you were talking to a client? Even with these highly implausible scenarios, there’s a bit of etiquette involved.
For instance, just because you’re holding your date’s hand while you walk down the street doesn’t do much for your credibility, especially when you have a cell phone in the other.
Furthermore, it just takes up more space and makes it more difficult for the rest of us to get by you.
But ya know what? I don’t even know why I’m bothering to tell you.
Guys like you? They never listen.
Besides, if your girlfriend was giving you that “eyes glazed over, bored outta my skull” look out on the street, I can’t imagine you get much better looks in the bedroom. Don’t worry, I’m sure the relationship won’t last.
But if by some deluded sense of self-worth, that girl sticks with you, I hope you two are very happy together.
Just remember to at least put the cell phone on vibrate at your wedding.
I don’t really know how to start this… I’ve never really written a Dear John letter before.
Look, I was happy to help pick up the pieces after the whole Jean Grey/Logan/You thing, but good God man, it’s time to move on. But that’s really partially my fault.
Taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable mutant? I mean, I’ve done some bad stuff before. Well, not Brotherhood bad, but you know what I mean… I’m not perfect, but that one might take the cake.
In my defense, it had been a long time coming. I mean, when I first saw you back in 1992, before I even knew what being gay meant, I always knew I liked you for a reason.
Everyone else wanted to be Wolverine when we played pretend, but for me, there was no other choice but Scott Summers.
But people grow up. They get older. They change.
the All-American good guy ideals you represent used to be charming, but on closer inspection, you just kinda come off as self-righteous and, well, a bit of a wuss.
So please know that I mean this from the bottom of my heart.
It’s not me, it’s you.