See Emily Play

Dear Super Hot Guy with the Hillybilly Voice and Homely Guy with the Scottish Accent from College

I know we haven’t spoken in a while.  I know we only ever spoke at all because we had that one class together and we were in the same group.  I know that you have no idea who I am, and that my Facebook friend requests were made in vain.  Despite all of this knowledge, I feel like we could really have something special.

Here’s what I’m proposing: a three-way relationship.  Well, sort of, it wouldn’t be like a traditional three-way relationship.  What I have in mind is that, Super Hot Guy, you will be my boyfriend mainly.  We’ll hold hands and snuggle and make out and go places and stare lovingly into each other’s eyes before we fall asleep in each other’s arms every night.  But here’s where you come in, Homely Guy - you have a way more appealing voice.  So what you would do is stick with me and Super Hot Guy, and the two of you would be trained so that SHG moves his mouth silently in conversation, and you speak for him from the shadows.  Get it?

In outlining this relationship, I came into another problem, which is that neither of you are that skilled at holding good conversation.  To solve this problem, I think that while SHG and I work on our physical relationship, HG can search the area for a smart, funny, interesting guy.  SFIG will whisper or write lines for HG, who will speak them while SHG mouths words.

I hope the two of you realize my sincerity and admiration for you, and that you can consider my proposal and get in touch with me to make arrangements.

Love always, 

Emily

Dear Guy I Almost Watched Get Run Over By A Train After Drinking Too Much Whiskey

First of all, I don’t like you.  I just want to make that perfectly clear.  I don’t care for your kind of shenanigans and I didn’t care to be a part of them.

I didn’t even care to be at your party in the first place.  When I found out that the location of said party had moved from a house to a little place under a bridge by the railroad tracks, I did not jump for joy - quite the contrary.  Do you think a girl like me enjoys maneuvering down a wall of rock at least two times as tall as she is?  Trick question, because the answer is a very obvious “no.”  But I’m a trooper, and my high school prom date that I hadn’t seen in a year was down there by the railroad tracks, and I knew that, so dutifully I crawled through the hole in the fence and worked my way down the rocks by stepping on some dudes’ shoulders.  And then I met you.

I suppose when one attends a bonfire under a bridge by the railroad tracks, one should expect that those specific partygoers will be drinking like hobos, but tragically, I did not.  But luckily, I caught on quickly as a train went by shortly after my arrival and you stood entirely too close to it, hooting and hollering like a hobo drinking under a bridge (which, as far as I know, you certainly could have been).  I pushed aside the nervousness you caused me and instead focused on my prom date and his guitar playing, but of course, you just had to raise the stakes.

The first thing I thought when the train whistle blew in the distance and you settled yourself in the middle of the tracks was that I had seen this happen in a film before.  The next thing I thought was “this kid is out of his mind.”  The third thought I had, and the one that lasted the longest, was “this kid is going to get run over by a train right now.”

If I could give you one compliment, it’s that you do know how to build suspense. As the train rolled into sight and your friends yelled and pleaded with you to get off the tracks, you held steadfast.  It was only at the last possible minute that you allowed your friends to pull you up and back to safety, and that takes some dramatic skill, and I commend you for that. However, it doesn’t change the fact that you are one of the douchiest douches I’ve ever seen have a near death experience.  Nothing will change that.

Love, 

Emily

P.S. I think I saw you at a concert last night wearing the same thing you wore that fateful first time I met you - cargo shorts, a wool hoodie, and a bandana covering dreads.  You should know that God’s not going to keep watching over you if you keep looking like a tool.

Dear Super Hot Homeless Guy I Saw On The Street This One Time

I miss you so, so much.  My soul aches when I think of what could have been.  Had I taken the time to speak to you instead of staring at you in awe, mesmerized by your incomparable beauty, I could have offered you a bath.  Perhaps we could have gone into the magic shop and asked the super hot guy who works there if we could use his bathroom for a moment with pure altruistic intentions, and while I ran the flaky toilet paper over your dirty face, I’d have seen that not only was I uncovering the extent of your physical beauty, but your inner beauty as well.  

We could have walked down to the coffee shop and shared a cup of hot chocolate while you regaled me with your homeless adventures, and as you were telling me of your tragic past, my nose would dip into a bit of whipped cream that I wouldn’t notice because of my enraptured state.  And with a sweet smirk, you would pause your tale to wipe it away.  I would grab your hand quickly, an instinctive response I have when things come at my face (this is thanks to my borderline autism, which you would surely understand), we would both feel lightening bolts, hear bells, and see stars.  I would look down at your hands, your beautiful hands that I had made clean, and I would know without a doubt that I had found my little slice of forever.

I’m so sorry that I cut our destiny short because me and my girl were on our way to the mall and you looked kind of shady.

With my eternal love and sincerest regret, 

Emily

Memz

I just remembered this one time in middle school when I had to pair up with this total douchebag in science class to see what our genetics together would look like on a baby.  I think he made some remark about our baby having black people lips or something, and I told him to stop or I’d stab him with my pencil.  He didn’t stop, so I stabbed him with my pencil.  When he cried to the teacher, she was all “Emily would not do such a thing.  She is a kind, smart girl.”  And he was like “look, I have clearly been stabbed in the arm with a pencil,” and she said “Stop making up lies.”  And he got in trouble.

If Tumblr were Twitter, this would end with #thingsiwouldliketorelive.  As it were, I will just add some tags and create this post with a satisfied smile.  Because seriously, he was such a dick.

Tips For Guys at Bars

Guy in Kilt:  What are you doing standing there without a man?

Me:  I’m just kind of standing here.

Guy in Kilt:  Well, you’re doing a really good job at it.

Tip:  If you’re trying to pick up a girl, compliment something other than a basic function she learned when she was a small child.

While I have fashion on my mind, I just wanted to bitch about my last fashion issue. This is a picture of me and a friend in my graduation gown.  No tricks, no lies, just me and a dude hangin’ out in my robe, no big deal.  When I got the gown, it said “one size fits all.”  I guess they meant “all” the black dudes that were in my house when we took this picture.  That’s a really specific size, college, and I didn’t appreciate it.

By the way, you can’t really see it, but that painting in the top left corner is this sweet unicorn standing in the stars.  Totally worth a mention.