Thursday, January 27, 2005

He's Just Snot.

In light of our recent banishment from the People's Republic of Committed Relationships, we here at Dear Screwsan decided to pick up that best-selling and controversial self-help book, He's Just Not That Into You, in hopes of making ourselves feel better about our break from the shallow and self-loathing world of dating. The best part about the book is without a doubt the backflap photo of man-author Greg Behrendt. It's as if Art Alexakis had never stopped shooting horse. Or Mark McGrath's Botox had slid into his jowels and hardened there. We are becalmed by the idea that lonely yuppie women everywhere are taking love advice from a man who accessorizes like a pirate.

But in the end, it is boring advice. Simon & Schuster is bleeding $20 from curious lonelyhearts everywhere for brilliant gems like: "He's Just Not That Into You If He's Not Calling You." Thanks, Mr. Behrendt, but maybe it's time to return to your day job. Somewhere, there's a frat rock band from San Diego missing a lead singer.

In light of the bland and silly advice put forth in He's Just Not That Into You, we have compiled a list of much more practical and earthy advice for those who feel like the toxic waste of big city dating is slowly beginning to cause small metastatic growths on their hearts, brains, and other soft tissues.

1) He's just not that into you if he's gay.

We here at Dear Screwsan can't believe this wasn't included in the actual book itself. We've never had a full-on desperate gayboy crush, but we know plenty of straight women who have. We truly feel bad for these women, who have found the perfect man except for the fact that he will never, ever stick it in them like a hero. This is an especially unrewarding relationship to pursue because there is very little chance of scoring a pity fuck. Stop going to clubs and find a nice Irish pub to haunt for awhile.

2) He's just not that into you if he spends all his money on tattoos and threatens you with his concealed handgun.

Okay, this is what happens when you spend too much time at aforementioned Irish pubs. This is also what happens when you don't listen to your friends who consistently use words like "mean" and "icky" and "short bus" to refer to your boyfriend.

Pop quiz:
When you began dating him, you knew he had…
a) lots of tattoos
b) no job or permanent residence
c) a gun permit
d) all of the above

Jesus Christ, where did you think this was going?

3) He's just not that into you if he kicks you out, moves away without leaving a forwarding address and gets married to an Argentine woman six months later.

What’s so great about the Argentine anyway? None of your mutual friends in the United States have ever met her so it’s difficult to say. Never mind that you were kicked out for spending the night at a friend’s house on suicide watch and assumed to be cheating. Never mind that his doctor-father hounded your nurse-single-mother for your half of the rent for months and months after. Never mind the cum and beer soaked fraternity couch that became your bed until the summer was over, and you could limp dejectedly back to the dorms to begin a suicide watch of your own.

4) He’s just not that into you if he’s dead.

Not as obvious as you’d think.

5) He’s just not that into you if he completely ignores your witty and charming haiku written expressly for him on your weblog and secretly marries a gorgeous up-and-coming young novelist.

Okay, we get it. You’re just not that into us. And if all our scheming to be asked to the annual Princeton Reunions in hopes of being introduced to you hadn’t gotten us laid a few times, we might be even more bitter than we actually are. So fuck you, Jonathan Safran Foer, we fucking love you.

6) He’s just not that into you if he doesn’t quit his college teaching job and move from his hometown in Colorado where his house and dogs and hockey team and girlfriend and ex-wife and mother are, to live with you in your studio apartment in New Jersey which—because of your drunken Russian landlord who is constantly commenting on your “tiny breast,” as if it were singular, belonging to a bird—often smells like boiled cabbage and vinegar beets.

Okay, maybe he’s sort of into you. But that’s a lot to ask of someone, so it’s pretty hard to tell. Unless…wait, did you say “girlfriend” and “ex-wife?” Maybe it’s time to work on that gayboy crush after all.