Dear Dumbass...

Dear Biter-girl,
So, what the hell is wrong with my woman? She simply does not know what she has with me. Let me tell you about myself… I am a writer—a PUBLISHED Writer!
My acomplishments are second to none. I have an amazeing intelect and imagination. I can “go places”, DANGEROUS and intense places— in my mind and take others with me in my segas. I Know...pretty cool. I am a Graduate in organizing knowledge. I know things.
Yet my woman doesn’t apreciate what she has! She just stays an arms distance from me. Wouldn’t you just cling to me?? I mean, think of your man—the guy who helps you to post on this webpage and enters your emails for you—you obviously hold onto him, and do whatever he tells you, right? So what the hell is wrong with my woman?? Afterall, I am a PUBLISHED Author. Maybe I should have her come here and read your response—that will set her straight. Tell your boyfriend/husband to compose a smart response, and then keep your picture up there so that she thinks it’s coming from another woman. (You gals can never figure things like that out.)
R. D. (Author, Published)


Dear Dumbass,
I wouldn't cling to you if you were a lifeboat and I was a victim aboard the Titanic.
Couple things, cowboy. First of all, I do not regret to inform you that Bitter Amanda is not going to serve as a billboard for your "novel." Nice try. Secondly, you'll notice I've removed the numerous links to your personal website, as well as your full name. And while usually that kind of crap is to protect privacy, this time...it was because you are a douchebag.
What I haven't taken out are your myriad spelling and grammatical errors. I hope you have a good editor for that Published Work, since you obviously don't utilize the spellcheck function that is standard on any computer.
(Whew. I feel better having gotten that out of my system! You?)
Now, to tackle that question of yours! I do hope I can figure out where all the letters are on this typing contraption! What the hell is wrong with your woman? Let me see...this is a tough one! My my my. Off the top of my head, I'd say that she was going through a mild out-of-body experience when she agreed to go out with you and has not yet found a polite way to get rid of you.
Right now, I want you to do exactly what you decided and let her read my answer:

Alright, lady, listen up. You need to get out and you need to get out now. I don't know you, but you deserve better. I mean, what's waiting for you in this relationship? A dedication in his lackluster sequel? Come on. Get your thesaurus, look up the words in a common break-up speech, find the biggest ones you can, and then deliver the wordiest Dear John letter possible. While he's struggling to figure out what you mean (and trust me, he will be) you get your things and you get out. Now let him back here to read the rest of my letter and start composing!

Alright big guy, I think we got her! *wink*
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Lynyrd Skynyrd...

Dear Bitter Amanda,

As a young lady, my grandmother went out on dates with quite a few attractive young gentlemen before marrying my grandfather. They took her rollerskating, to concerts, to dinner and to other venues where fun is had. They were cordial for the most part, and (except for that obnoxious one that wouldn't take a hint, who she was forced to push down the stairs) expected little more than an enjoyable evening out. There was a distinct lack of pressure to see the same boy from week to week, and it was not frowned upon to see two different boys in the same weekend. Why have things changed, Bitter Amanda? Why must everyone be so serious? Why the push from some innocent flirting and a nice skate around the roller rink to one-and-only-even-though-I-just-met-you-last-week type thinking? Can't a girl just get some ice cream with a nice young man with out him demanding sole ownership of her affections?

A Free Bird


Dear Lynyrd Skynyrd,
If only. My grandmother's diary (I had to pick the lock to read it. Totally worth it.) is full of stories about going out with various men and makes it sound very casual and fabulous. Sure, she swoons over them in print, but it was really very innocent. I don't know why we've gotten away from that. I'm willing to blame men, though. And sex. I'm fairly certain my gram wasn't banging every dude she went to a movie with. (If she was, she did not journal those particular events. Thank you for that, by the way.) People are having sex earlier in the relationship, which is fine. Have at it! Go nuts. Whatever. Go away.
I'm definitely not against sex. (Just not in public. Keep that shit at home.) It just turns our options into Serious Relationship or Casual Sex. Where is the Casual Relationship? It gets lost. (I guess you could also ask where the Serious Sex is. But that is not something I have an answer for, unfortunately.)
Men, I implore you: casually date. It's ok! Women will accept! Just don't make us push you down the stairs. (You go, grandmas of the world.)
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

PS--Yes, am burning journals when I reach old age. *ba

Dear Cheeta...

Dear Bitter Amanda,

Boy at work. Look good. Smell nice. Make brain stupid. Drool. Paperwork soaked. What to do?

Tarzanna


Dear Cheeta,
It's a trap. Do not fall for it. Men know that looking good and smelling nice are pretty much the only tricks up their sleeves that we will still fall for. They haven't figured out the rest, like good manners or the long-lost art of being a gentleman. (I can't say I'm worried they'll crack the code on those.)
It's happened to the best of us, sunshine. Laminate your important paperwork and invest in some dry-erase markers. Ignore the boys to the best of your abilities. You'll thank me later.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda