Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Single and ready to mingle! or Vengeance is mine, sayeth the gmail...

Sometimes Life, in its infinite goodness, sees fit to giftwrap a present and deliver it straight to your inbox.

Today was one such day.

Once upon a time, about a year and a half ago I'd say, a single me found myself on a date with a good-on-paper guy (attractive, steady job, single, Jewish). But as any single gal or guy can tell you, a pristine whitewashed profile can go from "swell" to "hell" in a heartbeat.

This particular transformation took three.

Date one went well, with the exception of the parking ticket I attained when the meter ran out. No worries though, DATE took the ticket and offered to pay for it, as the restaurant (and therefore the shitty, timed parking) were his choice. "That's awfully nice," I thought.

Then came day 2.

Not D-A-T-E 2, D-A-Y 2.

The next day, after attending class, I return to my apartment and there are flowers on my doorstep, with a note thanking me for a nice time. Like the offer to pay the ticket, the flowers were a nice gesture too... but one with a glaring catch: I HAD NOT YET TOLD DATE WHERE I LIVED.


Apparently Dude had means, time, and inclination to track down my abode. Well...at least he's thorough? ...

Despite my better judgement, I decided that having a rose-laden romance stalker was a forgivable offense and agreed to a second, noneventful date. Then a third. And that, my friends, is where it all went awry.

Third date, his place (I still had not invited him to mine). He begins the date by asking me to take a trip with him (we've had two dinners). He then spends the rest of the evening doing the "pressure you for third date sex" dance.

I, however, wasn't feelin' the tune.

I left, and assumed that'd be the end of that.

But that's when he started with the hedgy communications. You know the ones. The "I'm gonna text you, but I'm gonna be vague"s. The "I'm not going to ask you on a date, but I'm not going to stop talking to you either"s. The "I'm gonna punish you for slighting me with this passive-aggressive onslaught"s.


I just stopped responding.

And then, one day, I went to the mailbox...and what surprise do I find inside?


NEVER PAID and NOW OVERDUE (and therefore TWICE THE PRICE), along with a note that read "Sorry, but you're going to have to take care of this." Signed by - you guessed it! DATE!


Fast forward to today.



I recognize a name in my inbox...Like the Beacon of a human being it represents, the name shines through my spam, and, like moth to flame, I click on it.


My friends, there are times when Life delivers up the sweet nectar of Justice in a glass so perfect as to merit the "He chose wisely" Cup of Christ. Today, Life sent me an email letting me know that, not only is DATE still single, but also that HE HAS WRITTEN A HOW-TO GUIDE FOR ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS AND WANTS ME TO PURCHASE IT!!!

(ACT NOW friends, because THIS GUY!?!? IS STILL SINGLE! Don't miss your chance at this Bastion of Romance!)

Fucking. Perfection.

Sunday, November 17, 2013


When I was in undergraduate, my friend John-From-The-Play made an observation that I continue to find poignant: "I don't want to be involved with any action prefaced by the words 'This is for the good of all mankind,' 'cause you KNOW that shit's not gonna go well."

Touche, John-From-The-Play. Touche.