Constantly talking isn’t necessarily communicating

“You’re a blushing school girl. Or a blithering idiot. One of the two.” (one of my brilliant friend’s quote).

I vote blithering idiot.

While walking home with a friend, last night, a very handsome, very tall, very square-jawed guy with piercing blue eyes, walks out of the bar and walks past us, checking his phone messages.

Our conversation, taking its obvious and natural course, turns into how I plan on spending the weekend making barbecue. I mean, what else would two girls in high-heels be talking about at 2 o’clock in the morning?

Square-Jaw, for some reason only God in heaven knows, has turned around, and is now standing behind me, listening to this INSANITY. Listening to me yammer on about GRILLING and PORK. And then turns to me, in an attempt to start a normal, human-on-human conversation, and says, “You grill?“

Clearly incapable of having a homosapien-like conversation, I respond, “Yeah, I guess, if I need to. Sometimes. I mean….uh, yeah. I guess. Uh, yeah.“

Square Jaw, somewhat taken aback, but still hopeful of finding intelligent life in his way home, tries again, “I hear guys talk about that stuff all the time, but never a girl.“

As I start blushing furiously FURIOUSLY (like my head is about to explode off my neck) I respond, “Um, yeah. Grilling, I uh…sure. Barbecue. ” And take a right turn in my way home.

THIS, folks, is why I deserve to be single.

Once again, my life has been saved by the miracle of icecream!

So I’ve decided that the reason guys can be very relaxed after a breakup and immediately hook up with another chick is that the XY chromosome is missing that extra extension of the XX chromosome housing the gene that keeps me awake and upset for months.

There is this guy I had a crush on, four months ago. Unfortunately, he gave me the “it’s not you, it’s me” sh*t just before Christmas and since then we are ignoring each other. But today seemed to him like a nice day to get into a fight. Not the kind of fight you are now imagining, no. A more stressfull kind of fight, the kind that even though doesn’t contain words like “bitch” or “asshole” or “dickhead”, it hurts hell more.

So after four happy months of ignoring each other, he sends me this message, just to say “Hi, I’m still ignoring you. Have a Happy Easter. P.s. I hope you’re happy. [just like we (n.r. me and my new girlfirend) are]“.

Now I would’ve prefered any other kind of fight. The “Fine.” “Fine!” “FINE!” “FIIIIIIINE!!!!!” kind of fight; or the simultaneous screaming “I hate you, you jerk!” “You’re a pain in the ass!” “I can’t believe I actually dated you!” “One more sound out of you, and I’m going to toss you over the balcony!” that ends abruptly into an uncomfortable silence; or the, “You did WHAT?!” “But..I…” “WHAT?!” “Oh YEAH? Well what about the time you…” “Don’t you even bring that up. That has nothing to do with this!” “Yes it does!” “Shut up.” “You shut up.” “No, you shut up.” “No, you.” “Aaaaggggghhhhhhhhh!” fight. I mean….just any kind of stupid fight, except this “hi, I’m ignoring you, but I just wanted to say that I’m much happier now that we’re not talking anymore”.

Now it will pass another painfull 4 months of insomnia, tossing, turning, flopping around, deep sighs, staring at the ceiling, getting up, get some water, come back and search for reasons, before I’ll be ok. As for him, he already forgot about it. Jerk.

Green topic of the day:

Is it OK to eat frog legs as long as you kiss the frog first?

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…

.

They say it’s a woman’s job to prove men wrong. But I’m afraid I have failed. I can not spend less than an hour in the bathroom getting ready. It doesn’t matter that I have to be somewhere in 10 minutes, I don’t care that you’re dressed ready, the taxi outside horn blaring doesn’t seem to get my attention…if my hair doesn’t look perfect, I am not going out!

So I feel like I should appologize to all men on behalf of all women who spend half of their lifes (and a quarter of their men’s life) in front of the mirror. We do not intend to start getting ready 3 hours before you and actually finish 2 hours after you’re ready. It just happens. Yes, every time. Or, as you often express it… “every fucking time!!!”.

And yes, when we’re finally ready and we arrive at that club, we do have to go straight to the ladies room to fix those finishing touches. No, we have no idea why it takes so long and no, we don’t mind if you trick us, by telling us the start times for things are an hour earlier than they really are. However, it will never work, fate is a strange thing.

Don’t get smart with me. You don’t have the equipment.

Toata nebunia asta cu romantismul trebuie sa dispara. Aviz celor care nu ma cunosc si totusi au impresia ca stiu totul despre mine: Stiti cum ma numesc? Nu. Ce fel de muzica ascult? Nu. Am iesit in oras? Ne-am distrat? Do you get my sense of humor? Nu. Nu ma cunosti, deci orice lucru romantic pe care-l faci este ridicol si fals. Sunt sigura ca esti un ciumpalac si sansele de a ma intalni cu tine nu sunt slabe, sunt inexistente.

E ca si cum ai administra unui om un placebo: “Nu te iubesc papusa, dar poftim niste romantism care sa te faca sa crezi ca sunt un tip dragut si sensibil si ca te iubesc.”

De asemenea nu vreau sa-ti fiu mama sau terapeut. Daca ai probleme…sunt problemele tale. De ce ai vrea sa amesteci pe cineva pe care abia l-ai intalnit in problemele tale? Rezolva-le ca un adult si nu te plange. Am si eu probleme, unele din ele chiar serioase si totusi nu folosesc timpul nostru impreuna pentru terapie psihologica.

Daca accept sa ma intalnesc cu tine nu inseamna ca vreau sa tin locul fostei tale mari iubiri. Nu o adu in discutie. Nu vreau sa-mi arati o poza cu ea si nu vreau sa aud cat e de minunata in mintea ta.

Nu-ti scuza momentele de tacere stanjenitoare cu banala scuza “nu sunt foarte vorbaret/sociabil”. Nu ma intalnesc cu persoane care nu sunt capabile sa reziste unei conversatii de nivel mediu…unde as putea iesi cu tine ca sa ma distrez sau cum te-as putea prezenta prietenilor?

Fa in asa fel incat sa ne distram la prima intalnire. Distractia e buna, fa o impresie pozitiva, daca tot iesim in oras pe banii tai. (Apropo de prima intalnire, nu du niciodata o fata la film la prima intalnire, ar trebui sa-ti fie evident de ce: n-ai cum sa-i vorbesti).

Nu ma compara cu alte fete. Si nu te abtine sa-mi faci complimente sincere doar pentru ca ai auzit ca daca faci asta imi voi da seama ca ma placi. That’s lame.

Spune-mi pe nume, nu folosi diminutive de genul “papushe”,”iubitzica”,”scumpa”, “zuzica” etc.

Nu-mi spune ca de obicei nu ai succes la fete sau ca fostele tale te acuzau ca le tratezi urat. Imediat dupa ce voi auzi aceste cuvinte un beculet rosu de alarma se va aprinde in creierul meu de femeie si nu-mi voi mai pierde timpul cu tine. De obicei am incredere in gusturile altor femei; daca nu au vrut o a doua sau a treia intalnire cu tine, stiu ele de ce.

Nu intreba “cat de mult ma iubesti?”. Voi rade in hohote, ma voi intoarce si voi pleca rapid, nu inainte de a intreba: “ne cunoastem?”. Adica…ce-ai vrea sa auzi? Te iubesc cam de 30 de lei noi? Sau cam de 20 de kg? Sau cam de 6000 de kilometri? Pentru ca “I like you a lot” spus cu vocea lui Jim Carey in “Dumb and Dumber” clar NU este raspunsul corect. In primul rand ce fel de tip ar pune o astfel de intrebare? Acelasi tip care m-ar intreba “la ce te gandesti?”. Ma gandesc ca daca-mi mai pui o singura intrebare de pussy-head, I’m going to cut your nuts off, so that you can fit the profile. Ce zici de “te iubesc atat de mult incat o sa incerc din rasputeri sa nu fiu a total bitch cand imi pui intrebarile astea si o sa-mi pastrez pentru mine (si pt toti cititorii blogului) parerea proasta despre tine?