Proclamation to All Homosexual Men

To All Homosexual Men:

Please stop "romantically" pursuing me. Though I adore your fawning over my Giuseppe Zanotti boots and your willingness to drop $100 on a French meal at the drop of a hat, our time spent together is not "dating." This is because you are a homosexual. Some of you may not realize it yet, but you are.

I feel that I am partially to blame for I am such a swinging good time that it's probably easy to confuse your pleasure from being with me with romantic affection. Also, my own repulsion toward physical contact with men often drives me to stand as far away from you as possible, which only contributes to your comfort in knowing that a kiss is eons away for, subconsciously, you don't want to kiss me. Finally, I must admit that my voice is rather deep and manly, and the content of my words is neither ladylike nor feminine, providing yet another avenue with which to confuse you.

But your admiration is misplaced. You want to worship me, give me decorating tips, and laugh at my jokes. You would rather fondle an apple martini than my breasts. You want to give blowjobs. Your hair is prettier than mine. Your jokes are funnier. All because you are a homosexual.

And what has driven me to write such a declaration today? The same thing that has driven all of my crazy rants on this blog -- a truly vexatious dating experience.

Today's Homosexual Admirer of Mine (H.A.M.) is a man who looks, walks, and talks like a gay, but who refuses to give up on the dream of dating me. This is how he asked me out on our first date:

• He left me a voicemail at around 11 AM.
• When I did not respond by 12:30 PM, he texted me, "Hey, did you receive the voicemail about going out tonight?"
• I finally got around to texting him back (for I am a busy career woman), and he set the plan by texting "Let's grab drinks and then ride in my new hot air balloon to Tokyo. Bring a warm jacket, toiletries, and enough food for a 3 week voyage."
  

For the LOVE of ALL THINGS GAY... WHY?!?!?!

At the end of our first date, he leaned in for a kiss, which forced me to awkwardly turn my cheek to avoid the locking of our lips. I vowed to myself that this would be my last date with H.A.M.

Then, H.A.M. called me and asked me out again. He TRICKED me by calling from his work phone, so I answered and, being the people-pleasing, gracious girl that I am, was unable to reject the suggestion that we meet for drinks. We did so, and the date ended in exactly the same manner as the first. I vowed to myself AGAIN that this would be my last date with H.A.M.

Then, H.A.M. called me and left me a rambling voicemail about The Dark Knight, which we had both planned on seeing, though not together. He described the movie as being "amaaaaaaaaaazing on like, SOOOO many levels." This voicemail sealed H.A.M.'s fate. It confirmed yet again that H.A.M. had an unmistakable, incredibly gay accent that is the harbinger of Prada dress shirts and anal lubricant. So I knew I had to end things once and for all.

And how did I do so? The way any mature, dignified woman would. I sent H.A.M. a text message telling him a lie that I'd met someone else. Ahhhhh! Thank you, technology, for once again shielding and distancing me from live human interaction!!!

Of course, H.A.M. called me again because he, like many gays before him, is obsessed with me. I let the call go to voicemail, so he left a message telling me that he still wanted to be friends and keep in touch. OF COURSE!! This was of no surprise to me, though the request, like my insatiable appetite for pizza and vodka, will never be fulfilled.

Thank you, gays, for your time. I love you all. Just not like that. You don't know me like that.


LESSONS LEARNED:
-- Never give a homo your phone number (for romantic purposes. Definitely do so for interior design, fashion, hair, food, alcohol, and everything else in life).
-- If a man uses the words "hot air balloon," he is a homosexual because "hot air balloon" is a metaphor for "scrotum."