Not Your Erotic, Not Your Exotic.

One of my best friends called me on Sunday morning, telling me about how she'd just been Clementined.


You'd only understand if you've seen Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Some guy had been altering his whole being in order to be more "suitable" to pursue her (like Elijah Wood). This included going to poetry readings, making mixed CDs for her on Valentine's Day, coming to visit her frequently, and basically just trying to be that off-kilter guy that a girl drops her panties for without hesitation because he's "so different." Well, he wasn't different. He admitted to doing a list of things simply to see if he could fuck her. He was the same, he was perfectly ordinary, as we all are. He just assigned her some unnecessary mental label of "unattainable," and made it his conquest to deceive and defeat her. He was like the physical embodiment of a slant rhyme. Ugh.

My friend is not some artsy, tatted up weird chick who's going to change your life forever. I'd be lying if I said that was true, just as it'd be lying to to pursue her on these fabricated pretenses. She is wonderful, but not a mission to be conquered. If you aren't someone's type, the proper thing to do would be skidaddling on to find someone more compatible.

I'm tired of people lying; I'm tired of people being so concerned with how things seem. Fuck guys who are just out to secure some exotic arm candy. On a related note, I hate being told that my heritage makes me somehow more desirable or attractive. I'm not some erotic geisha girl who's going to expand and feng shui the fuck out of your mind. I'm normal. We're all normal. We all fart. We all have funknasty morning breath. We all are in search of someone who compliments us well; dishonesty is not the way to achieve that.