May 20, 2014
Ladies, Do You Sound Like This When You Talk About Men? Now Try Answering Again, Without Lying This Time
The first in a regular series reviewing every advice column in the world.
This young lady, writing to the fabulous Heather Havrilesky at The Awl, goes through about one million words before she even meets the Motherfucker She Is Thinking of Dumping Already. Let us have a (SO BRIEF) example!
When is it too soon for an ultimatum? What is a good sign to leave something that’s showing complications?
Although it is early, I have been seeing this guy for around 5 weeks. He lives down the road from me (1 block) but we ironically met online.
He is a 21-year-old bachelor, a major player who has never had a real relationship, not to mention he has been with more girls than my fingers and toes, doubled. He is a guy living with guys who has moved out of home less than 12 months ago. He is extremely passionate about his job, to the point it gives him anxiety. He knows he has to settle his bachelor ways down if he wants to do well and gain a respectful name in the industry he is in. He is Italian and very good looking and by all means has everything going for him.
Myself, 21, I moved away from a small town on the other side of the country to a major city just under 12 months ago. I have travelled to Europe and done countless things on my own. I have grown and my career and life is just beginning to blossom and I am at the point that I am ready to find someone to at least enjoy spending time and being young with. Commitment maybe on the cards but not until I am comfortable and it’s at least reciprocated.
He and I first off exchanged numbers on the online dating website, then began talking—at the time I was seeing other people, nothing serious but I felt the need to meet new guys and explore my surroundings. He stuck around and even if it was a text a week, I would still hear from him. We got to the point where we decided we should meet, I suggested we have a coffee and he admitted he was socially shy and that the thought of having a coffee on a first meeting scared him. I reassured him and said I had done it a million times before. Leading up closer to our meeting, we exchanged photos of us and he called me gorgeous, etc. The D day came and I never heard from him. I mean, not even a blow off text. I didn’t hear from him until Monday the following afternoon when his “phone apparently screwed up.” Although I knew it was a lie, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and asked did he want to meet that night. He accepted and came over.
Oh, did we say “brief”? We meant “jesusfuckingchrist” and also “we have had entire sexual encounters that were shorter than even this introduction to this letter.”
There is then one billion words recounting every text he ever sent her or didn’t send her, and her molten lava of insanity texts right back, and here is the weird part. Heather Havrilesky, having run the entire galaxy of words OBVIOUSLY to show that the young lady is a CRAZY PERSON, then proceeds to NEVER CALL HER A CRAZY PERSON, and instead takes her seriously! And tells her to love herself and Dump the Motherfucker Already!
You can read it! She says some good things! (She also says to save your soggy muff for like the fourth date or something, which, Lisa and I agree, if we do not fuck you in four dates, we are not dating you, so: meh.)
But here is what is interesting about that letter: Obsesso up there is a crazy person, yes, we all agree. But YOU SOUND LIKE THAT. And I SOUND LIKE THAT. And oh did I mention he twitched his nose when he looked at me, but was it a disgust twitch or a twitch because he’s picking up my pheremones, and then he looked away, oh wait I forgot, first he looked at the floor and THEN he looked away, and let’s all do our fucking doctoral dissertations on the exegesis of whether he said “will” or “would” or “if” and if your friends and your mom are still listening to you at the end of it (it? Like there was only ONE unbearable monologue, and not freaking WEEKS WORTH), you have clearly sprinkled into your “conversation” (unbearable monologue) some fuckin’ hot nasty sex details.
Your mom loves the nasty sex details, don’t lie. And if she doesn’t, get a better mom.
But about your unbearable monologues, it’s cool. We all do ’em. Just try to be more interesting when you start on your seven-hour short version.
Then, and only then, probably dump the motherfucker already.