Dear Nice Guys,
I am sorry. I really, truly, deep in my unconscious am very sorry for the way we treat you. By "we" I mean girls. Pretty girls, nice girls, sweet girls. We're not "hot" or particularly "sexy". We're the girls who befriend you instead of just brushing you off. We treat you bad, and I'm sorry. We throw our arms around you and profess our undying love with that "like a brother" hanging unsaid in the air. We drag you out as our straight friend accesory so that maybe you'll help us land a douche bag. A guy who will take us home and never call. A guy who will make us cry on your shoulder. The guy that we'll take back over and over again in all of his different identies because when you're a girl and you're warned to "stay away," it only makes you want it that much more.
Eventually one drunk night we'll figure it out. We'll realize why you always call us back, why you always buy our drinks and let us crash on your bed while you take the couch. We'll deny it though, out loud and in our brains, stressing that you need "a good girl, a nice girl," our very definition. We don't mean to lead you on, even though we know it's not gonna happen tonight, tomorrow night, this year, next year, but we need the security of you. Of someone wanting us, loving us and being nice enough, sweet enough to hang out with us while we hunt out and take down any number of bad choices.
I'm sorry that this is the way it is, but we're probably not going to change quite yet. Give us a few more years of scavaging then we'll realize that it was you. The whole time. You were the perfect person and you stood there night after night waiting for us to figure it out. Maybe, if you're lucky, you'll get a better girl, a girl ahead of the curve who figured it out that much faster. And you deserve her.
You also get one night. One stupid drunk night where you get to, either directly or with the use of euphamisims or metaphors or whatever, you get to make us feel bad about the way we live. Because we know its bad and knowing you're pissed makes it even worse. You should probably apologize the next morning, because even though you're the one with the hangover, we're the ones with the soul, just slightly cracked, that has to rebuild and reflect. What you say probably won't change our behavior, and you'll go back to your status as official Boy Who Makes Us Feel Better, but you'll have said your piece and it'll stay lodged in our brains as we go out looking for the ones who will break our souls and never turn around to help pick up the pieces.
And for that, and everything. I'm sorry.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Saturday, September 09, 2006
*This is an exact number people, we're talking time spent on land in the state of Maryland. It should have been 54 but American Eagle Airlines (which does NOT provide you with free polos and jeans contrary to my hopes and dreams), Logan Airport, The City of Boston and Tropical Storm Ernesto can suck my balls for the extra two. THANKS.
1. I hate flying. No two ways about it people. Flying death tubes aren't for me. I discovered this at about 10 AM on Friday morning as the 50-seater I was on rocked back and forth like two fat kids on a see-saw and I sat gripping the arms of my seat, quite sure that any moment we were gonna drop out of the sky and I was gonna die before ever meeting and seducing Michael Vartan. I know that the life of the rich and famous requires a great deal of red eyes and hops across the pond so it's something I'm gonna have to work on. Luckily when you get to the rich and famous level you get things like first class and valium.
2. I'm a very neurotic traveler. If they say be there two hours ahead, I'm gonna be there two hours ahead. If someone tells me a horror story about a cab being late, I'm gonna set up a cab for half an hour before I need to leave. If I'm connecting to a different flight and my first flight is delayed, I'm gonna call the other airline every 30 minutes to make sure I'm still gonna make my flight. This may seem like an obnoxiously sucky way of living, but the amount of weight I lose in worrying alone makes up for the chocolate croissant and pumpkin spice latte I inhale en route.
3. I love Malls. I know, malls are trashy and tres tres un-chic, but they are SO convienent! All the stores! Right there! In an enclosed air contitioned space! And a food court! I love SoHo and whatever funky boutiques I come across in my city dwelling but deep down inside, my favorite place to shop will always be Montgomery Mall (though Columbia Mall is also v. nice).
4. I am an excellent listener. Particularly when my mother is telling me that if I tell the waiter at the chinese resturant that it is her birthday she will have me killed and mounted and not feel bad about it. At all.
5. When given the choice between hooking up with a kid that I kinda knew in high school and talking to Lizzie, watching Mean Girls and falling asleep at a "reasonable hour," I'll take the latter...
WHERE DID THE REST OF THIS ENTRY GO?! I'm fairly certain one of the blogger gods ate it for brunch with a mimosa or two. Weirdness. Anyway, sorry I've killed too many brain cells to remember the other 6 things... I bet they were super important and had something to do with the fact that I love my Mom, my friends, my magic green celery dress and champange straight from the bottle.
She's pint-sized and amazing.