Irritable Male Syndrome

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

A few years ago I subscribed to a video game equivalent of Netflix called Gamefly. After a few months of paying for the service, I cancelled it because I just wasn't using it enough to be justifiable.

Ever since that day, I've been getting periodic emails begging me to become a subscriber again, but for a cheaper monthly price. Today, I'd had enough, and tapped out the following reply in hopes that the emails would stop.

"Dear Gamefly,

I'm sorry, but it's just not working out. I've met someone else. Yes, I love her. Why would you want to know something that's just going to sting? Masochism doesn't look good on you.

It's not that you're a bad person, per se, it's just that I don't feel we're compatible. No, no, there's no reason to cry. And cheapening yourself as a ploy to get me back? Nobody should have to do that, not even you, Gamefly.

But I will give you one thing; you're persistent. There is a point, though, where persistence is looked upon as being pathetic, and you passed that point about 10 miles back.

Oh man, I can't believe we've even had to let it get this far. I should've told you that I wasn't feelin' it, that I just wasn't that into you. For that, I apologize. Instead of confronting an issue, I tend to avoid it in hopes that it'll just go away. That's why I haven't been returning your emails. You don't seem to get the hint, though.

I know there's someone out there for you. You'll find them soon, don't worry. You're fun, loyal, and most of all, a cheap date. Though you and I may not have worked out, there are a million guys out there that would die to have you on their arm. True, they're 13 and living off cheetos and Mt Dew, and suffering from "Nintendo Thumb", but that's a start, right? People with Nintendo Thumb need love, too.

Listen, I have to go. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, I really, really am. Oh, stop it, you can too live without me. You'll be fine. For what it's worth, I had a lot of fun during the time we spent together, but I've moved on, and well, you obviously haven't. I'm looking for something different, something that can't be found while sitting on the couch with a bong and a controller. That's your idea of heaven, not mine.

Take care of yourself, Gamefly. I hope you find whatever, or whoever, it is that you're looking for. Believe me when I say that you deserve better than I ever gave you.



Too harsh? Too late, I already sent it.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Weird heebyjeebies, man.

I hate that feeling deep down in the pit in your stomach when you run into someone that you haven't seen in a long time. Hell, haven't even thought about them outside of the flitting curiousity over where they might be, but never having the thought, or care, to google them.

One minute you're trying to change your flat tire, and the next, BAM!, you run into an old crush that 11 years has passed by, at Caribou of all places.

I know this feeling, because I'm experiencing it right now.

It's odd, for me, to have never even been that curious as to her whereabouts, especially considering how stupid gaga over her I was. Boy, was I ever. It could've been the rampant pubescence that caused the starry-eyes, but even after I ran into her today, she was still damn cute. Not that I'm through with puberty yet, but she still looked the same.

I remember the day at work when I first felt my heart race over one of her adorable motions that I wish had been repeated more once. I remember it like it was only 5 years ago.

There were three of us working in the rental building that day; Nick, the 16 year old high school wrestler and I, and this girl. I'm intentionally leaving her name out. Nick and I were sitting along the back counter, facing out towards the main area of the building, and the girl was sitting on a tall swivel stool helping customers at the register.

As the customers left the building, all agog over muskie breeding and Grumpy Old Men, the girl spun around on the stool to talk to us. Slowly she twisted, her right foot precariously and delicately perched atop a cabinet handle underneath the counter, her left foot barely attached to the rung on the stool, almost dangling.

The result of those combined actions was a thing of beauty. The closer she came to facing directly at us, the farther apart her legs splayed. The girl was known for wearing very, very short hiking shorts. Not short enough that her small, teenage girl ass would hang out the bottom, but enough to limit the range of motions that should be allowed by such a small piece of fabric.

There, in a musty old cabin at the age of 19, I received my initial introduction to The Indadvertant Crotch Shot.

Nick swatted, trying to get me to notice that her virginally colored panties were in plain view, but I already knew. And though I looked at him and loudly whispered "DUDE! I know!", he didn't stop swatting. My biggest fear was that she'd see this and close up shop, and neither Nick nor I wanted that, but I was having a problem talking to her and trying not to listen to the Snake Charmer music emanating from her crotch. It wasn't easy.

It's like when you're out with someone new, a new friend perhaps, or even a first date, and they have a huge booger on the outside of their nose. You're too embarrassed to say "Uh, huge booger? On your nose?" so you tell yourself to look away, just look away and the problem will solve itself. Yet, for as hard as you try, you just can't avoid that your gaze will afix to the phlegmy abberation.

Yeah, this was just like that.

Unfortunately, another customer walked in a few seconds later, and the death grip her groin had on our vision was loosened.

I'd like to think that I had a crush on her before that day, but I remember that she just wasn't too bright. Not much going on upstairs, if you know what I mean. And when you can't tell that two testosterone laden teenage boys are laughing at your white panty-sheathed YumYum, it just solidifies that. But hey, if only for our benefit, I'm glad she was dumb.

I didn't talk to her this morning when I ran into her, and I'm not even sure that she recognized me. What was I going to say anyhow?

Hey, remember that time you didn't know we were staring at your white, cottony panties? That was pretty cool.

She still looked the exact same--outside of the change of attire--which is not normal, considering how much it's possible to change in 10 years. I also did something that I never do when I meet a new girl, or run into one from my past; I looked for a ring. No clue why, I suppose just curiousity.

When I got back to work, I Zabasearched her name, and you're right, it does work!

She lives 4 blocks from me, and as we all know, women love a guy that's inadvertantly, yet appreciatively stared at their crotch. I'm so money.