Dear Hamburglar,

We could probably write an entire letter discussing why you are named as such… basically, your man meat is more the hamburger than hot dog variety.  But the real reason for this letter is to tell you that you have to move.

See, you live on the same street as this new, yet to become an ex guy.  Frankly, I can’t risk the chance of running into you.  You are always so confrontational.  You never take a hint. I left the country, returned and didn’t call you.  That’s a clear sign.  If you have to come to my work to corner me for a conversation, it probably means i don’t want to talk to you…. actually, I will just confirm that I don’t want to talk to you anymore.

Everyone always asks me when they meet you if you are drunk.  Its annoying to explain that you are just slightly retarded.

Let me know when you are in a new place so I can resume pursuit of my new, sober, educated, and handsome prospect.

xo

dear stalker,

i realize that my hot 12 year old body was pretty hard to resist, especially since i styled it so well with my white scrunchies and purple hypercolor tshirts.  but your hundreds of voice messages on the answering machine, when coupled with the almost daily notes passed to me in class (intricately folded in strange triangles) was, in a word: OVERBEARING.

i thought the simple “i don’t like you” would suffice, but alas it only inspired you to pursue other strange manners of attention getting.  you paid the girl with the locker next to me to get her locker; you memorized my class schedule and followed me from class to class so i was forced to walk outside in the freezing cold to avoid you; you regularly humiliated me by identifying whoever i had a crush on and then threatened them with bodily harm if they ever expressed any interest in me.  i still remember the exhilaration i felt when david called me…then the bitter disappointment when he said that he had just called to tell me that you threatened to break all the bones in his body and mine too so i couldn’t get away. and then there was the fact that you consulted a psychic about me. not sure what THAT was about.

ah, young love.

i think the last straw was when you hid behind my house masturbating that one night…. or maybe it was a year later when i was in high school and i heard the distrubing story from a guy that played pop warner football with you about the mess you made while masturbating to my yearbook photo. hard to pinpoint the exact moment you stepped over the line, but it was somewhere in there.

hope you aren’t still hiding outside!

the object of your obsession

aaaaaa, my sweet portugeuese speaking lover.  how i miss the strange utterances you have made in my ear in broken english.  the mere week we spent unable to properly communicate using words certainly pushed us into other forms of non verbal communication and is a highlight of my trip to ireland.

I don’t know if your sexiness was perhaps enhanced by the inappropriateness of my trysting with a subordinate at work…. or your accent… or your twenty year old physique… or all of the above.

alas, it could not be a forever love, due to visa restrictions and the oddity of your brazilian ass being in dublin.  your english is weak, and my portuguese is non existent…. and your sleep walking creeped me out a bit.  but the day we spent defiling the company hotel room will always be a beautiful memory.

ps.  i did the translation of your name… i am sad to report it means “billy goat” in my country. yikes.

photographic evidence of douchbagery

dear “candidate”:

here is a transcription as best as i can recall from last night at the karaoke bar:

you: “you are so delicious!”
me: “that’s a weird way to describe a person. you aren’t going to bite me are you?”
you: “haha, you are TOO FUNNY. no, i’m not going to eat you…. well i might eat you but..”
me:  “excuse me?”
you: “you seem like a girl that wants to have sex tonight.”
me: “(awkward pause) uhhhh, i do? what makes you say that?”
you: “i am just letting you know that i’m a candidate.”
me: “wow. i have no words.”

p.s. thanks for posing so frequently with you pulling up your shirt and exposing your left nipple and abs. i now have photos i can submit to hotchickswithdouchebags.com. and no, i won’t sleep with you. and no, i don’t want to date you either. consider it over already.

dear HIM,

why did you give me such a confusing business card?  i don’t know if you want to bang me or volunteer for beach clean up with you!  or maybe you just wanted me to google your name, see how delicious you look in an armani suit, read about your celebrity sexual liaisons.

here is what i did. i emailed you at your “work” or volunteer job or whatever. and i will probably never hear from you again. but it was worth the chance of someday taking special picture of you for myself…in your calvin kleins….or no calvin kleins

ciao bello!

xo

ah, sweet sweet yoga man.  why is your presence a guarantee i will suddenly fall into a state of mental defection?

when you invited me to participate in your yoga class, i really didn’t think much of it. i have taken a yoga class before and it was fine; my coworker enthusiastically agreed to attend with me. but the day of the class, i became a neurotic mess, and my friend bailed.

internal dialogue, 7:30 am: “should i not go? i don’t want to go. HOW LAME IF I GO ALONE. except how preplanned if i go with someone, i’ll skip it, that so STUPID, i set my alarm, i SHOULD JUST GO…. i’m going. i don’t have time to do my hair, I CAN’T GO, wait people don’t curl their hair for yoga, its EXERCISE and you don’t want to look like you dressed up for him, that’s OBVIOUS, let’s see what the mirror says, hair is okay… i’m getting in the car.”

and so i went to your yoga class…but all still was not well, because YOU MAKE ME NERVOUS, and as it turns out i am terrible at yoga. all the breathing in the world could not calm my heart rate.  everytime i you came near, i felt an adrenaline rush. and the adjustments you made to my form made me both incredibly excited and terribly embarassed.

internal dialogue, 10 am: “is he touching me just to touch me? YES… no, my downward dog is terrible… i’m TERRIBLE….is he touching my thigh? is that a sexy touch or a yoga touch? STOP TELLING ME TO BREATHE, I CAN’T BREATHE WITH YOU TELLING ME TO BREATHE!”

ultimately the class devolved into a hot, sweaty mess of me, shaking like a leaf as i tried to maintain ridiculous poses.  i debated quitting, “should i look lazy or weak? lazy or weak? lazy or weak?”  but in the end i chose weak and stuck it out.  i was so exhausted by the end of the ordeal that i really couldn’t seriously consider your offer to meet up later.  i was too tired and self conscious, so i went home and took a nap.

xoxoxox

In every woman’s life, there is a time when she dates a fat guy.  Not a morbidly obese, 800 lb. “i’m on TLC network programming” kind of guy necessarily, but i think deep down all women want to prove they aren’t superficial. So in an attempt to prove they “love the person, not the image” we all find a fatty to date for a bit.  In your case, I just managed to prove that i can grow to dislike a fat guy just as much as sexy in-shape men.

Why the hell did you CRY so much? Like, you are a big dude. You work as a bouncer at clubs.  GROW A PAIR and stop sniveling.  I guess you think you can be all “sensitive” and shit since you are so physically enomous, but honestly it got really annoying listening to you sing Damien Rice songs.  Emo+Fatso=Lame-o

I almost didn’t want to tell you we were over, just to avoid the excessive crying, but figured you would literally keep calling until i gave you formal walking papers. Thanks though for helping me move… on occasion a big guy comes in handy.

xo

1) A member of your family dies and all you can think about is, “I hope he doesn’t want to come to the funeral with me.”

2) He changes his facebook status to seeking “random play.”

3) You find yourself making odd excuses for not wanting to get together like, “I really want to watch this E! True Story: Ryan Seacrest” or “I have to go to Costco today.”

4) The text messages you once exchanged so rapidly are now “putting him over his PLAN” or “getting him in trouble at work” or “interrupting him during Monday Night Football.”

5) His girlfriend gets back in town.

Dear Manorexic,

Your lack of nutrition has in fact made you completely mad.  You told your coworker that you are now dating my friend at MY work?  Complete fabrication.

I heard you are in a little trouble at work due to your idiocy in regards to minors and the opposite sex. Here’s a tip- YOU ARE A TEACHER, NEVER FLIRT WITH AN UNDERAGE GIRL.  That should shore up your problems.

Its a special kind of asshole that chooses to invent stories about their exes.  As the saying goes, shit doesn’t just happen… its left behind by assholes.

xo

dear spanky,

i was always too good for you. you had a hairy back and substandard dental care growing up.  and my grandma hated you…for no reason, but still… perhaps she had some intuiton.

thanks for the cats.  god knows why i would be possessed to have partnership in owning cats with you, but i did.  and you almost ruined them after we broke up by overfeeding them until they looked like obese furry basketballs.  thank god you came to your senses and handed them over.

xo