Tag Archives: BRNT

No Officer, I’ve Never Seen Those Shoes Before.

Remember last year when you got in that car accident and you swore it wasn’t your fault because that other car just came out of nowhere! Like there was no way it was your fault because it wasn’t there, you swear, and seriously it just appeared out of thin air. There was absolutely no warning.

Or remember when you were dating that guy and then out of nowhere he dumped you? For absolutely no reason, you didn’t even see it coming! It was out of thin air, seriously!

Or remember last week when I went to Macy’s just to look at boots and then out of nowhere I walked out with two pairs? And I get home and I’m all shocked like, how did these bags get in my hand?! Who charged my credit card without my knowledge!?! I must have blacked out!! This purchase CAME OUT OF NOWHERE!

Or remember when you started hanging out with that chick and it was super fun because you got to be friends really quick and then out of nowhere she hits on you! You were just friends and then next thing you know there’s drama because she’s crossing the line. OUT OF NOWHERE.

Are we catching the trend here people? It is my humble opinion that nothing really comes from “nowhere.” Also it’s physics. Everything that happens or is has some kind of cause or comes from some other thing. Let’s extrapolate on the above examples.

When that car hit you, it didn’t materialize out of nowhere. Only Harry Potter can make that happen, and that’s make believe, kids. That car was there and you know it. What was not in existence was your awareness of your surroundings. Thus, it is at least partially your fault that you got hit / you did the hitting, since if you had been paying attention, you’d have seen that car. It’s an excuse.

When he broke up with you, it didn’t come out of nowhere. Sure, I guess it’s possible he changed his mind overnight that he didn’t like you anymore and that it wasn’t something he’d been thinking about for at least a couple days, weeks, months. Sarcasm alert. Hindsight is 20/20 ya’ll. Examine your relationship in the days and weeks leading up to his “random” breakup. I will bet my shoe collection (not something I do lightly) there were signs and that you ignored or pretended not to see them. Excuses, once again, and denial.

When I went to Macy’s just to look, it was clearly my intention to not purchase anything (denial). However we know me. I know me. I should have seen it coming. If I really wanted to just look I would have a) gone online (still unsafe) or b) left my monies at home (prevention). So while I must say that sales man was pretty persuasive (excuses), in the end I am also to blame for not recognizing my own habits (acceptance). Hi my name is Miss Sassy Pants and I am addicted to shoes (saved). Next.

When you met Super Awesome Chick and became friends with her, something you should have known ahead of time is this: guys and girls cannot be just friends, unless one of these is true:  a) guy and girl experimented with something more and crossed it off mutually, b) one or both of them are not single, or c) one or both are gay. That’s pretty much it. So unless one of those things is true, you can tell yourself you’re “just friends” but the reality is, there’s always an undertow of electricity for one or both of you (which you can deny or excuse any way you want…doesn’t change a thing). When ya’ll started hanging out as friends, and then “out of the blue” she’s all on your jank and you’re all “holy crap you’re like my sister, where did this come from,” take 30 seconds and review your relationship and perhaps the shock will fade.

So next time you’re hit on by someone random, hit by a random car, dumped randomly, or find yourself suspiciously in possession of shoes, check yoself before you blame the universe. Everything has a cause and an effect, and it is up to you and us (I am guilty also – see extensive shoe collection and numerous trife situations with men) to stand up to the universe and pay attention to the signs. Also I am learning to say “no thanks, not today” and utilize the concept of returning merchandise. Life savers, all.

(S)He Doesn’t Like You Part III: Red Flags Everywhere but the Beach

If there’s one thing I strongly dislike, it’s the red flag flying high at the beaches in beautiful Destin, Florida. I have been frequenting this place since my birth and if you haven’t been, you should vacation or move there before you die. It is great. EXCEPT when the stupid red flags are out! For this little girl who doesn’t really like strong waves or swimming in the surf or any of that rip tide nonsense, I really enjoy a calm green-flagged surf, and sometimes will tolerate the yellow flag. But red is trife and ruins my ability to take my little legs out to sea. But that’s life.

You know what else is life? Red flags in the dating world. Red flags wave everywhere, and sometimes it’s even the double red flag, and when it’s really bad the double red flags are accompanied by the proverbial lifeguard – whether that’s flashing red lights, barricades in the road, or a friend giving you the hell-to-the-no face. We’ve all experienced it. Today we are examining two red flags: the guy who solely communicates via mediums which do not require him to actually speak aloud to you in any form, and the guy who has excuse after excuse but seems to deliver consistently enough to keep you around and guessing.

Year’s ago (because I’m so old), there was Mr. Mute. Mr. Mute was incapable of making phone calls. This kind of man/boy makes me wonder how some dudes would have survived pre-technology time. When you had to see ladies face to face to even ask them out…when there weren’t even phones! Gasp! Anywhooz, Mr. Muteface was texting me all the time. All. Tha. Thyme. I was so flattered, googoo, whatever, I loved it. But something fishy always seemed to happen: we’d be texting about plans for the evening and I’d decide to just call, as everyone knows texting is not always the easiest way to organize a meet-up. Yet each time, he would not answer. “Hey you’ve reached Mr. Mute, I don’t speak on the phone ever, so leave me a message and I’ll text you back.” I endured this for a while though, curious and puzzled. Our next Mexpert slaps my wrists for this practice:

I think it’s always a bad sign when said guy you’re lushing over only communicates via text.  Think about it for a hot minute… it’s easy and confidential for him.  Not a big chance that his coworkers will pick up his phone and read his texts while he steps away to drain the lizard or drop the kids off at the pool.  Also just as not likely is that his bros intercept his phone while he’s out throwing back jagerbombs and getting Iced during Happy Hour.  Thus, it’s real easy for said guy to text back and forth with his multiple boo(s).  Whereas, calling… whew… that will totally get you busted.  A risk however that one is certainly willing to take if he really is that into his new boo.

Ouch. Trufe hurts, yo. But Mr. Smarty Pants knows tough love. Those of you who know him know that he is lucky to be with (for now) the totally awesomely awesome Miss Fancy Boots (she checks his tude), but let’s just say he’s gone through his share of trifeness to get to his happy place with her. He knows how the play the field. He knows what’s up with dudes not calling or answering actual calls because he’s been that guy.

So if you’re a dude, maybe you’re trying to excuse this behavior, insisting that you’re not all scum and playing the field with nine different ladies. You just don’t like talking on the phone! And you’re busy and are always in meetings or something crazy important! And texting is just so much easier! Which brings us to our second red flag:

Let’s clarify the difference between an explanation and an excuse.  One is acceptable when courting a young lady, the other is never an option.  You figure out which is which… if you need a hint I did them in order.  The difference here is as follows: an explanation for being unable to meet up implies that there is a legitimate conflict on his end AND that he understands his commitment to your previously scheduled or suggested plans and thus will propose an alternative date/time.  Think of it like an Outlook calendar invite… you can’t make the initial date/time so you “Accept”, “Decline”, or “Propose a New Time”… which do you choose?  Option 3 is the correct answer and should be the one he chooses when giving you an explanation why he can’t stare longingly into your eyes over a fine meal and bottle of wine.  The always unacceptable option is to give an excuse, which simply means he doesn’t care enough to really alter his probably changeable plans to accommodate you and/or find a new time to rectify his situation that prevents date night.  His last ditch effort to guilt you into explaining away his wavering interest in you is his attempt at “keeping his options open” or holding onto a diversified portfolio if you will because despite your always classy, sometimes sassy, but never trashy hott self, he’s probably holding a few other cards in his left hand or at least holding something…

Baaaaah, Smarty made a funny joke! High five if you get it! And ladies, who doesn’t want to be dating this guy now that you read his idea of an awesome date! I would love a man to stare longingly into my eyes and blah blah blah. Vom. How romantic. Miss Fancy Boots is a lucky lady in addition to her awesomeness.

But back to the point. Dudes: stop making excuses and get with the program. Ladies: stop letting him make excuses and get with a new program. AKA new man. Trust.

Next week, we’ll swim a little further out into the red-flagged sea of the dating world. Bring your life vests. Or at least a noodle. And as always, feedback, stories, and new Mexpert opinions welcome: vtsassypants@gmail.com.

(S)He Doesn’t Like You, Part II: Tell Me Whyee, Ain’t Nothing But A Heartache

Tell me whyee, ain’t nothing but a missssstake, tell me whyee I never wanna heeear you sayyyy, IIIIII want it thaaaaat way! Flashback to 1999 when famed Backstreet Boys released this song and went on to be nominated for 3 Grammys (!!) and a won bunch of other ridiculous awards and nonsense for this crazy catchy but annoying song. Totally not related to this post but holy crap what a flashback. I remember feuding with my bff Talulah over which was better, NSync* or Backstreet Boys. To this day I maintain that NSync was better, but now in hindsight I know that Boyz II Men were better than both. Obvs. And I still listen to them and my boyz Jagged Edge on the reg. L. O. V. E.

MOVING ON to the point of this stupid post. It’s the second addition of (S)He Doesn’t Like You! Last week, we heard a story about how MSP got dumped over a period of a couple weeks because she/I refused to see the signs. But seriously, I thought he was busy. Not my fault that I believe a man when he says he’s busy. But it is my fault for believing a man who says he’s busy 24/7 and has no time for this here total package (you’re all the total package, girls, never forget!).

Our first Mexpert (remember, Men + Expert = Mexpert, and not related to Mexican anything), who will remain nameless and anonymous so much that I am not even giving him a nickname (crazy talk!), weighs in on how guys can be SO busy ALL the time:

It is absolutely true that some guys will give excuses to “excuse” themselves from the relationship because they’re not that interested.  It happens all the time.  Guys will use the “too much work” excuse on girls, not because it’s necessarily true, but because it’s such an easy excuse.

But what if he really is busy…how do we know the difference??

Sure sometimes work is going to get in the way, or something truly came up that is a legit excuse. But get the point where he does it all the time, then he’s not that interested in you.  You want to know a secret?

YES! We LOVE secrets!

If a guy truly had something come up, and he cannot make it out with you that night, if he’s interested, he will always say “…but let’s figure out another time to meet up”.  If he just gives you the, “sorry, I’m busy,” then he’s not interested in you because he’s not making plans to see you again.  Simple as that.

You’re so right, nameless Mexpert! It’s so simple! I feel like I have stated this before in previous posts, HOWEVER isn’t it so much more credible coming from an actual man, who goes on actual dates with actual girls, and actually rejects girls on the reg. One thing I can share about this nameless Mexpert is that he has a way with the ladies. Seriously.

I believe Mr. Nameless has indeed answered our question, why men cannot just come out and say it. It still doesn’t explain why dude from my previous post and past dating life needed to shell out extra cash to feed me when he really didn’t want to see me anymore. I don’t want to share a burrito with you that badly. But it totally explains why he was so busy and unwilling to make plans too far in the future with my little planning extraordinaire self. Perhaps, and I’m just supposing here, he wanted closure as much as I did, and that last luncheon was his way of saying goodbye, albeit in a way that didn’t sound or look or act remotely like goodbye. Any Mexpert want to weigh in?

So hopefully we are on our way to proving to all you haters out there that, seriously, it’s not that he’s too busy! He really doesn’t like you! Next week we will examine additional red flags of the early dating stages, and remind everyone of the difference between and explanation and an excuse. Head’s up: One is preferred and one makes MSP say, “BRNT, try again.” Extra love points to those of you smart enough to know the difference!

Left my parka in Virginia. Which is bad since it’s FREEZING COLD here.

Oh, the land of fruits and nuts. The People’s Republic of California. It is a large state, and spans pretty much the entirety of the west coast from north to south, which you’d know unless you skipped all of elementary school. I said pretty much. So apparently when people talk about “sunny California” they actually only mean LA and/or San Diego, since San Francisco at this time of year is really more like the fictional vampire-ridden town of Forks, only with high-rises and turrible traffic.

In fact, and apparently everyone knew this except for me, it is freezing cold and foggy in San Francisco pretty much all the time. If I had a dime for every time someone told me the little anecdote about Mark Twain saying, “The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco,” I’d be able to reimburse myself for my plane ticket out here, my Hertz rental car, and the security deposit on my new fancy schmancy apartment. Seriously. And it hasn’t even been 2 weeks. Luckily for me, I had the foresight to look up regional weather patterns prior to making the trek out here so I had a couple (couple = 2) cardigans and a cute spring jacket with 3/4 length sleeves with me! Which of course all turned out to be NOT ENOUGH coverage even when worn all at the same time.

But enough complaining, because honestly I don’t even live in true San Francisco so the frigid summer temperatures don’t affect me all that much. But still. Picture my surprise/goosebumps when Roomz and I first hit fresh air off the airplane only to discover that we were both mistakenly dressed for Hawaii. Brnt. Shivering on my part began .5 seconds later. Luckily as I said, we ended up choosing to live in the east-most area that is still considered East Bay, and thanks to a little baby mountain range we are protected from the bizarre fog that literally rolls in with zero notice and takes the temps down 20 degrees in .5 seconds. It’s nice, but also sort of weird since when we leave for work in the morning, it’s hovering around 50. By lunch, I’m still needing a cardigan, but when we leave for the day in the evening, it’s hovering around 90. Weird! Hard to complain since typically I’d be drenched in sweat walking to my car in the gloriously hot and humid Richmond summers. I miss them, but not that much.

I’m adjusting well though, since the other great thing about this cute little town we picked is that it has a famous shopping district! [Poppa Pants, no need to read further.] That’s right folks, the downtown area, complete with wine bars, 20 Chinese and Thai restaurants, a couple diners, and the best mall in the world is just a short trolley ride away! Imagine my joy when I discovered that not only do we live SO close to this mecca, but I can ride a trolley to get there. Ok fine it’s just a bus that looks like a trolley, but whatevs. And BONUS, the trolley is free. You know, Miss Sassy always pinching pennies where she can. So to combat not having appropriate clothing, I of course have hit up sales looking to Californiarize my work wardrobe. It has worked gloriously thus far (on a budget, obvs) and I am thoroughly pleased. Also I never understood boots in the summer (what is the point of a “summer bootie” when I want to wear as little as possible…) and was clearly full of judgement for ladies wearing suede boots in August, but since all weather in the summer is not 100+ degrees with 100 billion percent humidity, I get it now! And will soon be adding these to my collection (I know, they’re so cute right!). Stoked. Little East Coast girl, learning some fashion/life lessons. How quaint.

And look at me keeping to my posting schedule. Happy Monday, ya’ll!

Random Compilation of Trifeness

We now break from our regularly scheduled program of discussing men 24/7 so I can complain about bad driving and scooters on the road, and perhaps a couple other things. You never know what will come up.

Here in good old Raleigh, scooters are becoming all the rage, and not just in the metropolitan area. People out in the ‘burbs are also being responsible citizens of Earth and lowering their carbon footprint by purchasing and making scooters their number one choice for transporting themselves to and fro. It is so wonderful. I love environmental responsibility and lowering one’s carbon footprint. Woohoo. I have a low emission/fuel efficient vehicle so high five to me, also. Here’s the difference: mine goes regular speeds (and vrooms and purrs quite nicely. Thanks BMW.) and yours does not, seeming to max out at 30mph. The problem with this is that somehow, Mr. Scooter thinks it is appropriate for him (or her) to ride right in the middle of the lane, leaving a long row of crawling real vehicles following irritatingly behind. 30mph would not be a problem except that greater than 90% of roads in suburban areas have speed limits greater than 30mph, and I am very impatient and like to maximize travel efficiency, not to mention drive my car like it’s meant to be driven. I have made up my mind that next time this happens, I will, without reservation or guilt, honk my horn until he or she moves over. And if that person is upset with me, I’ll wave and smile as I drive by. Don’t drop your groceries, cupcake!

Remember in college (so long ago…) when everyone was hungover and unshowered on Saturday and/or Sunday mornings (at a minimum)? For the ladies, it was hair up, hat on, maybe a headband or bag over your head, huge tshirt and sweatpants, flip-flops or Ugg boots. For dudes it was disheveled probably greasy hair, hat, grungy tshirt from the previous night, sweatpants and those moccasin fuzzy slipper things that are super comfy. For both, it included a face depleted of all color while we slowly recover from the ridiculousness that occurred the previous evening/earlier that morning. And being seen in public like this wasn’t really a big deal because everyone else looked just as trife as you. In fact, typically if you are showered and made up prior to mid-afternoon, you are very out of place.

Last Sunday, I was reminded that things aren’t like that in the real world of real people and no college. We went to a little eatery to get some yummy lamb pitas to-go. Upon entering said eatery, I found myself wishing they delivered. Since it was close to 1pm, people were there enjoying a nice Sunday lunch. Families, a group of girlfriends, couple of old elderly couples, etc. We walk in, clad in workout shorts and tshirts, me with a headband covering as much hair as possible, Roomz clutching a bottle of Gatorade, all of us probably pale and ghastly looking. MAJOR judgement faces from the cute showered group of girls in the corner. I mean just oozing. I was THIS close to walking up to their table and saying, “So what, you’ve never been hungover before?” and maybe taking one of their french fries and walking away with a flick of my pony tail. In my head it was funny, but in real life I remained sitting down with the closest air vent blowing on my face.

It has once again been reinforced that IT is the greatest career choice in the entire world. Sarcasm alert. Last night, I had the honor and privilege of coming in to work at 2am to mess around with some servers. Too much IT speak to explain it so I won’t. All you need to know is that some work cannot be done during regular business hours, and there’s no IT fairy who magically fixes things at night. Real people stay up until 2am on a Tuesday (and not at TOTS), come to the office (which turns the a/c off at night because we are a green building…woohoo) and do work. Until 3:45am. And then come back for an 8am meeting. At least this time no one walked up to my cube this morning and said, “Gosh, Miss Sassy, you’re looking rough today!” Men in IT have such tact and know all the right things to say to really make me feel great about myself. Warm fuzzies all around!

Since this is a crazy random post (hence the title), I’ll go ahead and share this gem: I LOVE these. Like, I keep the page open all day every day and will be stalking them until they go on sale and/or I get another coupon from DSW. Trust.

No, I do not want to be your magicians assistant but thanks for asking.

I am very excited to share the myriad of trifeness that occurred this past weekend. It began when Queenie flew down to good old R-town on Friday and we partied like it was 1999 with some pals from work.

So after a lovely dinner just us gals, we ventured to Natty Greene’s, where apparently it was “Be as Trife as Possible Night”. We are sitting at the bar with our friends, I am telling a story about something not important but probably extremely funny, when I hear, “Excuse us, I know you’re in the middle of something but we want to ask you something.” Strike one. Of so many more.

Of course I stop talking and we give these two young men our attention. My first thought is that they are sort of cute but a little skinny for my taste. My second thought (before they started speaking again) was that maybe they could redeem themselves for interrupting me by having something cute or interesting to say.  “My friend here believes in magic,” the taller one says, “like the kind with magicians and rabbits and hats and stuff. I think it’s all bullshit. So we want to know, what do you think? Is magic real?” Strike two. THIS is what you interrupted me for? Oh but wait! It gets better. Queenie and I both agree, magic like that is all BS, all an illusion, and can always be explained. Hearing our answer, the shorter one pipes up and says he can prove that magic is real. At this point I am so tired of these guys I don’t even want to be nice or polite, I just want to walk away but the bar is crowded and I don’t want to give up my seat. He asks us if we have two dollars. We don’t. No one around us does. Shockingly, he finds two dollars in his pocket, shows them to us, and then folds them in fourths in a ball in his hand. Is anyone else cringing? I was, and was not taking pains to hide my displeasure with him and his money trick. He holds his hand out to me and tells me to blow on it. Blow on his hand. Like I am a 5 year old girl at the carnival. Strike three. I give him the not-amused eyebrow raise (not the cute smirky eyebrow raise) and blow because he’s being a pain in my tush. Then he proceeds to futz with the two dollars in his fist until he’s produced a $5 bill. OMG! Magic exists! EXCEPT then the other two dollar bills peek out from behind the $5, thus ruining his trick and his point. Strike four. And hilarious, something we also take to pains to hide. At this point, I deem it appropriate to turn around on my stool putting my back to both of them and continue my conversation with Queenie.

This definitely is in the book of worst pick-up lines/stories ever. I mean I can’t even explain how awkward, not cute, and irritating it was. Dudes: if you are irritating me, it’s not a good sign, and you should probably move on to a more drunk chick who might confuse your annoying-ness for attractiveness. But wait! It’s not over yet. [Right?! Some just don’t know when to call it quits.]

An hour or so and two or three beers later, same bar, same friends, these same two dudes approach us again. AGAIN. And once again interrupt our conversation with other, cuter boys. Strike five. “Hey listen,” says the taller one, “We were totally joking with that magic stuff earlier, we just wanted an excuse to talk to you ladies.” I laughed out loud because a) this is not news and b) it does not matter that they are admitting this now and c) it is just sad and hilarious. They both hold out hands to introduce themselves, trying to be cool in the face of my laughter. Their names might as well have been Dumb and Dumber for all the attention I paid to them and their limpy handshakes. Then the shorter one says, “I mean you two are the prettiest ones in here, of course we wanted to talk to you!” This is just ridiculous. After all of the magic jank, they think they can still charm us into a little flirty convo.  Queenie and I exchange that glance that only girls have that says are-you-freaking-kidding-me-could-this-get-any-worse. Their parting trifeness included using the word “seriously” way too many times, and pointing out their table in case we changed our minds later. Strike six. Sure! If I suddenly get amnesia I’ll let you know. And apparently later in the evening, one of them followed Queenie to the bathroom and waited for her outside the door (creepy and not cute guys, do not follow any girl to the potty, especially if she has shut you down greater than or equal to one time in one evening). When she came out, he asked her about the other boys we were hanging out with. As in, “are you serious with those guys? They’re so not as cool as me.” Strike seven and eight.

Un-freaking-believable and hilarious. Dudes, please read carefully and learn. Luckily, the evening got infinitely better after that trifeness. Stay tuned for more from Nascar-bomb weekend, each day gets better ya’ll!

If he needs more Midol than you…there might be a problem.

Boys boys boys! Who is shocked that this post will be about boys? If you answered yes and actually meant it, you should stop reading immediately and go have your head checked. Seriously folks, I am nothing if not consistent.

Here’s the background story for today’s foreground story: My dear friend and colleague, Queenie, has been “seeing” this guy for a good number of months (this is not a heading-towards-marriage-and-babies thing, but a good time nonetheless) and I’ll be honest and say she’s been struggling a bit. Now, Queenie is a hot chick. She is tall and gorgeous with an adorable/sexy/cute haircut, is always put together, is super smart and very good at her job, and on top of it all has a bangin’ personality complete with occasional snarky comments and sarcasm. She is the total package. Her momma done raised her right. Bottom line is she’s not the quiet, shy girl who gets walked all over by dudes. So. Dude she’s hanging with is good looking, knows it, is also smart (unconfirmed), and has a semi-decent personality (unconfirmed), and perhaps has other decent qualities about him which Queenie deems worthy. I have not actually met him so suffice it to say, she is interested enough to spend her time with him. He, on the other hand, seems interested enough to spend some of his time with her, and the rest of the time he finds it appropriate to blow her off.  I will now dissect all the reasons why this is trife.

RUDE. A la my home girl Bon Qui Qui. Miss Sassy says it is RUDE (pronounced with less emphasis on the “D”..almost like you’re just saying “RUE”) to cancel on your girl (or anyone for that matter) in excess of 3 times per every 5 times you hang out. I just made that up. But ladies, if your man of the moment is making plans with you and cancelling more than half the time for who-cares-what-reason, it is time to say goodbye. Say it with me now: Buh-bye. Go find you a man who will make plans and stick to them.

The reason: Yes, sometimes he’s bizy gurl and he gotta be at work late makin that dolla, yaknowwhatimsayin! Fine. Excusable excuses include: death in the family (ish is serious, have a heart), illness in the family if it is major, ie cancer, heart attack, etc. If he is all “my cousin has chicken pox, I can’t hang out,” that is triflin. Other reasons are case by case but I maintain, if he is into you he will sacrifice anything and everything to keep a date with you! You are hot girl, trust. INexcusable excuses include the following: He’s in a weird mood. I’ll type it again in case any of you had my reaction when Queenie shared this with me: He’s in a weird mood, as in “been moody lately.” Tri-fa-lin. I am the girl. I am allowed to be moody because I have a monthly menstrual cycle that jacks up my hormones and makes me cry at the drop of the hat and yell at everyone for anything. And if asked what my reason is for being such a queen biotch, I am “moody.” Luckily modern medicine provides Midol, Advil, and heating pads to decrease the chance that I fly off the handle at any given moment. But you, dear gentlemen, have no excuse. And if you are “moody” then PLEASE make something better up for crying out loud! There is not a chance in our Lord’s house that I will ever believe you don’t want to hang out with me because you are “moody” and “feeling off this week.”  At least be a little creative.

If a dude blows me off, this tells me a few things, but mostly it tells me that you’re not that into me. If this is not the message you want to send me, then you should stop blowing me off. It is really quite simple. If we chat every Monday and make plans to, say, watch LOST every week on Wednesdays at 9pm (DVR, no commercials, duh), and then every Wednesday at 8:30pm, you TEXT me (trife…man up and make the phone call) and say something along the lines of “hey [insert cutesy name here], I’m not feeling well, rain check? :)” this is what I see: “hey [name which makes me vom], I found something better to do, don’t really care if we hang out again but I’m half-way trying to not be a jerk.” Smiley’s in texts like that are useless and typically ignored, as there is nothing cute or worth smiling about in this situation. Alternate versions of this text read something like this “…[cutesy name], something came up…” or “…my mom is surprise visiting me…” or “I had to work late, I’m exhausted…” All of these say the same thing: found something better to do. What’s even better is when, later that very Wednesday evening when you could be hanging out, he sends something super-cheesy like “miss you [cutesy name], can’t wait to see you at work tomorrow 😉 …” E-NUF with the cutesy emoticons and wink faces.

If you’re a dude, you might be rationalizing at this point: things come up! Seriously, my mom did surprise me, you don’t know my mom! It was a once-in-a-lifetime concert! My boss is crazy and made me work until 10! Answer: I. Don’t. Care. It is my experience (either through my legit own experiences or through my homegirls’ experiences through which I live vicariously on occasion) that none of these excuses are really real. Sure, you’re mom could have surprised you. Yes it was an awesome concert you got last minute tickets to.  But what about the last time you blew me off, and the time before that, and the time before that? If it’s a pattern, it’s a problem. And as the wise Poppa Pants has been saying since I was 3, it’s what you do, not what you say. He’s right folks, and let’s be real and acknowledge that I don’t admit to that fact for just anything.

If you absolutely must break a date, the polite and acceptable alternative is to reschedule, instead of just canceling with a vague promise to call or text at a vague later time to make another vague and easily cancel-able plan.

Bottom line: be consistent, if you like me/her/whoever. Do not make plans with me, then decide you don’t like frizzy hair and cancel at the last minute. Because in a hot second, I/she/whoever will drop you and move on to the next [better looking] [smarter] [funnier] dude who thinks and knows that we are fabulous and sassy, and doesn’t mind my frizzy hair.