Thursday, July 29, 2004
There have been some great fucking emails recently (and props to me for such speedy replies).
The first comes from Lisa Gibertoni, who writes in response to my 7/22 post about "Little Red Corvette." She writes:
[T]he back-up singer who sings the "right into the ground" part of "Little Red Corvette" is a woman named Lisa Coleman. She joined The Revolution in 1980. In 1984 she brought in a friend, Wendy Melvoin, and Prince, Wendy and Lisa had a glittering, glamorous, productive manage a trois for the next two years.I don't know what Lisa does for a living - perhaps she is a Prince historian? - but she should definitely get a raise. I am astounded by the awesomeness of her email. Thank you Lisa for such an informative email, and now I finally have a name to go with such a beautiful voice.
Also, let's get married.
You don't have to answer now - just think about it. Please.
(But seriously, let's just do it. I guarantee my parents will love you, because, well, you're not a guy.)
I don't know really what to make of the next email, but it was received after midnight on a Tuesday. Matt Dudek writes:
I have been looking at your blog and I wan t [sic] to say it is fun stuff. I never scored except once in May and it didn't even last long cause I was drunk. I was wondering how you met the chicks you did score with. I know you wrote it hasn't happened lately, but it did happen. You must have done something right once. Should I just go to bars and get drunk and be very forward with chicks? Or go to bookstores and meet them there? Or any other suggestions? I'm fuckin drunk right now. I'm goning [sic] to go to bed.Wow - this one blew my mind. I mean, just, wow. Asking me for advice on "scoring" with women is like asking Michael Moore where the local WeightWatchers is, or like asking my Uncle Bill to teach you how to stop drinking, or like asking the Pope how to find the g-spot. However, I feel a certain responsibility to any man who gets drunk on a Tuesday night and sends an email to another man who he doesn't and who isn't very cool in real life, so I must respond.
Here's the thing about women: they love it when you treat them wrong (I wrote briefly about this on 7/2). No one really knows why, but studies have shown that it is true, so men have to learn to use this to our advantage. If you know this, and you approach them honestly, I think they'll sex you up right there in the bar. Here's what you say:
So listen, here's the deal. I want to buy you a drink. Then I'll buy you another and another. The whole time I will not offer much in the way of conversation, or be particularly fun to hang out with, or even be nice to your friends you introduce me to. This doesn't matter - we'll go home together. When we get to your place, we'll start hooking up, and I'll try to sleep with you three separate times. Each time, you'll say no. I'll leave in the middle of the night, without saying goodbye, and I won't call you the next day. Or the next. Or the next after that. Over time as I don't call, you will want me more. In fact, you will become obsessed with me, though all I did was get you drunk and try to fuck you.Matt, I guarantee that once you finish telling a girl that, she'll look you right in the eye, and say, "I am going to pull you into the street and fuck you like rabbit on cocaine."
Then, maybe a week or two later, I'll run into you again. You'll see me in the bar, and, having had a few, you'll throw yourself at me. We'll go home and sleep together. I'll leave abruptly, though this time I may wait until you wake up, as I will be pretty hungover. I won't call the next day, or the next, but I will call eventually, because now I know you put out. And this makes me happy.
The more I don't call, the more you'll want me. Eventually I'll call, and perhaps we'll go on a lame date, in which each of us won't have anything particular good to offer, a fact that will be mitigated by several martinis. We'll go home, and have sex.
Now we'll have a relationship. The calls will become more frequent, as will the sex. But as I spend more and more time with you, I'll learn more about you, and thus more ways I can take advantage of you. Perhaps you have a rich daddy who pays for your rent and other things. If that's the case, I'll ask to borrow money from you, which I have no intention of ever paying back. I may take your Miata, get drunk, and drive it into a pool, or a kindergarten class. This will be your fault.
Perhaps you had a bad daddy growing up. I'll make sure to take special care of you and always play the "good guy" role to a tee. Meanwhile, when we're out together with your friends and you head to the bathroom, I'll tell your friend Beth that her breasts look amazing and ask her to show them to me. Beth will be astonished at how much of a dick I am, and, of course, show them to me. They will not be as impressive as I had hoped.
I will keep being a dick, stealing and lying, and in no time you'll be in love with me. About this time, I will get bored of you, and decide to end it. I won't tell you that I think we should see other people; nay, I'll just keep fucking up until you dump me.
The problem is: you won't dump me, because you love me. My little fuck-ups will be forgiven, and I'll get frantic. In an effort to end the whole thing, I'll cheat on you. And you'll find out.
You will be very upset, and you may break up with me, but our relationship will be far from over. Odds are that we will have sex numerous times after we've "broken up", which is fine with me, because getting the sex without the boyfriend responsibilities is ok with me. I may beg you to take me back, and you might, and I will know that once you've taken me back after I've cheated on you, you've not only given me a "get out of jail free" card, you've pretty much given me license to do whatever I want.
Anyway you look at it, all I can offer you is dysfunction, unhappiness, and a sense that the time you've spent with me has been wasted. I'll do a great deal of damage to you so that many guys after me will struggle with it, and may even not be able to date you because of it.
That's my offer. What do you think?
One note, and this is important: this ONLY applies if you are good-looking. I can't stress this enough. It works even more as you increase the amount of gel you put in your hair, the number of times you visit the tanning salon, and the number of lat pull downs you can do. Also, if you're rich or in a band, you're golden - she may even acquiesce and allow you to live with her in a polygamous household.
If you're not good-looking, or not even rich or in a band, shit - I don't know what to tell you. Maybe you should start a blog and hope that some random girl emails you and says, "Jesus - stop your whining. Come on over - I'll let you touch my boobies."
Finally, the last email is not related to the site, but comes from my friend Corinne Cummings. Corinne is hilarious and it makes me sad that we don't see each other more.
Corinne is trying to get my roommates and I to come out to a barbeque at her place in Brooklyn. The problem is that I made a promise that I'd never go back to Brooklyn again. I'm not a "Manhattan snob", and I don't have anything against Brooklyn, it's just that I lived in Brooklyn during the worst year of my life, age 22 (July 2001 - July 2002). Brooklyn was a part of the reason why that year sucked, but not the only reason: I had that post-college let-down/taste of the real world; I hated my job and since I just started working I didn't have any money; I pined away the whole year for a long-distance girlfriend who would eventually move to the city and dump me just a few weeks after doing so; and, oh yeah, I lived a $25 cab ride/one hour-plus subway ride from Manhattan.
When I told Corinne that I'd love to come but I couldn't because I'd never go to Brooklyn again (and that I speak for my roommate Ben), she responded, "I’ve never met boys that were so difficult to have fun with. You’re basically girls. Really unattractive girls at that."
I'm sorry Corinne. Hopefully putting your name on this site, knowing that it's read by my readership of twenty-eight people, you'll forgive me.
If not, well, I tried.