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I know I was jilted because of my freckles, at least once.
Two, maybe four, times for my hair.
They always said they liked short girls but when you’re trying to get laid, that’s probably the thing to say.
Let me reiterate. Air Force John was a douche. His hobbies included cuddling, talking about a possible mental breakdown, and watching Wifeswap. I give him respect for getting drunk with a priest.
Any insecurity you have is the exact
reason you’ve been jilted.
Trust me, it was the gargantuan zit you had on your face that killed it
for him.
This other guy, he fished all day and called himself self-employed. He lived off his father and got fat. His picture was super old, which led to unbearable disappointment. His hobbies included swatting away giant roaches that were on the booth I was sitting in and spouting on endlessly about his political viewpoints, which were not favorable to Hil (I set him straight).
Seriously, don’t make excuses for him.
It’s all you.
One guy was a decent date aside from his gaunt appearance and bulging bug eyes. I’m not sure what his hobbies were because the two times I saw him, I kept thinking of words that rhymed with his last name (Ooouly). I didn’t come up with anything. Another guy ate a raw steak he did not want (spent the whole dinner grimacing and choking it down despite my helpful suggestion that he could send the plate back), ate all foods with his hands, and got hammered enough that I drove myself home in his car. I didn’t want to know what his hobbies were, but clearly he was breaking up with me in the form of my breaking up with him.
It never matters who’s actually done the jilting.
It’s your terrible foot odor and your misaligned posture that did it in.
You’re not graceful, as evidenced in your many, many injuries resulting
from painful, full-scale fall-downs.
This is all your fault.
I felt trapped in a parking lot downtown after a so-so dinner with this one dude. Nice, but no thanks. His hobbies included sticking his cold dead fish tongue down my throat and not anticipating that when kissing a girl, you should keep in mind that her mouth is not the size of a horse’s. Don’t worry. For his efforts, I bit him.
All of which bring us back you (and me).
I support the anti-bullshit; you’re not that pretty.
If you think you are satisfied in your relationship, I suggest looking at
the cellulite in your thighs one more time.
It could be the end.
Warning: pathetic girl-talk ahead.
I’m broken again and tired and waiting for a ding from my cell phone to validate my existence. The ding has come daily, but still I wait. This could be the day he doesn’t ding me. I think we can all agree the only thing worse than thinking you’ve lost interest in a man is when the man loses interest in you. I told him I wanted to see him this weekend. His reply: I’m sure we can manage that. This might be the most painful rejection I’ve ever heard.
This was most painful rejection besides that time that guy left the country without telling me or the time that guy told me he had no affection to give me or that time that guy said, “wanna cuddle?” or that time that guy told me he was “laid back,” which translated into his being lazy.
Another one shall bite the dust because there is no other option. I’ve read ahead. The story of us ends. For real. Soon. But not before I make the biggest fool out of myself ever. Or making the biggest fool of myself since all of the above-mentioned rejection menz.
Oh well, fuck it. This is the best part of love.
I’m not sure anyone will necessarily think this is funny but it amused me. If you want a good time, go back to your old emails and read them. Share them.
To: MedicatedLady
From: Poeticgrin
Date: 2/21/05
MEMO: It has come to my attention that some members of this staff feel that it is professional to wear denim garments below their waists. This behavior must come to an abrupt stop. It is counterproductive and sends the wrong message to the childrens. If I catch any of you wearing these denim garments, I shall strip you then and there and let you feel my power.
To: MedicatedLady
From: Poeticgrin
Date: 8/18/04
On Tragedy (a Haiku)
Weed in a taco
Broken swings, asses, and dreams
Satan’s spawn inside
To: MedicatedLady
From: Poeticgrin
Date: 12/2/08
(Bryan’s poem to my/our then-boyfriend (who was in the Air Force but is not Air Force John, this guy was just a “Luke”), who later left the country without telling me/us)
Dearest Airman,
How I want to fly with you,
to say your name with a heavy “K” sound
resonating in my throat long after
I’m silent.
I am air sick
love sick
love struck
lightheaded
from this quick
change
in altitude.
*An email exchange between Bryan and me concerning the matter of a straight man.* Please note, we are usually completely off the mark about straight men but we have conversations like this all the time.
From MedicatedLady to Bryan: What a crybaby Air Force John is. Seriously. If he’s blowing me off, he is doing it in the strangest of ways. I am honestly perplexed. It’s probably just coming down to I’m not giving him the nookie. He’s friendly enough and kept the conversation going for hours (texting of course). He invited me to cuddle. I considered it. I said, really? He said yes. He says, I’m going to bed (he said this before as a way to get me to hurry up and come over). So I say, So are you saying I’ve missed you or to get trucking? And then he says, no, you can come cuddle w/ me. And I paused for a moment and said okay. Then I brushed my hair for him. And then I text, will see you in a few minutes. And then he says, can we reschedule? And I say, ouch, but okay. He says he’s been up since 5 and is tipsy. I say, okay. 10 minutes later. He says, I don’t want to offend you. I say, it’s all good. 20 minutes later. He says, I’m afraid I will make a move. I say, moves aren’t necessarily bad things but it just depends if you can be swatted away when it’s time to cool it. So he says, Nope (smiley face) and I say, well then there you go. 10 minutes later. He says, I’m in my underwear. I say, Um…good? He says, yeah. I say, well, underneath my pjs I’m wearing underwear too. End conversation.
Bryan’s response/translation: I think he was horny, and then he wanted sex, and he invited you over, and then he felt guilty, and then he was horny again, and then he just masturbated.
- If you have to use Aspercreme on sore muscles, wash and rewash your hands. Once or twice is not good enough, because should the icy-hot fire somehow get around your what-not area, it will burn for hours and you will be miserable.
- If you haven’t already done so, just get on with it.
- Eat chips and chocolate.
- Drink regular Coke and Pepsi.
- Go to your bathroom stall at work and take out the book you’ve been trying to finish for weeks and go ahead and read a couple of pages per trip. You can make special trips. This will make you especially happy with feelings that you have duped everyone.
- Don’t hesitate to sleep. Defend your sleep privileges to the death. If you have to tell the Gays they are too stressful to be around right now, so be it. You’re their Princess; they will surely forgive you.
- Lay out.
- Jump in random pools. Or at least imagine jumping in pools irrationally over a period of no less than 5 hours of constant “I should jump in a pool” loops running in your head.
- Find an Air Force John. He will not have the energy to blow you off. He will want to cuddle with you. Except that maybe he only responded because he’s intoxicated and watching “WifeSwap” when he’s a 26-year-old military man. Anyhow, he will respond if prompted and offer distraction, if not frustration and perplexation.
- Never mind if “perplexation” is a word. It should be. Own it.
- Even if you know you will have to write about it again sometime, keep your darkness at bay. It’s the only way to keep from crying racking sobs every day.
- Do not think about your dead aunt.
- Do not think about your impending summer program.
- Do not worry about tan lines.
- Recognize raisins are good for you.
- Stay conscious for only mere minutes of time until drifting off into something as close to peace as you get.
Oh, Air Force John.
How you’ve helped me this week.
My time of need and all.
You have provided ample distraction from real-life tragedy.
Your silence is better than your hi’s or highs.
Perhaps I would have liked to consider you a distraction in the flesh but no matter.
Oh, Air Force John.
For you, I’d avoid eating Doritos two hours before seeing you.
For you, I’d not resent leaving a third of my peppermint mints at your abode, not to mention two of my bobby pins.
For you, I’d diet.
For you, I’d murder Bryan’s murderous interpretation of me as sad.
Oh, Air Force John.
We have something oh so special.
I do not have your cell phone number or your email address anymore.
I knew what would happen.
But oh, Air Force John, to say, hi again.
This is what I forgot
I make things intimate
Putting my hand on a man’s face
A man’s neck
I like the feeling of feeling him
Without fail he closes his eyes
I imagine the only thing on his mind is the touch of my skin on his
The weight and tremor of my hand
I think he is content
I’m fulfilling some need he has
Some need I have
When he reciprocates I gasp and sigh simultaneously
I hope it’s not noticeable
I haven’t forgotten
I never knew he might like the feeling of feeling me
I finally understand
what he meant
the satisfaction
the gratitude
the appreciation of raw lips
not from intentional, self-inflicted cracks and teeth marks
but from another’s lips and skin
your lips and skin
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
Your Sympathies: