Saturday, June 19, 2010

E-Mails You Should Never Send #1

It has come to my attention that there are a lot of people who don’t use their friggin head and think before they send e-mails to people. This blog I have, while it has humiliated the hell out of me for the past two years, it has also functioned as a means of venting my frustration without hurting anyone’s feelings, except when they find my blog. In this first installment of my “E-Mails You Should Never Send” series, you’ll see me write stuff to this girl I like that I should absolutely not say. In future, I’m going to focus on shitheads who’ve sent nasty e-mails to me and my friends, and then analyze. Sound like your thing? No? Then fuck off.

Well, my woman woes never cease. That’s why you’re all reading this, right? If I’d known when I started this blog how much trouble getting a girlfriend would be, I’d have called this blog “Can Malice Blackheart Get the Girl? Probably Not. He should Go Gay.”

Remember Vampirella? She’s my current female frustration. I’m going with alliterations today. (Probably because I’m concurrently working on a superhero script). I’ve been talking to her on msn for the past few weeks, constantly trying to make arrangement to “hang out” with her, and having her constantly break them, but with stupid little happy faces and frowny faces so she can act like she doesn’t like that she has to postpone. I’m just not sure I buy it.

The worst part is, I’m also not sure I even care. I mean, I keep working by butt off trying to get her to laugh, and come out of her shell, and say something about herself that demonstrates some actual insight, you know? She simply doesn’t talk much, but I’m not sure what it is – maybe it’s because she said she’s never had a boyfriend and I find myself attracted to a challenge – maybe I’m in desperate need of a distraction from the other women that I want but can’t have – maybe she’s simply the modestly hot girl that I read too much into – I don’t know, but I’m convinced she’s got something in there worth getting to know. She wants to direct. I want to write! We like the same kinds of shows, and in a way, we have the same ambition – to one day be making one of them. Granted, it’s a pipe dream that’ll likely burst, or at least be rerouted several times though sewage until getting dumped in the ocean (what is with my analogies today?), but you’d think shared dreams could spark something. I feel no spark. But I’m sure it should be there. I’ve only met her once. ONCE! Why should I care? Am I really this bored?

Anyway, the reason I’m making this entry, aside from need to vent a little as usual, is to write out a few responses to her last messages that I sort of mean, but should probably not send her, because they probably make me sound crazy or desperate. Oh, and let’s start with her message.

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hey!
hate to do this but i'm going to have to postpone our hangout. My mom wants to throw me a grad lunch tomorrow so I wont be able to make it to the movie. Sorry! :(

--

Really? Last time you blamed germs. This time it’s your mom? Don’t you LIVE with your mom? You couldn’t maybe go out with her some other time? I mean, it could still be tomorrow. It could be brunch. It could be dinner. You’ve known about this for a week! Why couldn’t you just tell her we had plans? Wait – you’re not afraid of your mom, are you? Wait! Should I be afraid of your mom? Is she some kind of psycho. Oh wait – do you already have a boyfriend lined up, and you don’t want your family to find out about me?

--

You know what? Last summer, I put up with constant disappointment from a woman who kept insisting she wanted to see me, but can’t have really. And you know what? I eventually gave up and stopped talking to her. And she was much prettier than you!

(Okay, that’s a lie. Vampirella is gorgeous. I was talking about Rose, by the way. Fuck! She wasted so much of my time.)

--

All right, look. I’m trying really hard here. Too hard, in fact. If you have no interest in me, as I suspect, just say so. Honestly, honesty is all I want anyway, just tell me you don’t like me, and I’ll never bother you again.

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You suck. :( It’s just excuse, after excuse with you. I offered to buy you food, I offered to take you to the movies for free, and I even offered to drive you here and back. What is it with you women? It’s like the more I do, the less you care. It’s idiotic. All you women seem to want is that douche who doesn’t give a shit. He will make you cry. I will not do that, and I refuse to waste my time with women who put up with it. You do not deserve me. Why should I even waste my time responding? Your excuse is bullshit, and I’m not very happy about it. :(

--

Whatever. You’re boring anyway. Bitch. ;)

(Oh, God! She’s so nice though! I can’t call her a bitch, even if it’s clearly a joke. She actually does make me smile when she talks to me. I just wish she’d come out of her shell a bit more.)

--

You’re sorry, huh? Well don’t be. You’ve made yourself abundantly clear. Have a nice life.

--

What? Are you shitting me? I have to go to the movies alone now, and I’m gonna eat some worms. That’s right: worms. They sell worms to losers who can’t get women to like them, even though all my “female friends” tell me “I don’t understand. You’re such a nice guy!” And then I’d tell them to put their money where their mouth is, and ask them out, but I want to keep my friends. The last time I asked a friend out, she stopped talking to me. She hasn’t really spoken to me in six months, and we had a class together, not to mention a lot of mutual friends. I still try being friendly to her, and she still ignores me.

(I’m talking about Scrapbook Girl now. Seriously, SBG, what is your beef with me? I was always nice to you. And we always had lots to talk about. And I still essentially like you. I just can’t talk to you anymore, because you have me almost convinced that you hate me. When you’re around I find myself wishing I was invisible. That’s fucked up. I hate feeling that way. You know you do too. There’s no reason for us not to be friends. Unless there is. But how can I know if you never talk to me?)

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I give up. Sorry. If you were just hoping I’d chase you so you could see how much I care. Or maybe you’re just looking for validation.

(That’s all Scarlet the Spy wanted, I finally got her to admit. She just wanted to know she could have me if she wanted. That’s what psychopaths do. They also stalk people. Yeah, Scarlet, I know you’re still watching. Good luck with the baby. That’s right, I know about the baby. Now who’s watching who? Spy.)

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That’s fine. Maybe I get just show up at your work sometime and you can beat me with something from the frozen meats section. Then you can dump me in the trash. That’s where this is going, right?

--

You amaze me. Is this the real reason you’ve never had a boyfriend? You keep blowing them off with some lame excuse? I know you told me that you want to avoid the drama, but I don’t think you seriously realize what you’re missing. I dated the girl from hell in high school, and then her mutated, more sinister form in college. You need experience with a shitty guy or two so you can appreciate the good ones. Should I sit back and wait while you date a few assholes first or what?

(I don’t know that I’ve ever talked about my first girlfriend on this blog, which is odd. N/A used to complain that I brought her up non-stop. Of course, she compared me to her exes all the time, but whatever; she’s a girl, so she’s entitled I guess. I’m not sure whether to call her Groinkicker or Hell Girl. She used to really love kicking men’s groins when she was angry. Or happy. Oddly enough, even when it was me she was mad at, it would usually be someone else’s groin. That’s a weird train of thought. She made me chase her for an hour through the snow once. She damn near froze to death. And so did I. Now that I remember why she stormed off like that – because one person was giving another person a handjob, neither of whom was either one of us, I’m so glad I’m no longer with her. That girl, Hell Girl, made me feel guilty for things I didn’t even do. She accused me of cheating on her with some other cheerleader. It turns out she was the cheater. I suppose it takes one to accuse one, or something like that. I can’t BELIEVE she would cheat on me with THAT loser. The evil mutant form in college was, of course, Karma Chameleon.)

Wow. So many useless memories. You know what, Vampirella? You are absolutely right. Just buy yourself a nice vibrator and forget all about men. We are all fucked, and so are all you women. We need to be kept apart. In futuristic domes.

--

You know how many false responses I’ve written you know? I’ve lost count. The short of it is, I’m pissed off that you don’t even seem to be trying. Instead you’re giving me just enough hope to keep trying, but if you’re not serious, quit jerking me around! This “drama” that you say you want to avoid with guys – you’re creating it!” Just do something with me, and if it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen.

(Of course, now I’ve come to never expect anything to happen. This isn’t good – I get depressed before I even get dumped/rejected now, in anticipation of it, as if it’s the only possible outcome anyway. If that’s all I seriously expect, it makes me wonder why I bother.)

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I’m tired of rescheduling. You think of something.

--

Boo! I’m writing you a prescription for LAME! :b

--

I’d say that I understand – that moms are important, but so’s a sex life. Mom is who you’ll be getting to occasionally babysit and spoil your kids, and who you’ll eventually watch die. So why get too attached anyway? You can miss a lunch or two. I mean, god, people graduate all the time. I’ve graduated four times now.

(I have seriously graduated four times now. Two of which were four-year degrees and one of which was five. How old are you again, you ask? Ancient. Okay, only thirty. Now I’m on my fifth.)

--

Just admit you don’t wanna see me again! Get it over with so I can start getting over it. Because these games you play are just humiliating.

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If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re just trying to be nice and not tell me you think I’m a loser. And I don’t know any better.

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Whew! Glad I got that out of my system. All right, time to compose the real one. Wish me luck. Or tell me I should give up. Say whatever the hell you want, actually. I mean, what’s stopping you?

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