Dear Katy Perry,
You know, Katy, for a while I really thought we had something. But I guess I was wrong--you're hot then you're cold, you're yes then you're no, you don't really wanna stay (no!) and I guess now I know for sure you wanna go (oh!). And, frankly, I'm sick of your games, and while I may not be 19 anymore when I shave I still look like a teenager, and if I'm not dreamy enough for you, well, than it might be time for you to reevaluate your standards--huge boobs and international pop-stardom or no.
And not to be nasty or anything, but there may be a good explanation for this: I've heard some rumors recently that Ur So Gay. And that's too bad, because I get that you may have kissed a girl and liked it, but I feel like if you let me kiss you, girl, you would like that, too--maybe even more.
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
PS-Also, because I can't link in the title of this post, I'm throwing down a link to the "Firework" music video here.
Showing posts with label time to move on. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time to move on. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
All That For Nothing, Michelle Obama?
Dear Michelle Obama,
Girl, I can't believe you didn't call. I put it all out there for you, laid it on the line, poured out my heart, and (most importantly) risked having the FBI and/or Secret Service come knocking on my door--all for what? For nothing, that's what.
Everyone is always saying how you're our generation's Jackie O. Well let you tell me something--married women from Jackie O's generation knew how to respond to over-enthusiastic younger suitors. They didn't ignore them. Instead, they took them out back and had a discrete yet passionate affair and no one was the wiser. So, Michelle Obama, people may call you our generation's Jackie O, but I know a person who knows a person who once saw Jackie O water-skiing on Martha's Vineyard, and I know another person who knows a person who knows a person who went to George Washington University with her, so (being that close to Jackie O) I feel pretty qualified to say that you are no Jackie O.
You know what you are Michelle Obama? You're a tease. Wearing those sleeveless dresses, always smiling at everyone (but never really meaning it), staring out at me (yes, me specifically) from your photo on the cover of Vogue Magazine with those slutty, slutty eyes. But now I know you've just been leading me on. And that makes me angry. It makes me angry enough to do things. Bad things. And not the fun kind of bad things (like shoplifting or S&M) where bad actually means "fun," "edgy," or "cool," but actual bad things. Things that might make you think before ever treating me like this again. Like I said, bad things. Look out.
Wait a minute--what's that knocking that noise? It's only 4 pm, so it can't be my bitchy neighbor banging on the wall complaining we're being too loud as she's trying to go to sleep (but fuck you, anyway, Anna!). No--it's definitely someone at the door. No you can't come in! Go away. . . Hang on, do you have a warrant? . . . Woah, buddy! There's no need for that--put the gun away! . . . Yes, I asked FLOTUS out . . . No, it wasn't like that. I didn't mean the threats . . . No, seriously, it's just a blog. No one even reads it anyway . . . Wait--did I just hear you say Guantanamo? . . . Heeeeeeeelp!
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
Girl, I can't believe you didn't call. I put it all out there for you, laid it on the line, poured out my heart, and (most importantly) risked having the FBI and/or Secret Service come knocking on my door--all for what? For nothing, that's what.
Everyone is always saying how you're our generation's Jackie O. Well let you tell me something--married women from Jackie O's generation knew how to respond to over-enthusiastic younger suitors. They didn't ignore them. Instead, they took them out back and had a discrete yet passionate affair and no one was the wiser. So, Michelle Obama, people may call you our generation's Jackie O, but I know a person who knows a person who once saw Jackie O water-skiing on Martha's Vineyard, and I know another person who knows a person who knows a person who went to George Washington University with her, so (being that close to Jackie O) I feel pretty qualified to say that you are no Jackie O.
You know what you are Michelle Obama? You're a tease. Wearing those sleeveless dresses, always smiling at everyone (but never really meaning it), staring out at me (yes, me specifically) from your photo on the cover of Vogue Magazine with those slutty, slutty eyes. But now I know you've just been leading me on. And that makes me angry. It makes me angry enough to do things. Bad things. And not the fun kind of bad things (like shoplifting or S&M) where bad actually means "fun," "edgy," or "cool," but actual bad things. Things that might make you think before ever treating me like this again. Like I said, bad things. Look out.
Wait a minute--what's that knocking that noise? It's only 4 pm, so it can't be my bitchy neighbor banging on the wall complaining we're being too loud as she's trying to go to sleep (but fuck you, anyway, Anna!). No--it's definitely someone at the door. No you can't come in! Go away. . . Hang on, do you have a warrant? . . . Woah, buddy! There's no need for that--put the gun away! . . . Yes, I asked FLOTUS out . . . No, it wasn't like that. I didn't mean the threats . . . No, seriously, it's just a blog. No one even reads it anyway . . . Wait--did I just hear you say Guantanamo? . . . Heeeeeeeelp!
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
I Thought That I Was From Maine Would Be A Bigger Deal To You, Anna Kendrick
Dear Anna Kendrick,
You may think that the reason I've waited almost a week to write this letter is that I was holding out hope, pining away, not just waiting by the phone but even sleeping with it right by my ear just waiting for your call. And you wouldn't be entirely wrong . . . except that none of those things are true.
Because, see, AK47, maybe I've just been, like, umm, really busy at work this past week, and I haven't had a chance to write this letter. So, yeah, that's why it took me so long to find the 15 minutes it will take to write this letter, not because I've (*loud sigh*) been holding out hope. (Nice paragraph, Dude. Sounds totally plausible--way to play it cool.)
And, even if you were to call/email/Tweet me and ask me on a date, during this last week I've come to the realization that things can't work with us, and I would have to turn you down. (Way to turn the tables on her, here, Dude--women always want what they can't have. She's bound to come acallin' now!)
Don't worry, though, it's not you--although just to be clear, it's not me either. There's nothing wrong with us (well, with me anyway--if I'm being entirely honest you are just a little short for my tastes . . . but don't sweat it), the problem is that we have too much in common: both in our mid-20s; both from Portland, Maine; both incredibly good-looking; both incredibly famous and successful (I don't know if you've heard, AK, but I'm kinda blowing up right now--this blog had almost 75 page views one day last week!). With two people like that, how could things work out? There's just too much possibility for friction with so much fabulousness (and winter LL Bean apparel) in one relationship.
But, anyway, AK, I want you to know I don't have any hard feelings. What we had (or I imagined we could have had--same thing, really) was a great and special thing. So, Anna, next time I see you at Gritty McDuff's in the Old Port, I won't make a scene, I won't yell at you, scream about how you never called, embarrass you in front of all your friends and fans and cause a scene that would surely get at least a paragraph or two on TMZ . . . instead, I'll just smile at you from across the bar, give a little knowing wave, and quietly walk away. It's for the best. Because we're just too much alike.
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
You may think that the reason I've waited almost a week to write this letter is that I was holding out hope, pining away, not just waiting by the phone but even sleeping with it right by my ear just waiting for your call. And you wouldn't be entirely wrong . . . except that none of those things are true.
Because, see, AK47, maybe I've just been, like, umm, really busy at work this past week, and I haven't had a chance to write this letter. So, yeah, that's why it took me so long to find the 15 minutes it will take to write this letter, not because I've (*loud sigh*) been holding out hope. (Nice paragraph, Dude. Sounds totally plausible--way to play it cool.)
And, even if you were to call/email/Tweet me and ask me on a date, during this last week I've come to the realization that things can't work with us, and I would have to turn you down. (Way to turn the tables on her, here, Dude--women always want what they can't have. She's bound to come acallin' now!)
Don't worry, though, it's not you--although just to be clear, it's not me either. There's nothing wrong with us (well, with me anyway--if I'm being entirely honest you are just a little short for my tastes . . . but don't sweat it), the problem is that we have too much in common: both in our mid-20s; both from Portland, Maine; both incredibly good-looking; both incredibly famous and successful (I don't know if you've heard, AK, but I'm kinda blowing up right now--this blog had almost 75 page views one day last week!). With two people like that, how could things work out? There's just too much possibility for friction with so much fabulousness (and winter LL Bean apparel) in one relationship.
But, anyway, AK, I want you to know I don't have any hard feelings. What we had (or I imagined we could have had--same thing, really) was a great and special thing. So, Anna, next time I see you at Gritty McDuff's in the Old Port, I won't make a scene, I won't yell at you, scream about how you never called, embarrass you in front of all your friends and fans and cause a scene that would surely get at least a paragraph or two on TMZ . . . instead, I'll just smile at you from across the bar, give a little knowing wave, and quietly walk away. It's for the best. Because we're just too much alike.
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
Thursday, February 3, 2011
I Think We Could Have Had Something Beautiful, Regina Spektor
Dear Regina Spektor,
I've waited a few days to write this letter because I was really holding out hope for you. It was originally my intention to use this space to write something so poetic, so touching, so lovely, that, even though I had clearly given up on you, you would feel compelled to reach out to me, accept my offer, and ultimately spend the rest of your life with me.
But I'm tired, hungover, cranky, and not that good with words anyway, so I guess that's not gonna happen. Have a nice life, Regina Spektor. At least we'll always have "On the Radio" (or, more accurately, at least I will always have that funny, post-modern tingling I get whenever I hear "On the Radio" on the radio).
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
I've waited a few days to write this letter because I was really holding out hope for you. It was originally my intention to use this space to write something so poetic, so touching, so lovely, that, even though I had clearly given up on you, you would feel compelled to reach out to me, accept my offer, and ultimately spend the rest of your life with me.
But I'm tired, hungover, cranky, and not that good with words anyway, so I guess that's not gonna happen. Have a nice life, Regina Spektor. At least we'll always have "On the Radio" (or, more accurately, at least I will always have that funny, post-modern tingling I get whenever I hear "On the Radio" on the radio).
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Well, Mila Kunis, We Had A Good (Lack Of A) Run, There
Dear Mila Kunis,
I see how it is--have just one Hollywood superstar call you "hot lips" during the Golden Globes and you decide you're too big a deal to go on a date with a rank-and-file fan. But that's fine. While you have to slog away by going to the office every day "voice acting" gigs (because nobody wants to see your ugly mug) for shows that I've never heard of (Family Guy? Sounds lame) I'm living the dream--two roommates, two jobs, and the sock puppet of love to keep me company at night. That's right. I. Don't. Need. You.
So go ahead, keep thinking you're better than me, keep thinking that Macaulay Culkin wasn't as good as it's going to get, keep thinking that brighter days are right around the corner. But I know, and you will eventually discover, that some day--some day when you're old and alone with just your millions upon millions of dollars and incredible good looks to keep you company--that this is a missed chance for you. Because it's not every day you get offered the chance to go on a date with a neurotic, insecure Jew who, if the night goes well, might see if you're interested in letting him stick his small, erratically-performing penis inside you. After all, Woody Allen can't have long for this earth. And since you've already closed this door that might just be the only opportunity you have left.
So have a nice life, hot lips.
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
I see how it is--have just one Hollywood superstar call you "hot lips" during the Golden Globes and you decide you're too big a deal to go on a date with a rank-and-file fan. But that's fine. While you have to slog away by going to the office every day "voice acting" gigs (because nobody wants to see your ugly mug) for shows that I've never heard of (Family Guy? Sounds lame) I'm living the dream--two roommates, two jobs, and the sock puppet of love to keep me company at night. That's right. I. Don't. Need. You.
So go ahead, keep thinking you're better than me, keep thinking that Macaulay Culkin wasn't as good as it's going to get, keep thinking that brighter days are right around the corner. But I know, and you will eventually discover, that some day--some day when you're old and alone with just your millions upon millions of dollars and incredible good looks to keep you company--that this is a missed chance for you. Because it's not every day you get offered the chance to go on a date with a neurotic, insecure Jew who, if the night goes well, might see if you're interested in letting him stick his small, erratically-performing penis inside you. After all, Woody Allen can't have long for this earth. And since you've already closed this door that might just be the only opportunity you have left.
So have a nice life, hot lips.
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Well, Gabriele Anderson, I Guess This Is Goodbye
Dear Gabriele Anderson,
That's cool. I can take a hint. Like how you haven't emailed. Or how you never retweeted any of my tweets followed by an LOL, ROTFLOL, LMFAO, or even just a WTF?!?!?. Or (perhaps more tellingly) like how you haven't taken me up on my offer and actually said you would go on a date with me (yet?), or how you haven't really even acknowledged my existence at all.
Of course, I can take solace in the fact that the reason you haven't accepted my offer is probably that you don't know I exist. I mean, as of this writing, I only have 15 Twitter followers, of whom about, oh, 13 (or so) are some kind of bot or at least generate their "following" list algorithmically. And there hasn't been even a single comment on this blog. So as far as I know I basically shouted this "ask out" into the void (wait--that's how I chose to try to console myself? Wow . . .), which means you didn't really reject me so much as just not hear me, right? Right . . . ?
So, like I said, I can take a hint. I mean, if after all this time--and all these highly compelling reasons why you should go on a date with me--you still aren't interested, I guess it's time to take a deep breath, cut my losses, lick my wounds, and just move on. So that's what I'm gonna do (although Gabby--it's cool if I call you Gabby, right?--baby--and it's cool if I call you baby, too, right?--if you ever change your mind, my email address is at the top of the blog).
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
That's cool. I can take a hint. Like how you haven't emailed. Or how you never retweeted any of my tweets followed by an LOL, ROTFLOL, LMFAO, or even just a WTF?!?!?. Or (perhaps more tellingly) like how you haven't taken me up on my offer and actually said you would go on a date with me (yet?), or how you haven't really even acknowledged my existence at all.
Of course, I can take solace in the fact that the reason you haven't accepted my offer is probably that you don't know I exist. I mean, as of this writing, I only have 15 Twitter followers, of whom about, oh, 13 (or so) are some kind of bot or at least generate their "following" list algorithmically. And there hasn't been even a single comment on this blog. So as far as I know I basically shouted this "ask out" into the void (wait--that's how I chose to try to console myself? Wow . . .), which means you didn't really reject me so much as just not hear me, right? Right . . . ?
So, like I said, I can take a hint. I mean, if after all this time--and all these highly compelling reasons why you should go on a date with me--you still aren't interested, I guess it's time to take a deep breath, cut my losses, lick my wounds, and just move on. So that's what I'm gonna do (although Gabby--it's cool if I call you Gabby, right?--baby--and it's cool if I call you baby, too, right?--if you ever change your mind, my email address is at the top of the blog).
Sincerely,
A Dude You Should Date
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