Meet "Karen." Karen writes for a website that is not this one. She met "Joe" on an online personals site, and they exchanged a few e-mails trying to set up a drink. He called her "Sparky," was a little slow getting back to her, and made an excuse about illness and religious obligations — which he tries make again below. Where the emails were unsigned, I've prepended the senders' names for clarity. I've also cut some of the initial correspondence in the interests of space, but here's where things get good. Or rather, crappy:

Karen: My parents are in town this weekend, and then next week I'm heading to DC, which leaves me with only this upcoming Monday night free for a drink in the next week and a half. Any chance that works for you and we can meet before this becomes an epic tale of two ships?
____________
Joe: I dunno. What about tonight?
_____________
Karen: Tonight I'm working on a deadline, alas.
_____________
Joe: On what? Finish it up already.
_________________
Karen: You're impatient for a guy who kept me waiting two entire weeks between the first and second email. It's an oped for [website] about the whole Polanski business. And I just started.
__________________

[an hour later]

Karen: Soooo... you're busy googling me now, I guess? Let me know what you think, and if we can make Monday happen...
__________________
Joe: Hey...High holidays and sick, remember?

And no, I am not googling you. Should I? I don't know your last name, remember?

As for Monday, I'll check my schedule. I suggested tonight because it seemed like a better strategy.
____________________
Karen: Yeah yeah. High holidays and sick only accounts for the second week, Sparky.

You certainly could google me with what you have now. I think "Karen [website]" would do the trick. It's an unusual spelling. But if you do it, you have to give me fair access and spill something that will make you google-able. After all, you're going to get over 20K hits on me once you track down my last name...
____________________
Joe: I'm not googling you. It's no fun when someone WANTS you to do it. Also, where is your creativity? You are calling me by the nickname I gave you?

tsk tsk
__________________
Karen: Hmmmm... you're contrary, in possession of extraordinary impulse control, or YOU HAVE A GOOGLEABLE SECRET YOU DON'T WANT ME TO FIND? Or could it be... all three? Only time will tell.

And now you want me to give you your own nickname on top of it all? Patience, Grasshopper.
____________________
Am I patience, or Grasshopper? And if you are on deadline...how do you have so much time to write?

:)Joe
_____________________
Karen: I don't. In fact, Grasshopper, you and your impertinent banter are distracting me from my socially important work. Way to go. I suggest you busy yourself clearing your schedule for Monday evening instead.
______________________
Joe: By all means, we all know how deeply relevant the Roman Polanski case is. Personally, I'll forgive a lot from the man who gave us Chinatown. She's my sister, My daughter! My Sister!

Just Fuckin fantastic!

I'll let you know about Monday.
________________________
Karen: I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt on this, but with a bit of unsolicited advice: It's best not to make rape or even rape-adjacent jokes via email with someone who's never even heard your tone of voice, and so finds it hard to interpret it in print.
______________________
What? That wasn't a joke. I was quoting from one of the greatest and most fucked up endings of all time.

But now this feels weird, so lets' just call the whole thing off, okay?

Best of luck!

Joe
____________________
Whoa. Grasshopper. Take a deep breath, mmmkay? The part I wasn't sure how to take (aka, how much you were joking about) was whether you were in the camp of folks who'll really forgive Polanski anything b/c he makes awesome movies, or if you were mocking those that make that argument. Which, obviously, I think is a socially relevant question, otherwise I'd be having drinks with you right now instead of staying up trying to churn out coherent prose at 11:30PM.

You seem like someone who likes to debate ideas, so I'd be bummed if you're this easily spooked, but I guess there's not much I can do about it if you are. If you change your mind, I'm still free Monday.

-Karen
__________________

[the next night]

Well,

Here is the thing. All I ever talk about is rape jokes. That's it. It's a weird neurological condition. It has been hard on my family, but me most of all. But if you are okay with that, let's meet for a drink. I am not sure about Monday though.

Joe
______________________

[three days later]

So... you respond to my concern about rape jokes not by clarifying what you meant in the first place but by making a joke about rape jokes? Klassy. I think perhaps you were right - let's quit while we're ahead.

-Karen

P.S. - Since you obviously did not google me, here's the piece I was working on Wednesday night: [link redacted]
_______________________

How long did you think of writing that? Dial it down. I am not your enemy. You are your enemy, here I think.

And no, I did not read your work. I prefer to not read people's professional work before I meet them. And since I won't be meeting you, it seems a waste of my time, no? I also avoid serious conversations about rape before I meet someone. But for the record, since I have had to be a de facto counselor for friends who have been sexually assaulted, i can say emphatically I am against it. The Polanski case has a lot more complications to it, though, not the least of which include judicial misconduct, and a victim who desperately wants the case to go away.

So let's just say we've both had the last word here, so we can move onto exchanges with other people that have a future.

Joe
___________________

Wow. Narcissistic much? I rolled my eyes when I got your response a few days ago, then went on with a pretty busy weekend until this afternoon, when I remembered that I hadn't responded to you and that you might still think we were trying to have plans. Hope it doesn't break your heart that I didn't obsess about you all weekend.

For the record, I have no idea what the fuck you mean about me being my own enemy, but I'm pretty clear you're not mine - you're just a jackass more interested in telling me to "dial it down" about my life's work than he is in actually being real for a minute about a very real subject, and would rather make lame, passive-agressive jokes than take even the time it takes to say "maybe this is too serious a conversation to have over email."

I'm sure you'll take this email in some way that convinces you that you're far superior to me. Enjoy that feeling.

-Karen
_____________

Please stop writing me. I think I've made it clear I am not interested. I do not want to have to block you or report you. Please leave me alone.

Joe

All typos have been left unedited, because, well, it's just more fun that way.

I know that it has been a while since you have heard from me but I just wanted you and your readers know that CockBibs are Alive and Kicking! Sorry for dissappearing on you and your readers like that, I know how you all looked forward to your weekly rampaging bitch sessions about me and product.

It's funny, I took the time to read ALL the comments and I noticed that one of you readers took it upon themselves to create a definition for CockBib and a bunch of your readers co-signed this dumb ass definition! Lets just say I am not amused! I DEMAND that your readers go back to the urban dictionary and give that definition the Thumbs Down! Its like over 2000 Up Votes! I mean, what the Hell? Are you guys gonna start burning Cockbibs next in protest of them or throwing paint on then. I am sure your clever readers will find some new and innovative way to desecrate my bibs.

I guess he's trying to tell us that he prefer we spit on, rather than talk shit on his CockBibs.

Look, its not like I am selling Gangster Rap, Fur Coats or clubbing baby seals. Cut me a Friggen Break! I am really pissed about this urban dictionary shit! I did not work this hard to create a product just so that you and your readers can poke fun at it and misrepresent it! Alot of time and care goes into what I do and I happen to have a great product, as it turns out is more people buy it as a Gag Gift than a Blowjob Bib but Fuck It, Whatever! Its still funny as hell!

Tracie, I have no problem with you but it is your responsibilty to fix this!

He's right. It is my responsibility to fix this. I can't believe that the Urban Dictionary definition of cockbib ("A person who whines excessively about a common, everyday occurrence that the vast majority of people have no trouble handling or do not even recognize as a problem") is hovering around 2500. It should be way more. So go over and vote for it today!

What's a man — and a a feminist man, at that — to do when he wants to read free content about discrimination by clothing stores against disabled people only to find out that it appears a website written by women with the intention of attracting and provoking discussion among other women? If you are this guy — the son of "two lesbian parents" who "would describe himself as a feminist" — then you take it upon yourself to school said website about the True Meaning Of Feminism...and why Pot Psychology's Rich Juzwiak is the token guy. (Correction: He is the token gay.)

From your post By hortense, 3:45 PM on Sat Jun 13 2009:

"Just in case their racism, sexism, and general awfulness hasn't been enough to turn you away from Abercrombie & Fitch after all these years, here's another glimpse of the inner workings of the horrible store."

Being a male raised by two lesbian parents who would describe himself as a feminist, i find it very, very sad that charges of sexism stem from Jezebel: celebrity, sex, fashion for women

As if the information in the "look policy" of A&F isn't bad enough, i find that the article was linked to a site that wilfully [sic]and communicatively [sic] excludes 49% of the earth's population.

And that the outrage (which is justified) that is coming out against A&F from your site/company is a great thing.

but your "Jezebel Team" is showing only 1 male out of 10 possible positions. A 1/10th ratio is typically more than a mathematical variance or anomoly [sic]. Is Rich your "token" male? or would it just be a rich the riveter, yes we can in reverse hiring move? or is it that he is the only qualified male that you could find? or even applied?

If it were the other way around, it would be sexist as hell, right? Hell, I would see it as sexist. More to the point is that so would you. Even more to the point would be: do you see your own situation at Jezebel as sexist?

Sadly, that is the whole point of feminism: to make and allow for all to be equal, to cherish and embrace the differences equally, and to see the intelligence, strength, and honor in all people equally. Your own site has failed there in your hiring practices.

As your post shows, the information on A&F's hiring/employments standards are up to the naked eye of the public media (which it damn well should be). My question for you is this:

Will you put yourself in that light? Why 90% female staff? why exclude good information (like the Riam/A&F story) from men by having a site that is "for women"? does "for women" mean "not for men" to you?

even a private e-mail back would be nice.

regards,

jon carlson

The missive was, of course, delivered the flowery font seen in the screengrab below.


To which we, of course, have but one response:

[Special thanks to Amanda Marcotte for the video]

Now of course they were "just friends." But they were seniors, meaning anyone moderately wealthy was on some fancy trip somewhere, and so if we had been Emily, in our final year at one of those schools where no one is not moderately wealthy, marooned in our hellishly "festive" hometowns with no one but Brian and our pent-up rage directed people with legacies of controlling cartels and excelling at winter sports, the fact that Brian had been "selfish and immature" in high school would in no way serve as any sort of deterrent to us fucking him. Nor would the fact that he was sleeping with two other girls at the time... because we have no standards.

Anyway, in other words, if we had been Emily, we would have just slept with Brian the night after the last exam, no longing glances or uncertainty-stoking makeouts necessary, and we would have never received this fantastic specimen of What Happens When Your Moderately Ridiculous High School Boyfriend Spends Three And A Half Years At A Liberal Arts College Only To Have You Refuse Him On Winter Fucking Break.

Dearest E,

First, let me apologize for this letter. Its melodramatic sentiments are perhaps unfounded given the nature of our relationship, but perhaps not. I would try to talk to you in person, but I am afraid i can never find the right words.

I have always wished to be a more patient person. Patience, like many other things in my life, comes and goes from me as she pleases. When she does decide to visit me, she is usually accompanied by her less noble companion: indifference. To not care about something, means you can be eternally patient with it. Unfortunately (for me at least) the human condition is such that "caring" about things inescapable. It's times like these I wish i was a monk.

I had a hard time falling asleep last night. You and many other thoughts of things that make me anxious would not leave my mind. That is why I am writing this even though I don't think its the best idea.

I, like you are, am unsure of what the connection we have is and where it comes from. Since it has been on my mind, I have been considering the possibilities of this connection. This is something which I am hesitant to speak of because since we both are in the dark on what it is, it could be that it is different for each of us... but whatever.

It could be that after being single for a while (though it really hasn't been that long, it just feels like it) I am starting to wish for the comfort that comes with having a girlfriend. Perhaps you have considered this idea as you split with Ryan around the same time as I did with Michelle... But if this were true, then our connection would be false, so I don't think thats it.

You know all to well that lately, I have been in the company of many different girls. There is a theory about men who seek out many women. It says that these men fit neatly into two different groups: those who seek out many women in the hope of finding one woman in all of them, and those that seek the knowledge that comes with being so close with so many. I don't really know where i stand, probably because I am too young and haven't really been with that many women. Lets say I am somewhere in the middle.

This may seem like a digression, but here is my point: You are different. I do not consider you a part of my quest for either knowledge or the woman in all women. When I am alone with you, all other girls disappear from my mind. I can't tell you what a relief that is for me. Maybe thats what my pull towards you is, my relief from the "quest".

But still, I am not sure that it is entirely it.

There was a time that we were in love. Does something as deep and complex as love ever really disappear completely? What is love?...Don't get freaked out, this isn't a declaration of love for you. Though i am sure that i love you in some way or another... I suppose that like all human emotions, love has different levels. Which one we are on (if any) and what that means i do not know. But I do know that I would like to be on it with you for the little time that we have to be with each other.

And so I have told you what I want. That wasn't so bad.

...

I have a feeling that you like Jeff way more then you let on. You complain all the time about how he doesn't pay attention to you, and that means one thing: that you seek his attention.

I feel that you are keeping me on the metaphorical leash, intentionally or otherwise. Why else would you look at me the way you do?

You know that I could care less about you and other guys. Be with as many as you like as long as you kiss me like you did the other night! For me, being with different girls reaffirms the possibilities of life. Everyone is different after all... But I think this idea is something of an impossibility for you. You're quest is unknown to me, but I can't imagine that it involves being with many different men. (BTW I believe that being with one person is also reaffirming in a different way. You are good to think the way you do, it makes you shine.)

And so it is time for you to decide what you want... for once. (ha!)

To clarify: I cherish your friendship. I think you are an incredible girl, unlike any I've ever met. No matter what happens i will still love you as a friend, but i think it is about time we cut out the games and be honest with one another. If you think it better to be friends, then stop being so provocative around me. I am losing sleep after all.

I can only hope that you realize that I am, unquestionably, the best choice.

Let me know what you think. And again, I am sorry about the serious tone of this letter. I take comfort in knowing that you know I am not so serious a person.

Submissions? Email crap@jezebel.com, and please visit Crap The Blog for our forthcoming reviews of three new works of chick lit that revolve around how the internet has totally laid waste to this whole stupid "love" concept.

Anyway, Barthes wrote a book about how lame and maudlin and gross, if not altogether bonerkilling, the words with which people have been taught to express the desire to fuck one another tend to be, and it would be hard to disagree with him if in the intervening decades the average romantic utterance had not seemed to shrink commensurately with the amount of space on a silicon wafer necessary to store it. Could Barthes have known this? Could he have imagined the era in which the subtle and highly-targeted accumulation of photogenic and/or accomplished Facebook friends would become a legitimate courtship strategy? (No seriously, some guy I met at a bar the other night told me his friend had read all about it in a self-help book about "how to make your ex jealous." Reader, I Facebook-friended them both.)

In any case, it is times like ours that can drive the most hardened unsentimental romance skeptics among us to greet a sudden break in the routine — a separation, a breakup, a vacation, an impossible situation with an Argentinean journalist, whatever — as a call to express one's sincerest wishes and most embarrassingly heartfelt feelings. Like, at this point that can mean anything from "Why are we thus divided having kissed? Why are we yet two bodies and not one?" to "yo babe i am sorry i didnt share more of the coke on saturday, i miss you."

Which brings me to Melanie's moment of solitude, a semester abroad in France wherefrom she composed a classic, safe-distance, tender communique to her old hookup-buddy James, even going through the trouble of sending it through the mail so that it might reach him in a mode unhaunted by business school projects and porn. Now, I am not sure if it is more of a female thing to compose such an uncharacteristic missive in the absence of a once-ambivalently loved one, but I do know that one could compile a book alone of the totally amazing responses Crap Email recipients have received to what they assumed to be harmless — and indeed, selfless! — expressions of fondness. (Because once you get a dude alone with a laptop and his (self-professed lack of) feelings, whoa.)

Only James, however bothered to consult the DSM, quote every single movie on his dormroom wall…and forward it immediately to their mutual friend Leila, with the message "look at how big my balls are." Uh, yeah dude.

I guess this has been a long time coming. I don't really know how to start, so I'm just gonna take it one frame at a time as I experienced it, give you some insight into my thought processes. It's 12:23 AM right now. We'll see how long this takes...

So I got back to Brooklyn Sunday night from PA, and as I was unpacking all my shit, my roommate waltzed in and gave me a handful of mail. "While you were gone...just make sure you pay the bills, don't want them to cut off the electric on us." "O.K. thanks, just leave me cash tomorrow." "No doubt." I go ahead and turn on my computer, check my email, check facebook (because why the fuck not, right?) and then log onto the Chase website, pay the Keyspan and CableVision bills, see what new movies are out, check my schedule and what time I have to wake up the next day for class, and so on and so forth. Then I look through the rest of the stack of mail, separate the scientology letters addressed to Wainwright (real name Jameson, I think I already explained him), some more addressed to a jamestine Rivera, and some more addressed to an Ismael Figueroa (I have no idea who they are. Neighbors I guess). Then I come to a handwritten envelope, addressed to me at my address here, no return address. Curious as to what it is, I open it...wow! A handwritten letter! Nobody sends those anymore; the only people who send those are in the military. And the first words on it: Hey James, it's Melanie.

I had no idea what to expect. I read it once. I read it again. I read it a third time. By the end of the third time through, and I've got to be completely honest, it had me kind of fucked up. You said some real shit in there, and I just wasn't ready for it. Here's exactly what you said: "I want you to know that I'm glad I got to know you, and it's not only because I think you're handsome and have a damn charming smile, but also because you have a lot of character and a great and very distinct personality...obviously, you probably know that I do like you a lot, and if you didn't, wow...it's something you should know." The tone of the whole letter, and that bit in particular, just kind of had me on a roller-coaster of I don't know what. I'd say it was emotion, but there was more to it than emotion. It all just kind of hit me at once, and it was your words that triggered it.

There's something you should know about me. No, I'm not gay (I know you were expecting me to say I turned, but you would be WRONG on that one, haha). But no, in all seriousness, whenever I feel emotions, I never know if they are real because I don't stop thinking. I'm way too analytical for my own good, to the point where it's borderline sociopathic. Yes, I'm a sociopath. Not in the sense that I'd steal an old lady's life savings and think nothing of it, or torture little animals, but in the sense that I don't experience emotion like other people. I separate myself. I separate myself and analyze my emotions as I feel them, so the question that begs to answer, am I really feeling anything if I am analyzing what I would be, in theory, feeling? And when I look back at what I was feeling, I realize I was actually feeling nothing. I realize I was completely unaffected by whatever had happened because I had just removed myself from reality and thought it all out. 100% mind, 0% heart, the definition of a sociopath.

I have felt true genuine emotion twice in my life that I can remember, and they both had to do with death. The first I can remember is when my aunt died, and that was when I was about 10. After the funeral it just kind of hit me on the car ride home, and a few tears actually streamed down from my eyes. The second time came the night after I had a dream in which my father died. It wasn't a ridiculous dream like the ones I normally have and that you're used to hearing from me, with midgets and dinosaurs and zombies and shit like that, but a regular dream that really turned out to be more of a nightmare. My dad had been in a car crash, and he died in the hospital while I was in the room with him overnight. Nobody else was there, just the two of us. I woke up with my nerves kind of rattled, got a glass of milk, and went back to sleep with no problem. It didn't hit me until the next day when I was listening to the radio in my room and this song came on by Luther Vandross, "Dance With My Father." It made me cry. I locked myself in my room for an hour until I could calm down and regain my composure. It hurt. That was three years ago. I haven't listened to the song since, and I've never told anyone about this, not my brothers, not my mother, not my grandparents, not my friends...nobody. This is what I'm talking about when I speak of emotion.

So maybe it makes more sense to say that I am in some sense a sociopath rather than saying I am heartless. I do have a heart...I just don't know what it feels like to use it. You like Al Pacino; just think Michael Corleone. There's a reason why The Godfather Part II is my favorite movie. It's because I can relate to the main character in ways I imagine many other people cannot. Think about it: nobody says their favorite movie is The Godfather Part II because they can relate to Michael Corleone.

So what does that say about us? What does it say about me? When I read your letter it was so real. It had such a personal touch that could never be conveyed in an email or a facebook message, or in a phone conversation or even in person. There's something about a handwritten letter, the fact that it is writing, that it is done via a stream of consciousness, but with the precision of a mind that knows where it's going. Like I said before, I have some sociopath tendencies. Call me an asshole for it, call me a jerkoff for it; it's probably true. What I took from your letter, when you said "I'm glad I got to know you," it was almost as if you were throwing in the reins, chalking it all up as an experience, a fling that was a good time, something fleeting, maybe a little bit of fantasy, of a romance that could only exist in a couple months of college, and then live only as a memory in the future.

What hurts me is the fact that I knew exactly what was happening. Why had I never committed to anything? Why hadn't I taken any step? Maybe it's the fear of being in a "relationship" that keeps me from doing that, the fear that I could maybe dedicate 15% of my time to a girl when I could be dedicating 100% of my time to myself, to my career, towards reaching my goals. It's self-centered, I know. It's selfish. I'm an asshole for being that way, but I can't help it. I don't think it's a matter of consciously not wanting to commit to anyone; it's this subconscious masochistic desire. I would rather succeed in my movies and live as a tragic character in my own story, and in that, yes, I loved, but I never committed myself to love, not to any person. Maybe it's that I'd rather live with the thought that I've committed myself to a love for what I do, to my movies, to my passion, and I'd only been accountable to myself. I know I will adversely affect anyone who I come into contact with, to anyone who I start something with, but when it comes down to it, it's the freedom to simply be and do what I want that drives me. That, and this self imposed tragedy that I put myself through. I'm ridiculous, I really am just a character; I live in a movie.

I think maybe it's because I've been hurt before. I've had my share of rejections. I was angered and embittered by them. Some people would complain that they have been rejected because they are not good enough, and whoever rejected them is the asshole for not seeing them despite their shortcomings. But to be rejected because you're too good? Because you're going somewhere and don't need a person like me holding you back? There's no fighting that. Not in a town where everyone aspires to have a family with three kids, two cars, a mortgage, etc. When you're sitting across from someone and telling them your plans, telling them your dreams, sharing and opening up to them because you trust that they know you, that they like you for you, and for them to just abandon it all because you're just too good, too damn promising, that hurts because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that. I'm sorry I'm going to NYU, I'm sorry you think I'm a genius, I'm sorry I'm not going to fucking trade school like your asshole ex-boyfriend who's going nowhere outside a thirty mile radius of where he was born, I'm sorry you're content with your little plot in this world, I'm sorry I have big dreams. You wonder where the ego comes from...the truth is I don't have a huge ego. I have confidence, but that doesn't mean I have a huge ego. Sure I joke and laugh about it, make it all into this circus sideshow. But what else am I supposed to do? It's the result of a mentality that I've come to abhor, and I use it because it makes me seem sociable. It makes me feel like I can tolerate people, and more importantly, tolerate myself, my own insecurities.

So what was I thinking all this time. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about Patrycja. I was thinking about Bel. I was thinking about Sydney. I was thinking about Sonia. I was thinking about Samantha. I was thinking about Ashley. I was thinking about Lexi. I was thinking about this girl who sits across from me in Marketing Research but I've never had it in me to go and talk to her because what if it's awkward or I don't give a fuck, I'm tired and want to go home, or for whatever goddamn reason I never talked to her. I was thinking about all the girls I've ever had an interest in, fantasizing about what it would be like to be as close to them as I was to you, but wasn't for one reason or another, or that it would never work, or that it's just a shame things didn't work out between us because we really were perfect for each other. I was thinking about when I first stopped you on the street outside of Proof, when I said, "Hey, you work in the equipment room at Coles!" and your awkward friend said, "Stop being awkward!" and I was like, "You're being awkward, I'm saying hi to someone I recognize!" I was thinking about when I should go in for the kiss. I was thinking about when I was trying to watch The Godfather and you just wanted to make out. I was thinking about how fun it was to throw chicken bones across the street over taxis, and how fun it was to experience the cinematic achievement of Almost Heroes, and how when the last time I saw you we were in that Spanish restaurant and we didn't really speak much at all but we still managed to say everything and how that meant something, and it was nice. And the truth is that I miss you. I miss hanging out. I miss having a close friend around. I miss that we can't bullshit online about absolutely nothing for hours on end because of the time difference. I miss complaining to my best friend Patrycja about how I'm tired and I'm not getting any work done because I'm hanging out with melanie when I should be doing my homework. There's a lot that's empty right now, and it's feeling even emptier with every word that makes it onto this screen.

So in short, I really don't know what I want to say. I've ranted quite a bit, told you some things that I've never told anyone before…talk about putting my balls on the table, heh. This hasn't been easy for me, but this all needs some closure. I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I never wanted a relationship. If I really wanted one, I would have done something about it because that's just how things are. Peter Boyle's character pretty much said it in Taxi Driver:

Look at it this way: a man takes a job, you know? And that job, I mean, like that becomes what he is. You know, like, you do a thing and that's what you are. Like I've been a cabbie for thirteen years. Ten years at night. I still don't own my own cab. You know why? Because I don't want to. That must be what I want, to be on the night shift driving somebody else's cab. You understand? I mean, you get a job, you become the job. One guy lives in Brooklyn. One guy lives in Sutton Place. You got a lawyer. Another guy's a doctor. Another guy dies. Another guy gets well. People are born, you know? I envy you, your youth. Go on, get laid, get drunk. Do anything. You got no choice, anyway. I mean, we're all fucked. More or less, you know?

So I guess to kind of decompose that into something relevant, we had our good times. We had our fling. I think you already know that…hell, you said it yourself. That's not to say we won't again, who knows. I'm trying to look at it like an open-ended TV show. Who knows what's going to happen? I sure as hell don't…indecisive, remember? You had better have fun in France. Kick some ass for me, make me proud. Don't turn into too much of an asshole…

I hope I did this whole thing justice. I tried not to be too poetic…tried to keep it real. If it got a little saucy at a couple points, I'm a movie person, what did you expect? Of course I need to have the emotion and theatrics and whatnot. I'm a Spielberg guy, what can I say. Be cool…

Luv ya
~James
3:09

The John Edwards sex tape, or Tina Brown calling his dying fucking wife a crazy media whore?

Beholding the gross emails your husband sent to one woman, or to fucking five? The fact of the cheating, or the fact of him being an entirely different person in his emails to some woman sitting on the fucking beach reading fucking Alan Greenspan as the late capitalism he created implodes on itself who then has the audacity to call the hacking of her Hotmail account an "evil act" like, yeah, the invasion of your privacy is up there with North Korean labor prison! Or wait, the part where he blames it all on the fact that his wife had actually achieved shit in her life in contrast to his unemployed Stepford mother and her full fucking tank of light sweet crude "unconditional love," or how he used to work for Goldman Sachs, or the part where some cheesy ditz whose idea of banter is "You are so hot" also was not only the actual girlfriend but fucking muse of a celebrated American writer, and speaking of celebrated writers, what about how Dexter Filkins' ex-wife thanks him profusely and generously in the acknowledgements of her book when he was probably lying about not cheating on her because that is what men do but also there are about 976 names that come before hers in the acknowledgments of The Forever War?

Which is all by way of saying: look, if it is true that "the person who is brutally honest enjoys the brutality quite as much as the honesty, possibly more," as I read some witty dead person quoted by someone in my Facebook newsfeed the other day, then maybe it's just because we've had to learn to love the brutality. At least it is a little less insulting to our intelligence, right? And if a loved one's petty brutality gets your email posted to this blog, a Pyrrhic victory is the only kind you can really hope for with most dudes, right?

Which brings me finally to William* and Stephanie (also a pseudonym) who met in a class called "Shakespeare and Plutarch" - so she knew what she was getting into (and she never meant to get into it) - and one night about four years later got really drunk and woke up dating. They made big plans to move to New York and work in publishing (good thing it is so hard to be a pompous delusional alcohol-abusing permadolescent in this town!) but he fucked that up when he came in one night about four months in and refused to discuss what he'd been doing, which was Stephanie's "friend." William is still in Minneapolis according to MySpace, where she found the below a few afternoons later:

—-—-—-—-—-— Original Message —-—-—-—-—--
From: Myles na gCopaleen [Seriously dude? -Ed.]
Date: Apr 16, 2007 5:17 PM

Stephanie,

I haven't known what to say for too long already. But I did want to give you some air, some space from the bullshit. But let me say I'm not an insincere person. Despite the baldest lies, my feelings for you aren't phony, and so I'm sorry that I've shattered your trust. It was always good to be your companion and your lover and I care about you a lot. I'm sorry I wasn't honest about my need for non-monogamy, not to mention the times I flirted with it in your presence. I wanted things to stay as they were between us while I dated casually, which is naïve at best. That is, I wanted to date without anyone coming between us. Not being naïve, I was trying to keep what we had (which was almost all lovely) separate from ‘complicating' people. I didn't want to compete for you with others, and I didn't want you to feel like you had to compete for me. So I became a hider and a liar by degrees.

This isn't foreign to me, obviously. I've never completely broken from the cycle of behavior that formed in my teenage years with my parents, which consisted of intermittent rebellions in secret, justified as the only means to get what I wanted (and felt I deserved, more or less). Certainly, you're not controlling or smothering like my parents were, yet I still carry a self-justified ‘will to autonomy' that persuades me, ad hoc, to make compromises with honesty. Obviously, the means I use toward my ends nixes any real justification. It's a whole lot of barely-veiled denial.

You have always been generous and I regret that I returned your kindness more in words than actions. And my crankiness compounded by the lack of back massages in your direction. And all the gnarly outgrowths of my failed relationship with elizabeth that I refused to prune.

I miss your wake-up faces and your cheshire smile, sensibility, and rare abilities, if you catch that meaning. and I never felt like I was spending time with you, but sharing it. You've gone through a lot of hell lately and have a lot going for you simultaneously. I may have made it easier before I certainly made it worse; I think we have spark and potential yet, so I hope something can be salvaged. After all, it's springtime and there are walks to be had and picnics to attend to. Water and dappled spots to be found. The cinema, the stage, and this little city we live in. pictures I haven't seen yet. Stories I've already told you. Food to eat and philosophies to bleed. Biking, if I ever get one. I don't expect anything of you, because you obviously have every right to hate my guts and I don't want to fuck up your life. But remember, you were once a cheater too, and more importantly, I really could be part of your life without fucking it up. It's been made manifest that you needn't put up with anything from me so I'm at your mercy. Maybe distinct compromises need to be enunciated. when the time comes, Stephanie, things will be different by necessity and by will and from experience.

Call me, write me anytime, and anything I can do for you, I owe it to you. Not for any obligation, but for you,

-Wm.

*I named him after this guy, obviously.

Also, be sure to add Crap The Blog to your RSS reader because one of the days Georgia and I are going to start updating it regularly, and plus if you have any submissions we have a new email account, crap@jezebel.com for that.

Related: ‘Moveable Feast' Is Recast By Hemingway Grandson [NY Times]

From: Mark Sanford

To: Maria

Date: Fri, 4 Jul 2008 03:09:44 +0000

Dearest,

You are glorious and I hope you really understand that. You do not need a therapist to help you figure your place in the world [1]. You are special and unique and fabulous in a whole host of ways that are worth a much longer conversation. To be continued ... [2]

Have been having a few email problems as I am getting email through an aircard at the farm, where access to computer world is more than tough [3]. Please let me know if you have gotten my last two eamils (sic) [4]so I know it is working in getting to your part of the world ...

Another glorious day outside. Hope you are doing well, and am anxious to hear about your week. Know that I miss you. Unbeleivably (sic) hard to imagine it has been a week [5]. Please also send your mailing address as I want to send you an insignificant something next week when I am back in civilization that I think you might find interesting given our conversation.

Want to write an indepth note with some thoughts on our visit when I know you are getting these emails. Hugs and much love. M

1. Here the speaker asserts himself as an expert in mental health, an assertion rendered highly dubious by the rest of the text.
2. Perhaps a reference to a phrase commonly displayed at the end of a variety of contemporary television program known as the "soap opera," a type of program which this text resembles in other ways.
3. The speaker attempts to make himself sound "rugged," an impression belied by the fact that he knows what an aircard is, and has one on his "farm."
4. The State's decision to draw attention to every one of the speaker's misspellings with the use of the word sic is both a source of humor in this text and a reminder to the audience to spellcheck e-mails lest they be made public as part of an international sex scandal.
5. The speaker's distorted concept of time foreshadows other cognitive distortions.

From:

To:

Subject: RE:

Date: Tue, 8 Jul 2008 01:42:46 -0400

Beloved back to you...

Got back an hour ago to civilization and am now in Columbia after what was for me a glorious break from reality down at the farm [6]. No phones ringing and tangible evidence of a day's labors. Though I have started every day by 6 this morning woke at 4:30, I guess since my body knew it was the last day, and I went out and ran the excavator with lights until the sun came up. To me, and I suspect no one else on earth, there is something wonderful about listening to country music playing in the cab, air conditioner running, the hum of a huge diesel engine in the background, the tranquility that comes with being in a virtual wilderness of trees and marsh, the day breaking and vibrant pink coming alive in the morning clouds - and getting to build something with each scoop of dirt [7]. It is admittedly weird but one of my more favorite ways of escaping the norms, constant phone calls and formalities that go with the office - and it probably fits with my weakness in doing rather than being - though you opened up a new chapter last week wherein I was happy and content just being [8]. Last point worth further discussion. Afternoon projects had me outside and by days (sic) end I pretty much looked like a homeless person ... but in this case a very content one. Enough about my love of heavy equipment and woods at sunrise ...

While I was getting exhausted with one project after another at Coosaw work week, you were basking (I'm certain gloriously) on the beach..

Sounds great, hope to hear more about what sounds a great spot.

Will now finally get some sleep and write you a longer note with a few more profound thoughts tomorrow or Wednesday. In the meantime I send my love and hope you know I am thinking of you.. M

P.S. I do not want to raise expectations, when I say I will send something insignificant I promise I will do as I say! It wont (sic) be worthy of bedside placement ... was just going to find the movie the Holiday as we had spoken of it last Thursday. Its music was pleasant and made me think of you - its mood and the notion of a holiday (wrapped up in our case over two days) certainly fit as well [9] ... (though our visit in some ways for me was as well less of a holiday than it was uncovering and realization of some things and feelings that again are worth longer conversation)

Had also hoped to find the cd of a song that played as I was flying home and also20made (sic) [10] me think of you. Who knows if I can find the music ... so all you may be stuck with is a long released movie - and if you put it by your bed I really be worried! Love you, good night and kisses back to you ...

6. The speaker repeatedly refers to the dichotomy between civilization/reality and the "farm," revealing his ignorance of the fact that rural environments are, metaphysically speaking, "real."
7. More "ruggedness" (see [3]). The "country music," the "excavator," the "scoop of dirt" are all signifiers of a particular group of conservative American values. Interestingly, these values include marital fidelity.
8. Psychobabble. Perhaps related to the speaker's earlier assertion of psychiatric expertise. Studies show that the use of such psychobabble is inversely proportional to the actual mental health of the user.
9. The comparison with the movie The Holiday appears to be a variant on a phenomenon usually found in adolescents, commonly known as "thinking every song is about your love."
10. In numerology, the number 20 means "I am about to throw away a promising political career for an ill-advised extramarital affair." This may be significant.

From: Mark Sanford

To: Maria

Subject: RE:

Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2008 00:24:54 -0400

Sweetest,

It was indeed a long day. I am most jealous of your salad under the palm tree [11].

Three thoughts in one note now that I have a moment [12]. One the travel schedule is about to get real busy (and this distresses me for the way it may well make it more difficult to get your notes over the next few weeks), two unfortunately all the feelings you describe are mutual, and three where do we go from here?

One, tomorrow leave at 5 am for New York and meetings. Will think about you on its streets and wish I was going to be there later in the month when you are there. Tomorrow night back to Philadelphia for the start of the National Governor's Conference through the weekend. Back to Columbia for Tuesday and then on Wednesday, as I think I had told you, taking the family to China, Tibet, Nepal, India, Thailand and then back through Hong Kong on world wind tour [13]. Few days home then to Bahamas for 5 days on a friends boat for the last break of the summer. The following weekend have been asked to spend it out in Aspen, Colorado with McCain - which has kicked up the whole VP talk all over again in the press back home.

Two, mutual feelings. I have been specializing in staying focused on decisions and actions of the head for a long time now [14] - and you have my heart. You have oh so many attributes that pulls it in this direction. Do you really comprehend how beautiful your smile is? Have you been told lately how warm your eyes are and how they softly glow with the special nature of your soul. I remember Jenny, or someone close to me, once commenting that while my mom was pleasant and warm it was sad she had never accomplished anything of significance. I replied that they were wrong because she had the ultimate of all gifts - and that was the ability to love unconditionally. The rarest of all commodities in this world is love. It is that thing that we all yearn for at some level - to be simply loved unconditionally for nothing more than who we are - not what we can get, give or become. There are but 50 governors in my country and outside of the top spot, this is as high as you can go in the area I have invested the last 15 years of my life - my getting here came as no small measure because I had that foundation of love and support so critical to getting up in the morning and feeling you could give and risk because you already had a full tank of love in the emotional bank account [15]. Since our first meeting there in a wind swept somewhat open air dance spot in Punta del Este, I felt that you had that same rare attribute. Above all else I love that inner beauty about you. That gift of yours is going to make a tremendous difference in (The State deleted sons' names) life - and in anyone's life who is blest to be touched by yours - you need to rest very comfortably in that fact. As I mentioned in our last visit, while I did not need love fifteen years ago - as the battle scars of life and aging and politics have worn on this has become a real need of mine. You have a particular grace and calm that I adore. You have a level of sophistication that is so fitting with your beauty. I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificently gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curves of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) [16] in the faded glow of night's light - but hey, that would be going into the sexual details we spoke of at the steakhouse at dinner - and unlike you I would never do that!

Three and finally, while all the things above are all too true - at the same time we are in a hopelessly - or as you put it impossible - or how about combine and simply say hopelessly impossible situation of love. How in the world this lightening strike snuck up on us I am still not quite sure [17]. As I have said to you before I certainly had a special feeling about you from the first time we met, but these feelings were contained and I genuinely enjoyed our special friendship and the comparing of all too many personal notes (and yes this is true even if you did occasionally tantalize me with sexual details over the years!) - but it was all safe. Where we are is not. I have thought about it and in some ways feel I let you down in letting these complications come into a friendship that I hope will last till death. In all my life I have lived by a code of honor and at a variety of levels know I have crossed lines I would have never imagined. I wish I could wish it away, but this soul-mate feel I alluded too is real and in that regard I sure don't want to be the person complicating your life. I looked to where I often look for advice and counsel, and in I Corinthians 13 it simply says that, " Love is patient and kind, love is not jealous or boastful, it is not arrogant or rude, Love does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful, it does not rejoice in the wrong, but rejoices in the right, Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things and endures all things" [18]. In this regard it is action that goes well beyond the emotion of today or tomorrow and in this light I want to look for ways to show love in helping you to live a better - not more complicated life. I want to help (one of Maria's sons) with film guys that might help his career, etc. I also don't want you walking20away (sic) [19] from some guy (I take it the younger guy you mentioned a t dinner) because of me - and what we both have to see as an impossible situation. I better stop now least this really sound like the Thornbirds - wherein I was always upset with Richard Chamberlain for not dropping his ambitions and running into Maggie's arms. The bottom line is two fold, my heart wants me to get on a plane tonight and to be in your loving arms - my head is saying how do we put the Genie back in the bottle because I sure don't want to be encumbering you, or your options or your life [20]. Put differently, given I love you, I don't want to be part of the reason you are having less than an ideal week in what sounds like a cool spot.

Lastly I also suspect I feel a little vulnerable because this is ground I have never certainly never covered before - so if you have pearls of wisdom on how we figure all this out please let me know ... In the meantime please sleep soundly knowing that despite the best efforts of my head my heart cries out for you, your voice, your body, the touch of your lips, the touch of your finger tips and an even deeper connection to your soul. I love you ... sleep tight. M

PS. I will make it a point in NY tomorrow to drop by a store and get that movie I promised to send your way ... I am encouraged to know you will not keep it beside the bed least we have tangible evidence of two pathetic figures missing each other far too much to live a few thousand miles apart!

11. A lesser-known sex position.
12. Many more than three thoughts are expressed in this "note." Interestingly, none of these thoughts involve the imprudence of sending said note at all, or the possibility that it could fall into the wrong hands.
13. Presumably the speaker means a "whirlwind tour," and not a tour of the world's winds. The State did not mark this mistake, probably due to fatigue.
14. The content of the text calls into question whether the speaker was ever truly a specialist in this area.
15. Here the speaker reveals he is also not a specialist in metaphor. Readers should be warned of the dangers of putting gas in one's bank account, or love in one's gas tank.
16. It is tempting to assume that the speaker is referring to his lover's breasts, but he may also mean her ass and her elbow, or her duodenum and her spleen. All these body parts are involved in the "salad under the palm tree" position.
17. The speaker is referencing a common South Carolina weather phenomenon, "sneaky lightning." It occurs in mid-summer, during drops in barometric pressure, and "when you least expect it."
18. It is telling that the speaker chooses to reproduce this Bible verse, and not Exodus 20:14, " Thou shalt not commit adultery."
19. Another numerological interpretation of the number 20 is "I write really long rambling e-mails."
20. At this point the number of props and characters in this text has grown so large as to be almost unmanageable. No doubt the effort of mentally juggling an excavator, the Bible, John McCain, his lover's breasts, his mother, The Holiday, the characters in The Thorn Birds, a bank account full of gas, and a genie caused the speaker to commit errors in judgment that he, with his avowed concern for the mental health of others, ordinarily never would have committed.

Exclusive: Read E-mails Between Sanford, Woman [The State]
Maria [Politico]

Our dateline is New York, that would be the first shocker. And as a special meta-bonus, the prizewinning specimen is an actual email sent by a dude by way of analysis of another dude's Crap Email about How I'm Just Not In A Place Right Now Where I'm Looking For A Serious Relationship. (But dude, your Nerve profile said 'New York' and everyone knows that the motto of this town is If You Can't Have A Harmonious Monogamous Relationship Here... ).

So anyway: "Mara" is a 27-year-old lawyer in Williamsburg who used Nerve to meet "Steve", a 37-year-old chef and coffee shop proprietor in Williamsburg, whom she vented about to her 33-year-old welder-artist roommate "Rob" when her suggestion to come by Steve's coffee shop was met with an email of the sort we have just described. Contextual details: Mara is in an open long-distance relationship, which is why she specified on Nerve that she was not looking for a relationship; she was offering to come by the coffee shop because she hadn't been available the evening before.

how are you? thanks for the text last night... i kind of figured that at 11pm rendezvous would be too late on a school night. in terms of this weekend... i don't think i'm up for a visit to the shop yet. and while i'd rather talk to you about such things in person, i'll give you the quick rundown here, and we can talk about it more later...

first, i really like hanging out with you (i hope that's obvious). at the same time, i'm at a place in my life where i'm not looking for a serious committed relationship. to keep that in balance, i need to
keep some things separate... at least for now. that's the short (and honest) truth...

if you still want to hang out monday, let me know... i'd love to. if not, i totally understand...
x, steve

After Mara responded to Steve with a sweet but curt reply containing the word "presumptuous," she complained about the situation to Rob, who said something along the lines of "we wouldn't have to send emails like that if women weren't so bent on marrying us all the time," etc., which gave Mara a bit of the "twisted thrill in killing the enemy" sentiment Rob referenced in his missive about gender differences etc.

Mara now wonders whether she should move out. Our inclination is no, that actually the fact of taking a moment to think about this stuff counts in Rob's favor, and that spelling and grammar and logic do not need to be the strong suits of one's roommate if their names are on the lease of a nice enough apartment, and Mara says they have an awesome roof.

But there is more than a little to find fault with in this email, so much that Georgia and I will be discussing it further on Crap The Blog later on, because we have seen so many perfectly good uncommitted sexual relationships prematurely poisoned by the "Look, you may have never encountered this before because I can tell you are looking to have my babies" neg. (And also because, uh, Steinbeck? Because of the economy or something?) Here's Rob explication of Steve's email:

I can see you thinking this way. I say that, and I use those words not to sound like I know what you're thinking, or even that I know you very well at all ... Lord help me for all the things I think that I know. I clearly know very little, most if it being useless ... When I say "I can see you," I mean it in a way that sounds more like, "that makes sense."

I have lived these thirty something years. I have had all too many poor ideas, maybe a few good ones along the way. And what I think about things will probably never matter to anyone outside of myself,
not the way I seem to court relationships. I have, to be honest with you, grown so disillusioned that I often disregard even my own opinion as little more than more noise in world that is already too loud.

What I have to say then, are not opinions. I have some thoughts. They could go one way or another. They could be worthless or valuable. They could help, they could hurt, or in all probability they will make no difference whatsoever. But, I'd like to share them, or ask them, or set them forward and maybe as time passes we can evolve them between the two of us, and maybe that will be worth something.

You, I believe (which is not to know), have a keen sense of justice. If someone were to ask me what I think makes Mara turn around day after day, I would say, "Justice." This is quite simply, what little I know of you. The thing is that "justice" leans in to the word "fair" which in turn leans in to the word "equality." I'm not saying anything. I have no idea what is true or not. I am not proposing an argument but something more like a hypothosis. "Does justice mean equality?"

And I also need to stop right here and say that I am not talking about something or someone being better than another ... only, definably different.

I tend, I will confess, to not believe in a world of equality. I think I am smarter than a lot people. This is another confession (please don't hurt me). I think that it would be stupid for me to believe anything else. For one: it would serve me no good. For two: the evidence is everywhere. People don't seem to take the time to think about things. I do. Am I supposed to be ashamed about this? Or am I to regard this one who clearly has chosen to think very little as my equal in some way?

I don't think that would make for a good life. I remember telling myself once when I was walking out of bar in New Orleans (on my way to work of all places) that genius requires the warranted or unwarranted
faith that you might just be better than most, if for no other reason than you have tried.

And all of this is somewhat off the subject of the sexes, but it leads in some way.

I'll put this up in the air, "A government is one thing, a marriage is another."

Let it sit there. What I mean is that a government is under an obligation to a whole, to a mass ... in fact I don't believe it can afford to start making exceptions. A government is about laws and laws are inevitably about stereotypes, which is how they achieve any semblance of fairness. "All people that speed are careless drivers." "There is no good reason to steal from another man." "There is no such thing as a benign trespasser." Stereotypes. A government is forced to look at the whole and it has to deal with that vague whole. Justice, in this sense, becomes something larger than us, something that sweeps us up in it for better or worse ... for the good of the whole (or the rich) is greater than the few. Justice.

What I'm trying to direct myself to is that a government uses equality (best case scenario) as the measure of justice. Which is reasonable, necessary and good. I, for one, think that people should not have
opinions of a government until they have asked themselves, "what should a government do exactly?" "Of what good is government at all?"

These are often terribly hard questions for people to answer. They simply haven't thought of it. They think about whether they like the war in Iraq or not. They think about the hard economic times and want
a change. Very little of them think about the actual business of governing. I have three very firm ideas. I think a government should provide healthcare to everyone. I think a government is responsible
to give every child an equal chance at success and an education. I think a government should manage our freedoms such that they don't encroach on another's. I might have some more, but these are central.

The first thing I remember, as I say this, is an argument I had to endure with a fairly wonderful and liberal human being ... because when I talk of fair education I think of boarding schools and uniforms, I also think of testing and specialized curriculums in high school or even earlier.

Have some patience with me, because I think this all ties in to men and women.

So let me start by explaining myself.

1. We cannot guarantee a fair education if we cannot control the home environment. The answer: take everyone out of the home and give them the same chance.

2. Uniforms eliminate financial advantage and conflict.

3. Science and life at large have become so involved that students need more time
to learn it all. Given a choice between the expense of an "extra-grad school, or specialized high schools, I would choose the latter (as a leader).

So this girl was up in a riot. She was an art history major. She did drugs, worked full time, had kinky sex. In short: she lived a full life and was entitled to her opinion of things. But she was accusing
me of stifling creativity (as if that is even possible), and raising a culture of soldiers (as if a mathematics curriculum was the end of human morality).

The thing I am thinking about now is that "a government needs to be concerned with equality AND justice because it is concerned with the whole." As a world leader I don't really have the luxury to give a
damn whether your child might be a great painter one day, or whether you'd prefer that to be. And just because you are a parent doesn't mean you know anything at all outside of how to fuck. My point would
be that a leader has to answer to the whole and should. Government imposed equality upon justice because it lacks the resources to do otherwise. As the king of the world I know that I will die having
upset a billion stupid people, and a several hundred thousand intelligent people ... but the bar I could hold myself to, and the argument I could make when all was said and done: "I gave everyone an equal chance."

And that is the only good argument that would be available to me. Equality and justice. I could say that I gave them both,

Now this girl was rather silly and assumed all sorts of things. I am not against the arts or creative thought. She seemed to feel my ideas were repressive as if I proposed telling people what they should and
should not do ... rather merely I proposed an impartial, probably flawed system of determining what they were in fact good at and giving them the chance to pursue this based on their merit, not their finance. She, clearly, was the sort of person that never thought much about an ideal government at all, because she was founding all her argument on the idea that a capitalist/democratic government was clearly the only moral and good way to govern. As if creativity and art is available to everyone in America as it is.

Why do I bring this up? Because I think that you see the world in a grand scale that most people don't. You think like a world leader. God bless you for it (if I am right ... and if I am not rest assured
that whatever God there might be does not listen to me or care for my blessings). You seem to think in terms of movements. You tell me that a man who is obsessively concerned about the distance of his sexual relationship with you is a bigot. You speak on behalf of women and not so much on behalf of yourself. For in fact, you haven no personal objection to his idea. You like to fuck and so does he and
it would seem that no emotion is involved at all. But it gets to you that he keeps informing you of your place in his life. You call it "stereotyping," and with that word you get offended on behalf of all women.

Where am I going with this. Alright, this is my big gamble. I like you very much. In fact, as I walked out of the house tonite I thought about what a good and wonderful woman you are (or at least what I see
you to be). You are smart as a whip ... you clearly hold yourself to higher bar than the rest of us ... you have worked and succeeded and kept your integrity ... really Mara I can't think of a better woman
than you. You have been kind and understanding and easy to live with. You are honest and sexy and careful.

I give you all of these impressions because I don't want in any way to sound like I am criticizing. I am only talking about ideas and possibilities. I could be so awfully wrong about you ... and I am no one to judge anyone at all.

So having said all of this, my hypothesis (which is to say my theory, which is to say I have no founded proof): You have a difficulty not being a leader. That's it really. I mean, on a personal level this
guy meant you no offense. He was: being a guy, and that should not inherently offend you.

Men are different when it comes down to me and you and him and her. It is one thing to see the world at large and another to see the world at hand. That is what I have hoped to illuminate. I could be wrong
and perhaps I failed because of that. I could be right and I failed anyway. I could also be making more of something that really doesn't merit it at all.

All I can account for is the effort, for whatever it is worth.

As a society men and women are all just possibilities to give an opportunity to ... but as a lover, as a boy: men and women are neither equal or the same ... and as a poet or a write I would have to say that it would be a tragedy to call them so.

If I were John Steinbeck I would say (casually) that you have penis envy. If I were a little more civil I would say that you probably would prefer to be a man. If I were something less I'd either have no
opinion or I'd fail to acknowledge a vague sense of envy. But all of these statements would reflect the same idea: that your problems with men are not societal, but they are inherent ... and they might not
even be problems at all. I am only trying to answer an accusation (two in fact).

Look, as earnest as your anger might have seemed ... I think the dude was just trying to be honest with you. I don't think he gave any thought to women's rights at all because he was more concerned with
you, right in front of him, and not hurting you ... and I don't think that warrants an angry response. Men are men. We are brought up to that way, and if we weren't we wonder what the hell we should have
been brought up to be. We have cocks that penetrate, a need to compete, we say stupid and inappropriate things: but we see the world as men. And women are different, not less but clearly different. For one thing: you'd never hear a man getting angry at woman who kept insisting the sex was just casual.

When you put a man and a woman together all sorts of things begin to happen that maybe we don't like to admit, but they happen and they are there. And it has nothing to do with justice or fairness, because it
has everything to do with love ... which is a much different and often more violent thing.

I guess what I am saying is that even if it is well within your right to choose your relationships based on equality and fairness, it would be a failure to judge your lovers that way. You'll miss things. Love
is not fair or equal and that is a reflection of the nature of things... men are men and women are women ... no man is going to embrace his child with such selfish adoration (or most men at least) as much as no
woman is going to feel some twisted thrill in killing an enemy (or at least most women). And I'm not trying to demean or criticize either... its just that if you take them away and you call it all equal and
fair ... then what do you have left?

We were talking about the mythology of "moves" tonite. Cute conversation, but maybe relevant. I told you tonite, perhaps the only great insight I feel like I might have ever come upon: a woman will
cum when she wants to. Your job is to make he feel comfortable or desperate enough to do it. In this regard I have found that talking can produce results that no movement or swirl otherwise have might.
And one of the consistent truths of this matter? Grab her hair. I won't say that it will work with every girl, but my god it helps with most. Grab her hair ... eliminate in this way her responsibility, or in other words let her just react ... or in other even more words: be a man and take her.

This doesn't get me promotions, if doesn't make me any friends ... but it seems (at least in my very humble experience) to help a woman cum.

Maybe this is societal. Maybe women just feel guilty about cumming and so they prefer to feel forced, maybe I have a skewed experience... or maybe the nature of things is under it all.

I say: do what you want with your life. Be what you want. Be the king or queen of everything if you can convince the world to believe that... but we will always be men and women.

You might have a good argument to the contrary. You might convince me otherwise ... but that would be on you. I can listen to everything. I try at least to hold no opinion that can't support itself.

But I think above everything I am saying .. be easy on us Mara. We have had an experience and it is definably not yours. Your virtue (which is not speak of your lack of perversion but your ideals)
is going to attract good people, good men. Be easy on them and I think you'll find that they are trying.

Or perhaps even more to the point ... look at people for what they are and not what you think they should be. Whether they are men or women. And how would you feel if I accused you of being sexist for giving
that luxury to your friends and not to your lovers?

But that is just a question. I don't know where it is going to land. I could be as wrong as I ever am.

Really, I am terribly happy to have you around. I want these to be the thoughts you asked me for and not some sort of blindside critique. They are not meant that way. This isn't a letter full of truths... these are thoughts to chew upon, to trade and talk about ...

"In retrospect, I don't know why I did this" is what April* had to say about her two-makeout courtship with Todd, a law student whose online dating profile promised he was "very intelligent."Well kids, we can all learn something from this week's constructive edition of Crap Email From A Dude, the theme of which is self-control, which is why we're using a picture of precocious New Yorker writer Jonah Lehrer, because we are trying to exhibit self-control in order to abstain from using the totally obvious joke picture so you guys can have an animated GIF-off in the comments.

If only April had possessed sufficient self-control she most certainly would not have made out with Todd again after the trauma of their first makeout session, during which he came in his pants.

But she did, and that is when she learned the age-old lesson about history repeating itself, especially with regard to guys who come in their pants the first time you make out with them.

Obviously, the whole debacle was April's fault, as no such thing had ever happened to Todd before. Surely the sticking point so to speak was that April was so very "experienced," he explained, and then clarified that what he meant by "experienced" was "promiscuous."

To make matters worse, April, that total whore, started seeing another dude, causing Todd to go a little batshit on the phone, although who can blame him when it was becoming painfully apparent that he had contracted gonorrhea of the throat from April, and the least she could fucking do was get screened for STDs.

She actually did do that,* even though she had never had sex without a condom, because women are pushovers I guess, but her clean bill of health finally drove him away, because he only experiences premature ejaculation when he can fantasize a girl is an actual whore, or something. April did her best to repress the memory.

Four months later she received this thing. Don't judge it by its subject heading, Nabokov invented the emoticon you know, etc. etc.

—-—-—-- Forwarded message —-—-—--
From: Todd Michaels*
Date: Thu, Feb 5, 2009 at 3:31 PM
Subject: Hello :-)
To: April Lee*

Hello April,

Long time no speak. I arrived back in Sydney a few days ago. I wrote this for a friend but thought I should send it to you just to get a different opinion on things (other than my own).

Cheers,

Todd

P.S. Let me know if you want to catch up

Chocolate and why sex with no strings doesn't work.

The intricate relationship between sex and love.

Sex is a source of pleasure, it makes people happy, similar to chocolate. That said, like sharing a chocolate, a large part of the enjoyment is seeing someone else happy. When people engage in sexual intercourse without intimacy it is like eating only chocolate. It start with a good feeling but afterwards it makes us feel sick afterwards.

Before I broke the rules I could not understand why I could not eat chocolate all day. What could be wrong with something that tastes good and it fills me up. The problem is we can't just survive on chocolate. Just as we can't just survive on sex. Our sex drive is linked to our need for intimacy and close relationships with others. If we don't respect these rules then when we have sex with someone we are intimate with it loses its meaning. The meaning is hard to distil down, but it is essence can be explained by looking at the difference between a kiss that arouses us and kiss that sends electric sparks down our spine and makes our heart tremble. Both can be physically identical in yet the meaning we assign to it is entirely different. Analogous to the difference between being given a piece of chocolate versus working all day for a piece of chocolate. Same chocolate, different value. The piece of chocolate that we have worked for tastes so much better.

Counter intuitively, sex without intimacy is worse than no sex and no intimacy. This bad taste is as natural to me as it would be for me to dislike chocolate without cocoa. I am not sure if it is nature or nurture but one can't properly enjoy one without the other.

Wanting sex and actually having sex are two entirely different thing. It is the difference between looking at chocolate in a shop window and breaking our diet and scoffing down a chocolate bar. We are pre-programmed to crave the chocolate however we also have certain rules about when we actually eat chocolate. Same with sex we all want it but there are only particular circumstances in which we would have it. These rules may seem arbitrary but they do service a number of useful functions including:

· Keeping us safe from STDs
· Creating good DNA matches
· Stopping us forming unhealthy relationships

At its simplest, these rules stop us making decision we might regret later. Sexual activity puts us in an extremely vulnerable position, mentally and physically. Though we are not normally aware of what the rules are we can feel it when we break them.

In a sentence, sex should not be an activity undertaken simply because we want it.

More "self-control" tips for next time: even if you live someplace like Australia with socialized health care, as April does, resist the urge to get tested for STDs on the recommendation of some lunatic you never actually fucked. In fact, even if you did used to fuck him, and you never thought of him as being totally insane, if a dude asks you to go to the doctor to get tested for an imaginary STD he thinks he has but can't be bothered to check out himself, it is a good chance to turn his perverse guilt trip around on him and remind him that if he has symptoms and you don't, he almost assuredly got it from some other woan, dissipated pussy glutton that he is, and he can forget about boning you again until he is ready to fill a Cipro prescription and pick up your Nuva Ring at the drugstore while he is at it, because you did not as an average girl already wasted like 87 times more time and money on sundry health care bullshit than the average dude attending to the continued viability of your reproductive system because it was so totally worth it to spend your twenties having flings with shitheads like him.

This has not even actually happened to me, I am just saying. I could perhaps be getting PMS.

*Names have been changed.

For while all happy babies look basically alike except for the ones who are born with a full head of hair which is always kind of funny, each abortion story is its own unique saga of dysfunction and the foibles and limitations of human biology. To that end, welcome back to Crap Email From A Dude. In which Noah and Jess run into a rough patch (understatement!) over differing views on "choice."

Noah and Jess met in a creative writing seminar at one of those schools where everyone meets in a creative writing seminar. Three years later in some "cozy" Brooklyn apartment they would conceive, in a tale in which dark and ageless truths of the human condition would reveal themselves through the unwinding of a few generation-specific fables and delusions.

Boomer parents would get involved, is what we are saying.

As with all Crap Emails, the story of Noah and Jess is perhaps best told in two parts: the email, whose desperate diction and hand-wringing over the politics of Facebook hold a sort of universal appeal, and the context, which is more specific and subtle and amazing. The email will in all likelihood affirm your commitment to keeping abortion legal. The context may deepen any feelings of antipathy you harbor for the generation of liberals we have to thank for it! Here's the email. (All names have been changed.)

—-—-—-- Forwarded message —-—-—--
From: Noah
Date: Tue, May 19, 2009 at 7:47 PM
Subject:
To: Jessica Pitt Schaefer

Jess,

I'm not going to make any bones about this and try to be as direct as possible, because I think right now I've been too indirect. While I don't regret bringing my parents into this, I realize now I should have been more directly involved. So here's my shot at trying to change that.

Jess, I know you're making the wrong decision if you think you are going to have this child. You might feel like you possibly couldn't make any other choice right now, but I know you aren't thinking of how hard this will be. Jess, even if your parents and all your friends support you as a single mother, you'll still be a single mother. No one will be there at three in the morning, to take the kid the to school, to be there when you want to go out. What do you think will happen to your social life? You see how Marisa goes about her life now, and from what I hear, she complains a LOT. What do you think will happen to your dating life? To your looks? You think your acne is bad now, what will the stress of having a child tearing at you every minute do to it?

Here's what I believe: even if you're married, a child should be planned. You've told me you were a planned child, don't you want this kid to be planned the way you were? Do you want to have to tell this kid that it was an accident? Jess, it is so hard to take care of a child as a single parent, regardless of the situation. You might have a billion dollars or be a wandering hobo, it's still too much to handle. I really know that you don't realize what you're getting into. You also have to realize that I won't be there and that most normal men (sane ones) won't want any part of something like this.

You can wreck my life and your life, that's fine, we're adults and we can handle it- but you can't wreck an innocent child's life Jess! What has this child done to deserve a broken home? We used protection and this happened, it's a fluke, an accident, nothing more. It wasn't "meant to happen" and it doesn't "like you." If you really think this child likes you now, how do you think it will like you after 18 years of not having enough attention- the attention of a real family. I can guarantee that you won't find the kind of husband you would normally have found if you have a child tagging a long. You might think nobody understands you now, but Jess- that's just because you haven't found the right person! A child deserves a loving environment, and I sure as hell don't love you and you don't love me.

Jess, you are better than this, I honestly think you can write a great book, grab a fantastic guy as long as you're allowed to move at your own pace. This throws you off course and I know you'll regret it later. You can always have another child later on, you can't take back one that's been born.

If you really insist on going through with this mistake, then I want to make sure you get my point of view. I want to be completely off the hook, I want no contact from you ever again, or the child. I do not want my name down on any certificate because there has still yet to be a blood test to determine paternity. Before that even happens I want to go to a doctor with you to make sure that this is a healthy pregnancy. To make sure you aren't putting yourself in jeopardy with this. Unhealthy pregnancies can happen and they are very real. I don't care if you went to a doctor yesterday, I want to go for my sake.

I also do not want you telling any of our mutual friends that I'm the father, because of this lack of DNA evidence. And while I realize I can't control any of your actions, I would hope you have the good sense not to post anything on facebook where someone I've recently met (or have known) can see (maybe even unfriending some people like Ben and Jason makes sense). I won't leave New York and neither will you, so we'll have to learn to pleasantly avoid each other forever. I really don't want someone tracking me down in twenty years either so if you take this on, it's your duty to tell any child the situation and how fucked up it was. I will do no such explaining or legitimizing.

Lastly, as good as you feel about this decision now, what do you think you'll feel six years from now, after you have a kid and are tired of taking care of it? You'll feel like a terrible mother and Jess, you don't deserve that. You have so much love to give, it's just that now is not the time for you to give it. You deserve to have a life of your own, before it's dominated by a child, that way you can comfortably bring a kid into your life with a proper partner. I remember you telling me your dream of having a stay-at-home husband, which won't happen here. Seriously Jess, you and me are through after this if you decide to keep it. This is your decision, yes, but it doesn't just affect your life. Forget about me and you, think of the potential child it will harm. This action you want to pull right now is destructive to you and it. You'll be sick of each other before you know it. You won't assimilate with anther partner or family as easily as you would hope. You will be tied together for the rest of your natural life.

This is not about what your parents, my parents, myself or even what you think. This is about the future and what comes of it. Right now, you are at a crossroads, one that could have a huge, terrible fallout. Are you ready to bear that on your shoulders? Are you ready to have a child who's angry with you because of this situation? Life is hard enough without this kind of confused and vulnerable beginning. Jess, children get angry their parents on some level, but those born into unfortunate and unloving circumstances do so more often and with greater meaning.

To be honest Jess, I'm worried about you. I known you are not capable of making up for the love of two parents, especially at your age. I've also heard bad things about post-partum depression and I don't want this adding to your other psychological issues.

Jess, you are not thinking about the larger picture, you are just acting quickly, doing what you feel is comfortable right now. To act this way, without thinking of the consequences to the rest of your life is a dangerous action that I cannot support you in.

Please get back to me as soon as you read this,

Noah

Contextual notes:
1. Yeah, she knew he was sort of, in her words, "damaged goods." Sometimes he claimed to hear voices. Another time they were having sex, and she innocently asked to change positions, and he snapped back, "Stop asking questions!" And he said once that he wished there was a statute under which children could sue their parents for burdening them with their faulty DNA, that he would win a huge judgment. But you know: this is a small liberal arts college. and that stuff is, like, the "liking Dane Cook" of that particular brand of higher educational institution. You'd never know he was a dick, she swears. He was really good with kids, for instance…

2. They were friends first, fuckbuddies second. So she had talked about abortion before, probably when Juno came out or something, and like many girls who assume people who say shit like "I want to sue my parents for crippling me with their rotten DNA" are just being melodramatic, Jess was one of those "abortion is a really important choice for women to have but I don't know if I could do it, kids are cute, etc." people.

3. And anyway she had met Noah's parents and figured he was exaggerating about hating them so much. They smoked pot and seemed really cool, even if his mom was a little "TMI" about sharing certain private details of her life, as in how Noah had been an "accident" resulting from a broken condom.

4. All that said, they were both just a year out of college and when she missed a period, she was hit with a proverbial "reality check". She still lives at home, after all.

5. And Noah babysits for a living.

6. So she told him about missing her period, that she didn't know what she would do, and…

7. Noah threatened to commit suicide and left town. Jess later found he had gone home to his parents' house.

8. Jess made an appointment at Planned Parenthood.

9. Meanwhile at home, Noah tracked down Jess's father's work phone number and instructed his own father to strongly urge him to force Jess to have an abortion.

10. Jess had not told her father she was pregnant.

11. "Noah is in a very fragile emotional state," Noah's dad told Jess's dad. "We are not ready for a child."

12. Jess found out about the conversation from her mom. (Her dad didn't speak to her for a week; it was too "awkward." To his credit, he told Noah's dad to "fuck off.")

13. Jess called Noah's dad. "You can't call an adult woman's parents to talk about her reproductive health!" she said. "Oh yes I can," he said. And anyway, "I wasn't calling as Noah's father, but as Noah's lawyer."

14. Jess says: "The thing is, his mom seems like she'd be an awesome feminist. She runs some charity that teaches poor women how to cook cheap, healthy meals. She told me she was really pro-choice, and i thought, you're not pro-choice, because you're trying to make my choice for me."

15. She had gotten into healthy cooking after battling a weight problem, and formed the nonprofit after "opting out" of a high-powered corporate job after realizing she was "jealous" of the time her sons' "caregivers" had to spend with them.

16. Jess received the Crap Email, and replied to it with the details of her appointment.

17. "I now knew that I made the right decision," Jess says.

18. Interestingly, Noah returned to accompany her to Planned Parenthood.

19. They are no longer Facebook friends.

20. "At least," Jess's mom said, "you know you're fertile!"

Related: Crap Email From A Dude [Moe's Site]

So: we winced a bit hearing the details of the yearlong courtship of Jared and Maggie, a 36-year-old lawyer and 35-year-old publishing industry person who met at a New Year's Eve party in 2007 and dove right in to one of those mature relationship-py relationships that involve unabashed public hand-holding and getting up early enough on Sunday to watch the talk shows together and few restaurants that don't serve respectable beet salad. (Oh also! A week-long vacation in Rome/Florence/etc..) Anyway, the week after their first anniversary they were sitting in a charming little crepe joint in Chelsea when… he dumped her, reader.

"Are you fucking kidding me with this?" she asked.

"I just don't think about you when you're not around," was his response. That would of course change. But in the meantime Maggie, who is not a psychopath like most of us, maturely ceased all contact, "moved on" and eventually successfully stopped thinking about Jared when he wasn't around. Until October, when Jared found himself thinking about Maggie sufficiently often to warrant emailing…her coworker Tom! Who had met Jared approximately twice.

—-—- Forwarded Message
From: Jared Fitzpatrick
Date: Tue, 2 Oct 2008 14:45:05 -0700 (PDT)
To:
Subject: Hi Tom

This is Jared Fitzpatrick, the guy who dated Maggie Sellers last year.

I was going through my email addresses and I came across you and I figured this would be a good way to find out how Maggie is doing. Understandably I'm sure she never wants to see or hear from me again. I always felt that you were a standup guy so I trust you to use your best judgment as to whether or not to tell her that I've inquired about her. You know, don't tell her if it would upset her. I'm not looking to get back together with her. I just would like you to tell me if she is doing O.K. I don't mean to sound like a self-promoting prick but I believe I hurt her badly. I hope she has put it behind her.

And are you doing OK? Married yet? I'm still out there on the prowl and I'm not dating anyone at the moment. If you'd like to go prowling/scamming/trollop hunting sometime just let me know.

Jared

—-

*Just in time for this feature's two-year anniversary, Moe bothered to register the URL CrapEmailFromADude.com, where she and her partner Georgia Cool will post supplementary analysis, outtakes that never made it to Jezebel for reasons of being too convoluted or grammatically impaired or Moe just being lazy, and sundry other notes from the "field."

I hate to break it to you guys, but Mr. Cockbibs is NOT pleased with you, nor is he amused by your comments. In fact, he calls several of our commenters out by name, which indicates that at least a handful of you are on the CockBib Enemies List.

Subject: I don't give a shit what your readers think, i sell CockBibs Baby.. get it right!

What is this shit? I created the CockBib.... and this is the mutherfucking thanks I get?

It was my understanding that feminist were supposed to to have some level of intelligence, and if not that at least some common sense. I not at all surprised at your readers comments which broadly displays their lack of self respect and decency.

I have never seen such unladylike like behavior in my life. They sound like a bunch of dirty mouth male bashing whores running to jump on the "I'm gonna hate CockBibs because she said she hates Cockbibs" bandwagon! I don't give a fuck what your degenrate readers (the ones who made those nasty comments) think about my product.

Lets be clear.. I am not purporting anything, I am the creator of the CockBib and I am not confused on whether or not my CockBib is a novelty or a utility item. It is a novelty item that can be utilized.

For example, I am sure you and some of your readers have been to a bachelorette party and I am sure at that party they had novelty items such as penis straws, penis candy, penis paper plates and cups, etc. The point is just because they are novelty items does not mean that they can't be functional. You can still eat the penis candy, sip from the penis cup with a penis straw and eat off the penis paper plate.

To your readers,

I understand that you guys may not be completely happy with your lives. Some of you are single and lonely, some of you are married and unhappy, some of you are divorced or headed there. Some of you are lesbians which if you are not outwardly comfortable, can be dificult! Shit, some of you might be happily married but just feel the need to bitch about something!

What I am trying to say is that I understand. I understand that when you guys get together and post hate filled comments on sites like Jezebel.com, about people you don't know anything about, it makes you feel just little bit better about yourselves. It gives you a sense of sisterhood and belonging when joining forces to use your super human bitching powers against the creator of the offensive "CockBib". My advice to you is (not like you will use it) try to do somthing more useful with your time than eating, bitching, hating on men and posting your problems away on Jezebel.com!

Regardless of what you guys think or say about me I am happy. How many of you can truly say the same?

Also, please tell the following readers I said fuck you!

pursedangler: fuck you

ichago18: fuck you

andbegorrah: fuck you

Ibleedglitter: you're cool

and natekyswhoreskidsister: fuck you

I am out!

***Oh, and to MorningGloria, I guarantee you that this "illiterate fucker" makes more money than you do! :)**

Oh snap! You just got told by a man who makes novelty bibs for men who don't want saliva on their balls, which, in case you were wondering, is the internet equivalent of being given the evil eye by the dude who works behind the counter at Spencer Gifts.

Will we ever reach the heights of Mr. CockBibs? Will we ever be able to touch the CockBib-enhanced stars that sail across his novelty product stars? Alas, perhaps we shall never know. For all we are, after all, is a bunch of "dirty mouth male bashing whores" who lack the "decency" of Mr. CockBibs.

Oh, and for the record, Mr. CockBibs, we are plenty happy. This is probably due to the fact that our boyfriends recognize that bibs are for, well, babies. But good luck to you, good sir! May your condescending, woman-bashing ways ensure that saliva on your balls won't be a problem you have to worry about for a long, long time, bib or no bib.

Update: The Urban Dictionary defines a cockbib as "A person who whines excessively about a common, everyday occurrence that the vast majority of people have no trouble handling or do not even recognize as a problem." You guys wouldn't know anything about that, would you?

Earlier: "It Would Be Disgusting To Wipe Wet Balls Off With The Corner Of A F*cking Sheet"
CockBibs: Keys To Not Getting A Blow Job

There are only two posts right now, but to Weasel's credit, these emails are extremely crappy. We have "Paul," who writes,

I mean, it's not like you are perfect. I mean, my friends give you a 5/ 10 and that's because you're with me. I mean, you aren't going to get anyone better than me are you, you're not exactly a size 2 anymore. [...] Please, don't throw us away, I know things can be perfect, if you just try not stuffing your face all the time, and I will be more accommodating of your rapid mood swings.

And "Erin" (we assume the names have been changed, but shouldn't this still be "Aaron"?), who warns,

You should consider yourself special; I'm likely the only guy to take the effort of writing over 650 words just to tell you to go fuck yourself. Enjoy your life in your own little world. When your relationship fails, and I know it will, be sure you remember this letter and the decent man you threw away. Your conscience isn't finished with you yet.

Psychotic Letters could become pretty cool, but is it misandrist that we're a little weirded out by Weasel himself? His other blog, Why Women Hate Men, compiles crap personal ads from dudes, and boasts, "Please note this website is produced and written by a STRAIGHT MALE!" Can a STRAIGHT MALE truly know why "women hate men"? And isn't there something sort of self-congratulatory about lampooning loser examples of his own gender? We prefer to shame dudes from the safety of our vaginas.

Psychotic Letters From Men [Official Site]

Behold the Twelve Days of Douchebags, a sampling of some of the most egregious portions from crap emails we didn't run this year. Think of these dudes (and chicks!) as little undigested corn kernels that we picked out of our mountain of crap and stuffed in your stocking!

Day 1, The Class Act:
"Did you know that I had no intention of proposing to you? I bought the ring from Walmart as a cheap gift to placate you."

Day 2, The Budding Shakespeare (via text):
"how bout a thnx 4 not wanting 2 take advantage of u, out of respect 4 u"

Day 3, The Budding Poe (inspired by "The Raven"):
"I write some verse for you my love
To retaliate your verbal shove
In case you don’t realise what I wrote this poem for
I’ve been working on it for some time
But if not for the convenient rhyme
I would not have sunk so low as call you boldly, whore!"

Day 4, The Giver:
"at least I know have a cool story about the relationship that came to an end when a girl got frusturated at not being eaten out. :P"

Day 5, The Baker:
"My apartment is ready and I know u haven't gotten down with a pure bread African-Canadian brotha before!"

Day 6, The Martyr:
"You have to know that i did not for a moment wanted to avoid you, for a single moment did not want to be the source of pain and if there was a way, a way that will interchange the sorrow and bitterness of your life and infuse it into mine, a way to throw the perfect stone at the machinery we call life i would - with pleasure - lay down on my knees and with a smile upon my face grab my fate, my faith woven of justice, feel the blade of the guillotine. with nothing but a smile."

Day 7, The Stalker:
"We knew each other pretty decently...enough for me to throw rocks at your window and for it to not be stalkerish."

Day 8, The "I'm-Not-A-Stalker" Stalker:
"i walked the long way to the shoe store on monday to avoid passing your block. should you deign to not get back to me at all, can you at least tell me when you move so i don't have to indefinitely reroute my shopping trips for fear of seeming creepy?"

Day 9, The Psychoanalyst:
"That's why you'renot a good lawyer and why I can tell form the get-go you have low self worth and were brought up in a narcissistic family that made you feel you needed to become a lawyer to have a 'title' to feel good about yourself."

Day 10, The Renaissance Man:
"it is true that i enjoy many facets of life, including drunken debauchery, fun passionate intimatacy, playful reparte, mental acuity, physical sports, and integrity."

Day 11, The Addiction Counselor:
"I still think your a beautiful girl and when you lose a few pounds and tone that body up, your gonna be stunning. Just don't give up. Try and get addicted to hitting the gym."

Day 12, The Nostradamus:
"so yeah, i think the friends (and book recommenders?) thing would probably be a better idea ... not that any of us will live very long anyways, given that the rat-brained-robots are about to take over the world"

The next thing she knows, Ryan's telling her that it's the distance, he's on the rebound, he's not ready for something serious. And then it's, whoops, he met someone new and can't she just be his friend? And so, trying to be an adult, Alex takes a breath, steps back and says, you know what? No, I can't, I'm sorry.

Some details have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. But unlike previous occasions, one important one is behind a little white curtain at the end.

My dear Alex,

It makes me extremely sad to hear you say that we cannot be friends, because I miss you a lot and you're an incredible person to have as part of one's life. That your pain is still acute saddens me further. If only there was something I can do. But perhaps all I can do is be honest.

I have a pattern in relationships. A connection forms, either through a prior platonic friendship or an intellectual/emotional infatuation (typically long distance). The initial conversion of this connection to a romantic relationship goes swimmingly, with tons of sex. But eventually (three months or so is the typical expiration date for limerence) the rush of the new dies down and it becomes apparent that I am not physically attracted to my girlfriend. My reaction to this ranges from silent, secret disappointment to total cutoff of physical intimacy. I try to tell myself it doesn't matter and that I'm being shallow. But I am, incurably, shallow.

I cut things off between us because history was going to repeat itself. Your weight bothered me. That you are a very cute, winning woman with amazing and improbably compatible bedroom skills would have, in the end, made no difference. Our intellectual and emotional connection would have only made it harder for me to eventually leave. In an ideal world, our partners would click with us on every level. But when you don't click with respect to one of the only factors and it is socially unacceptable to satisfy outside your romantic relationship, it's bound to be a disaster.

Also, I met someone else who I am attracted to. We have different sensibilities. But she's close to me, and she cares about me, and I care about her. Maybe you'll just feel bitterly vindicated by this. You called it, after all. I didn't intend for this to happen, but it did anyway.

There is nothing I wish for more fervently than for us to be able to talk again. Half a dozen times a day I have to stifle the urge to write, to comment on some darkly hilarious thing you've said or share something with you. Please, do what you need to do to stop the pain. But don't just walk away from me forever.

Yours,
Ryan

Wondering what I edited? Highlight the paragraph below.
A woman sent this to a man. I changed the genders. Once upon a time, a woman I never liked referred to my best friend as "a moped — fun to ride, but you don't want your friends to see you." She sucks. So does "Ryan." Physical attraction is when you want to bone someone, which she did. Caring how someone looks to your friends is crap.

Image captured from Shallow Hal.

In movies, a male protagonist is often gifted with the magical power of seeing directly into the soul of a woman with whom he's had virtually no contact. In the real world, however, when a guy purports to do this, words like "stalking" and "armchair psychoanalysis" come to mind. Which, of course, brings us to "Doug" and "Kate," who met in a 2-month training seminar. Doug, naturally, saw his soulmate in her breasts eyes, and asked her out repeatedly, finally inviting her to what she thought was a group event and what turned out to be a one-on-one of cheezy romantic gestures and overplanned scenarios. When she then declined further invitations, he showed up one night unannounced, begging for her to be his girlfriend, and then whining for sex. She turned him down on both counts, but then got her own, personalized psychological profile for free!

Dear Kate,

This is the only email you'll get from me unless you wish otherwise. My intent is not to harass you. I want to say some things.

First, I'd like us to stay in touch. I would like this to be "au revoir" and not "adieu." You've given me no signs you want this, but then communication is not your strong suit, either. I don't know what you think. I do know I enjoy your company and consider you "my kind" of person. This is a rarity and something I value. While I have friends, nearly all my close ones scattered with the four winds a few years ago. Now at grad schools across the country, they make it back home infrequently. Most of my co-workers, meanwhile, I have not forged close ties with. There is a disconnect between me and most people. So I extend the hand of friendship to satisfy a need for close relationships with people. That is my motivation, if you want to know it. You're returning soon, same as me. It would be nice to hang out. That annual hike I told you about will happen Wednesday or Thursday. I know you would love it,and I think you would like my friends as well. Let me know what you want.

Regardless, our afternoon will remain a fond memory, and I wish you all the best. I hope things do work out for the best. Professionally I foresee doors opening for you. You certainly made the right moves on this trip. Whether you will achieve fulfillment across the board is less sure to me. Yes, yes, you claim you’re happy, and perhaps you are. But the more I think about that one peculiar choice you made that sets you apart from, oh, the vast majority of humanity, the more I don’t buy your characterization of it. It bothers me, so I'll share my thoughts on this as well. It may be more self-indulgent for me than beneficial for you, and more personal than you want to get, but so be it.

It strikes me that your having dated jerks in the past is not the issue. Obviously such relationships are bad. More pertinent are the nice guys you claim to have dated but with whom it also didn't work. At the time of our discussion, I was thinking, "My God, what did they do to her?" I asked about that, but you wouldn't go there. Now I see other possibilities. Someone as intelligent and strong as you, Kate, seems unlikely to be unable to overcome the hurt others have caused. No, you should be able to triumph over that sort of thing. You should be able to tackle this problem as you would any other—instead of throwing in the towel, as you in effect have done. But it occurs to me that everyone among us is vulnerable to our own insecurities, our own weaknesses, our own deeply ingrained habits of thinking, feeling, and acting that can be the hardest circumstances to change of all. In short, I suspect that rather than your boyfriends being the "bad element" of your past relationships, in some way you were. You were the one constant factor. I can conceive of nothing more likely to cause you to despair. If in each relationship either you were the one rejected or you saw some aspect of your nature as otherwise the cause of things not working, nothing could more sap your resolve to get over it and try again. This, if true, really is sad, the word you used to describe how people feel when you tell them of your choice. The psychological consequences of such internal conflict would be the painful of all. If this is the case, I would just like to say I understand something of what you may be wrestling with. For what that is worth.

Maybe my hunch is wrong. Either way, for reasons of your own you have rejected what many rank most highly among the things that make life worth living. I am tempted now to give you arguments why your chosen alternative will not be sustainable in the long-run, but I will spare you. I recognize there is no point. I'll stop now. Reply if you want to.

Yours fondly,
Doug

"Pierre Connard" was — and doubtless remains — one of those wretched manchildren who is tolerable only because his wretchedness is so clearly borrowed from some book by some guy whose excuse was, "it was satire, silly!" A French, status-obsessed, fashionable freeloader, he met Abigail in grad school during the summer his grandmother died. They spent the following year inseparable, until he decided she wasn't quite wrenchingly beautiful enough or some shit, stopped having sex with her... and moved into her apartment. The next year she finished her master's thesis while he lived off her groceries and accumulated several hundred dollars in debt to her. In April he abruptly left for France, leaving 12 boxes of crap he'd later ask Abigail to mail to him and totally lost all contact. In August, a week or so after the boxes magically disappeared from her house — he'd conned some friend into picking them up — Abigail received this Facebook epic. It is longer than the usual crap email, almost like the beginnings of some sort of novel. Title idea: "Not That Profundis."

Dearest Abigail,

I could start this email by telling how foolish I was not to have given news for the last month and a half or so, how terrible I feel about having excluded you from my life for so long, how wrong I was all along but I guess it would not make you feel any better. I will simply ask you to try to forgive my truly despicable behaviour of the last month and I will give you an explanation.

I don't even know where to start. I'm not sure there is actually a logical start to what happened to me or more precisely, what went through my mind. All I can say for sure is that it is not at all related to you and I would not want you to believe that I'm mad at you or that we are not talking to each other anymore. It is very legitimate for you to wonder whether I'm upset at you but the only thing I would like you to be sure of is that I'm not in any way mad at you.

Confusion is the only word which comes to my mind to define the two latest months of my life. I came to Paris saddened to have left Chicago and a life I was starting to truly enjoy. After the turmoil of the first term, and after a rather rough end of year, I was coming to terms with my daemons, and I was glad to be such a close friend of yours. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it felt like we had become great friends and our relationship had matured a lot. I arrived in Paris with one thing in mind: going back to U.S. as soon as possible.

I will always remember my first day at Mars, Co. and how things changed drastically from that moment onward.

I'm not sure how much I told you about those first weeks so please forgive me if I repeat myself.

On my first morning at Mars I met that extraordinary girl Sandrine with whom I was and still am sharing an office with. Don't get me wrong: I don't mean extraordinary in "I fancy that girl" way but in a "she's awesome" way. I knew instantly that she was the kind of person I would love to be friend with and our relationship quickly evolved to that stage. She soon kindly offered me to live at her place and we shortly ended up spending all our time together. Yet, regardless of how strange it may sound, she is also not the reason of my silence or confusion.

Weeks went by and things were getting better each day in Paris. I was feeling more and more at home and I must have unconsciously started wondering what it would be like to stay there after my internship. In a nutshell, I was feeling somehow less inclined to go back to the U.S. for a masters. But that was just a thought and I did not take it seriously.

At the end of May, on the 31st to be accurate, Sandrine decided to introduce me to her friends. She invited all of us to dinner in a lovely little restaurant, not far away from her place. Six people attended: Claudia, Odille, Etienne, Rafael, Sandrine and I. It was at first weird and slightly awkward to meet most of her friends at once, but as the evening progressed, this initial maladroitness disappeared and we ended up having a lovely time in a Parisian bistro.

Things could have been fine, had the following events not happened.

A few days later, while I was in Provence, both Odille and Etienne added on their msn contact list and we started chatting. We first casually talked about our lives, and the conversation soon became ambiguous and flirtatious to say the least. What I initially thought to be inconsequential banter quickly turned out to be a very dangerous game, albeit very silly and immature. I came from Provence to Paris that night, feeling foolishly restless. I could not help but thinking about what had been said that afternoon and instead laughing about it I was both confused and childishly thrilled. I did not sleep much and the more I thought about it, the least rational it seemed.

The following week proved to be crucial.

Sandrine had planned a dinner party at her place on the Thursday night. She became sick and it had to be cancelled. I nonetheless decided to pay her a visit with a bowl of hot soup. As I was taking her of Sandrine, someone knocked on the door and I was surprised to find Etienne waiting outside. He obviously had the same idea and had decided to come to Sandrine's to take care of her. But instead of looking after her, we started chitchatting and soon selfishly forgot about her. She fell asleep, rather understandably mad at us. As we were about to leave her place, I offered Etienne to walk him home. I don't know what went through my mind, what pushed me to tempt him back... mild attraction is only rational explanation. Still, it doesn't fully explain why, after having been terribly rude to a friend, I decided to irrationally flirt back with a guy I barely knew. What had to happen next happened, and we spent the rest of night kissing outdoors. A week after our initial encounter, I found myself kissing a man without being able to rationalise it. I hadn't seen it coming. As you might imagine, I was utterly confused and from then on, things got a bit out of control.

Instead of talking to Sandrine about it, Etienne and I decided to hide what had happened from her. That was the first of many mistakes to be made. Etienne was and still is in a long term relationship with Rafael and Sandrine and I had then a very new friendship. We thought it was best to keep her uninformed, as she might not have understood why Etienne was cheating on his boyfriend with a straight guy whom she had just met and had gotten close to quickly. The following day, Etienne picked me up from work and took me to the train station: what could have been inconsequential kisses, was now becoming something else and I left Paris for London completely lost, feeling guilty while wanting more. I spent a very nerve racking week-end in London and even though Etienne and I phoned each other quite regularly I hadn't had time to fully integrate what had happened over the last 48 hours. I came back to Paris on the Sunday night, still confused, but determine to clear things up.

I hadn't told any of my friends by then and I was feeling burdened. When Sandrine asked me if anything was going on between Etienne and I, I immediately denied that something was happening, and I went from hiding to lying, thus rejecting the great opportunity she had given me to clarify the situation... I still don't know now why you I didn't seize the chance she had given me, especially after she had told me that she would be fine if I were interested in seeing her friend. I thought that things couldn't get more complicated... but I was again proved wrong. Sandrine organized a big party on that Thursday as a friend of hers was leaving Paris for the U.S. Agnes, Etienne, Rafael, Odille and I were amongst the guests. It was the second time I was seeing Etienne after my London escapade and I was dreading the moment of seeing in public surrounded by mutual friends and his boyfriend. The first part of the evening went relatively smoothly. We ignored each other while socializing with the rest of the crowd. Rafael left early on in the evening and from that moment onwards we started fooling around again, kissing in dark corners when people had their backs turned, like stupid teenagers. The more it was happening, the more I was losing control, and abandoning myself to an unknown confusing feeling, while being perfectly aware that I was a cheat and a liar. We didn't get caught: it felt as if we had been given one more chance to at least stop lying to Sandrine who deserved to know the truth...

Sandrine left the following morning for Africa for a long week-end, leaving me alone in Paris. Just a few minutes before she boarded on the plane, she sent me a text message saying that her little sister had told her everything and that she felt betrayed and was not sure she wanted to talk to me ever again. She then turned her phone off for the whole week-end, leaving me with a message that should have, in normal circumstances, scared me and stopped that silly dangerous game I had been playing. Instead, I phoned Etienne and we agreed to tell her everything when she was back from Africa. Instead of agreeing not to see each other up until then, we decided to convene at his place in the evening. I rushed out of work, both anxious and terrified at the idea of spending time with someone I both liked very much and partially blamed for the recent destructive series of events. The minute I saw him, I knew we would make love and I(we) had lost all sense of rationality. I felt somehow compelled to kiss him, to give myself fully to him, and at that point, nothing rational could have stopped me. I like to think of myself as a fairly reasonable person and up until then I had never let go to that extent. We had passionate destructive sex all night long. He came to the airport with me the following morning and kissed me goodbye before I boarded to Provence. I spent most of my week-end dwelling upon the events of the last days. I couldn't deny that I obviously had enjoyed myself. Yet, I was most feeling overwhelmed, sad, burdened, guilty and lost. I then decided that whatever was happening between him and me should stop and that, if I were to decide whether I was bisexual, it had to happen in better circumstances ( i.e. not with someone in a relationship, and not lying to my friends about it). I was glad to see that Etienne agreed with me and that he was feeling terrible for having lied to his friend and lover. He told me that he might be falling for me and that he knew that the longer it lasted, the more we would get hurt.

I thought by then that part of my problems were solved and that I now had to work things out with Sandrine. As I was going to sleep, I received a phone call from Etienne. Surprised, I picked up. He came with a weird favour and I shouldn't have accepted. He asked me whether we could spend one week-end together in the mountains"to give us a chance to properly say goodbye" to another, to end this story "on a positive note". Don't get me wrong: I already knew by then that it was a terrible suggestion and I should never have agreed to it. Nonetheless, and in spite of all signs pointing towards the opposite direction, I decided to go for it and booked us plane tickets to for the Alps following week-end.

The week went by quickly. Sandrine admirably found the strength to forgive me and was being very understanding given the circumstances. She rightly told me that she had felt used and manipulated and that she was willing to be forgiving once but not twice. I was all the more impressed as she didn't know me well. I foolishly accepted to have lunch with Odille, one of Sandrine's friends, unconsciously knowing that it was more of "date" lunch that a "regular" meeting between friends. When I told Sandrine about it, she went furious, and decided not speak to me until I had returned from the idiotic getaway with Etienne.

The week-end in the mountains was excruciating. I was torn between reason and passion. The break-up was too recent not to feel attracted to him and we soon got lost into each others' arms. I don't really know what to think of what happened over the next 48 hours. It was both sensational and inadequate. I'm not going to deny that I had a fantastic time. Yet, I knew that the more time we would spend together, the more difficult it would be for us to part... We talked about it on the morning and for once we both decided to be reasonable to stop seeing each other for a while, to both give us time to fall out of love.

When I came back to Paris, I told Sandrine that I should act accordingly to my promises...

I haven't seen Etienne since then. Sandrine has slowly regained trust in me. And I'm left with many unanswered questions, plenty of doubts, and a half-broken heart. I still don't understand what happened to me. I still don't fathom my motives. I certainly do have ups and downs and I'm more subject to mood swings than usual. I'm gradually going back to some sort of normality. I'm still attracted to girls which probably mean that I'm bisexual. Yet, I have no real explanation: attraction/ lust/ desire/ love ? All of the above?

I'm utterly sorry I treated you so badly. I'm not even going to try the "it's not my fault, I was lost or confused" argument. The truth is that I could have at any point told you and I'm sure that you'd have been understanding without being too inquisitive. You are a great friend my behaviour is truly despicable. I wish I had gotten in touch with you before. I wish I had at least let you know I was alive and fairly fine. But, I shut down, pushed you away when all you wanted to do was help. I sincerely regret it. I'm not sure there is much more I can do aside from asking you to forgive me if you can and promising you that I will do my best not to exclude you from my life in a similar way.

I'm sorry, please forgive me
There is much more I need to tell you. And I don't really know how to explain it to you, but here's a try.

I hope you will understand my doubts...

I am sincerely sorry...

I love you,

Pierre

Nah, not the last person on the planet. I'm not having sex right now either. My gf has been unable for the last week to have sex — (Essentially, she's sore from the last time we had sex. I'm not small, so sometimes... well, she got a little stretched out and torn inside. Sitting has been painful. Peeing has been painful. If she hadn't enjoyed it a lot at the time, she'd probably be angry — as it is, she's half grimacing, half happy. Anyway she's just not in a hurry to have sex right now. Horny as she always is, it'd just be too painful) — and her period is about to start, and THEN she's leaving town for 2.5 weeks. So I've got a perfectly happy relationship (for the most part) and I'm not having sex either. Of course, that's what the google archives of alt.sex.stories.moderated is for, isn't it?

Love the cover. Why a pig? I also am amused by the editorial decision to include half your face — why not just you from the neck down, or why not your whole face? But before you take any of these questions and start doubting whether or not you guys picked the right cover, let me repeat: I like the cover. You look good, the cover looks good. I'd buy the book. (Well, I'll buy it for my mom and/or Valerie Bertinelli and then read one of their copies when I get the chance).

Lots more to say sometime when it's not over email. When you finish the book, either start tracking me down on IM and/or buy a plane ticket out to LA. But get through your book first. Good luck with that! Almost done, right? Keep up the good work!

Catch you later.

I think we've all been in a situation where you are just yourself and are hanging with a dude who seemingly likes "you." Only, the "you" he has in mind has longer hair, or bigger breasts, or is more inclined to wear pink or be demure than you are. But, you know, he knows if you just changed these small details about yourself, if you just saw it his way, you'd be perfect. And that brings us to "Dave". Dave really totally likes Jezebel, you know, but he has some gentle suggestions about how we should be less off-putting and strident — you know, be more girly. Softer! Gentler! Like a girl blog 'should' be! Gosh, I think we are totally going to take that under advisement.

I have been a reader of your blog since its inception and, don't get me wrong, I like it! It has interesting links and even the occasional zinger. However, I have noticed lately that the blog is taking a much more militant bent: angrier, screamier, irate-er. It's not exactly off-putting, but it does, well, sort of put me off. What's up with that?

I too write a (medicore-defining) blog and have noticed too that, after a while, you just sort of settle into this routine where you mention something and then kvetch about it. I say this not as a criticism, but rather an observation. If you are aware of the subtle shift in tone and celebrate it as "finding your voice," then more power to you; I will still read the blog. If not, maybe you will notice it more as you guys write and take a softer, gentler, and dare I say, more feminine voice as you post.

Regardless, good stuff, and that new chick Sadie Stein** is a pretty addition and a proud member of the tribe.

thanks,
Dave

**Sadie, by the way, isn't actually a member of the Tribe, as her mother wasn't Jewish and she's never practiced Judaism. She would like to add, "A pretty addition?' Ew! I'll assume he left a word like 'good' out between those two." She's a more generous person than I am.