<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242</id><updated>2012-01-03T22:08:32.325-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Bitter Amanda...</title><subtitle type='html'>Have questions for Bitter Amanda? She's full of answers. Send them to dear.bitter.amanda[at]gmail[dot]com!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>144</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-8081301188840672218</id><published>2012-01-03T22:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-03T22:08:32.336-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Being married adds some challenges to friendships. I've have many different friendships from different walks in my life. Now that I'm married when I meet up with my friends I want my husband to be their friends also. This gets tricky when your friends are also married. You hope your husband will become friends with your friends husband, but it's not that easy. Why is this so hard for men? I thought men could make friends easier then women but every time my husband meets my friends husbands they don't seem to hit it off (or at the least it takes a while). I thought this concept would be easy for men, that my husband would make new best friends. How can I make my husbands transition to new friends easier? Thanks Bitter Amanda.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;- Frustrated Friendship Maker&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Dear Match.com,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;This is a tricky one. Male bonding is weird thing. It's almost as if men know when you&amp;nbsp;&lt;b&gt;want&lt;/b&gt;&amp;nbsp;them to bond, and refuse to do so easily. A bit like a petulant child, they will bond with those you wish they'd avoid--the guy you hate at work, your ex boyfriend, your father--and when you find someone suitable, they have zero interest. I think it goes back to the idea that men like the chase--when you hand them a new built-in friend, it's too easy. You have to approach this the way you approached him before you were together--play hard to get. Don't force the friendship.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Men seem to bond over rather silly things--"Oh, you like this shitty, generic beer? I, too, enjoy that shitty, generic beer! Let's drink some of that together and complain about the awesome women in our lives who don't care if we go out and complain over shitty, generic beer! Let's also yell at our favorite local sports team in the appropriate sports vernacular!" You and your friend should do some good old-fashioned nagging while the four of you are together. Nothing bonds men quite so quickly as facing a ridiculous stereotype of women. They'll retreat to whatever spot they can find resembling a depressing "man cave" and roll their eyes about you before engaging in the above conversation.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Also note that guys making friends often does not resemble women making friends. Women make plans and think of things to do, fill their social calendar in the excitement of a new friend. They hear life stories and tag pictures on facebook. Men are more casual in this regard. You might meet his friend's wife and go on about how great she is and how you're going to lend her that book you talked about! Maybe you'll join a book club together! But not him. You likely won't hear these things--consider it a positive sign if he agrees to all hang out again.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-8081301188840672218?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/8081301188840672218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=8081301188840672218' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8081301188840672218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8081301188840672218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2012/01/dear-bitter-amanda-being-married-adds.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-2381921523761109714</id><published>2011-12-20T21:45:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-20T21:45:41.328-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Someone once asked me, "Is it possible for two people to love each other and not want to be with each other (or want to continue being alone)?" I didn't have a decent answer for them, but I'm hoping you do.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Also, while we're on the subject, does love even exist?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Emotionally Stunted.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Dear Stuntwoman,&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;I assume we're talking love in a romantic way? (Gross. I hate the R word.) I'll surprise everyone by saying yes, I believe it does exist. Not in the way that movies make you think it does because come on, Ryan Gosling is not knocking on my door and that's the real tragedy here. It exists in ways that aren't always pretty or easy. And most of the time someone (MEN) screws it up by being a total douchebag. But sure, let's operate on the assumption that love exists. It gets thrown around and tangled by previously mentioned douchebaggery or the universe or the dude's girlfriend/wife that he neglected to tell you about. (Or maybe he did.) It doesn't fit into your life or you won't let it fit into your life or whatever.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Basically, I'm saying there are a lot of factors working against you and your personal Ryan Gosling. Not all love results in a relationship. We have to start being ok with that. Relationships are a big pain in the ass and they are SUPER high maintenance. Have you ever tried to buy a birthday present for a boyfriend? Talk about stress. Who has that kind of time?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Blech.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-2381921523761109714?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/2381921523761109714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=2381921523761109714' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2381921523761109714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2381921523761109714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/12/dear-bitter-amanda-someone-once-asked.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1888246337417320825</id><published>2011-12-06T22:20:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-06T22:20:38.694-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; line-height: 0.2in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;I asked a female friend out on a "official " date after a friendly brunch that seemed to have went really well. She didn't even give me the common courtesy of a no. She simply just didn't answer and in the sparse meetings since, has pretended like it never happened. This is the second time this has happened to me this year (different female each time). I've never been upset over rejection, everyone is entitled to their own opinion but it's a real kick to the pride to not even garner enough respect for a polite "No thank you." Should I say anything?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;Curiously,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;-J.R.R Not so Tolkien&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;Dear Frodo,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;Man, some of us can be super bitchy. You don't have to agree with me, but seriously.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;I think you and I have both figured out that she's not interested in dating you. (And if you hadn't figured that out...sorry. But when I like someone and they ask me out I finish all my sentences. Particularly ones about whether I'd like to go out again.) I dated a guy like this one time. He was moving away while we were dating. He stopped calling, then moved away and we never broke up or talked about it or anything. At a family Christmas party that year, an aunt asked what happened to "that nice boy." I was about to say we had broken up...when I realized I couldn't. In fact, we might technically still be dating at this very moment. (Actually by now we might be common law married. Hmm.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;You should absolutely say something, if only so this girl realizes that she's socially inept. You know, kind of like, "Hey, I didn't realize a dinner invite would take this long for you to make up your mind--are you able to decide sooner if it's just coffee?" That would sufficiently embarrass me, were I in her shoes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;OH WAIT. Did you actually ask her out? As in, "Would you like to have dinner/see a movie/make babies/play mini-golf next week/this weekend/soon?" If you did, then you totally deserve an answer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;And if not...if you were all, "Oh hey wanna hang sometime?" then you should just be quiet. Because that's not a date invite. That's a verbal text message to your boys and it will not do in a romantic setting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;Just have to check, Frodo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p style="margin-bottom: 0in; "&gt; &lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;&lt;span &gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1888246337417320825?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1888246337417320825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1888246337417320825' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1888246337417320825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1888246337417320825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/12/dear-bitter-amanda-i-asked-female_06.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-3697157139793970050</id><published>2011-11-15T21:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-15T21:54:51.708-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Today, I overheard a conversation where a woman said that she had only two and a half boyfriends all her life. I'm kind of smart but I can't figure out how someone dates half a person. Please explain. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Sincerely,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Math-is-hard Barbie&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear Numbers,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;That half boyfriend is probably someone she dated while she studied abroad and after she returned home she never saw him. Despite any feelings she had for him and what they told Facebook, he didn't really count as a boyfriend because they didn't have to go through the motions of a relationship. That sort of thing. They slept together and she feels weird leaving him off her list. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;I guess it could be a matter of a short man? Or a guy missing a testicle? But those seem rather petty--and trust me, I've been there and I would not call them half men. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-3697157139793970050?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/3697157139793970050/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=3697157139793970050' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3697157139793970050'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3697157139793970050'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/11/dear-bitter-amanda-today-i-overheard_15.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-460701352328214903</id><published>2011-11-07T12:01:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-07T12:06:16.252-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear BA,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;A woman that's broken my heart twice in the last six months wants back into my life and I want her back even though I know it will likely end badly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;What do I do?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;-Max Payne&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear Minimum Payne,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;I think we both know what you're going to do. You said it yourself. You just want someone else to say it's ok so you feel justified. You want someone to tell you you're not crazy. Sorry, but that won't be me--the definition of insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly while looking for a different outcome. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;You're a grown up. Do what you want to do--just don't be surprised if twice turns into three times. I will &lt;b&gt;definitely&lt;/b&gt; be here with an "I told you so." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-460701352328214903?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/460701352328214903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=460701352328214903' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/460701352328214903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/460701352328214903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/11/dear-ba-woman-thats-broken-my-heart.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-5462780257805246546</id><published>2011-08-16T15:58:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-16T16:41:28.835-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;I've been on two dates with someone lovely this week. Life just happened work out for a few short days between the time I found out he was newly single and the time when we will have to part company due to one of us moving away. Things are brilliantly new, sudden, and fleeting. Because of these circumstances, I am more likely to do things I wouldn't otherwise. This can be a good and a bad thing as you will soon see. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;We went for happy hour on our last outing: pitchers and wings, for we are classy people. After several hours of brilliant banter and drinking, he cut himself off from beer since he was driving. Being a gentleman, he offered me a ride home, as well as the remainder of our pitcher. "Thank you," I said. "I would love a ride home, but I couldn't possibly finish the beer. Just half a glass more for me." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Half an hour later, while my companion sat serenely sipping his water, I was quite surprised to find the pitcher empty. I babbled without reservation about his likeness to various actors and cartoons, until he mentioned it was midnight, and perhaps we should go home. We managed to leave the establishment without incident, knocking over only one glass upon my rising from the table. We took a circuitous route to my residence, as I attempted to help him navigate the six city blocks with their complex grid-like structure. Arriving at my destination, I thanked him with a peck on the cheek, to which he replied "woo!" as I bolted from the car. I may or may not have said "Run away, run away!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;In the sober light of day, I can't help feeling a bit embarrassed. There is no persona I hate more than that of Drunk Girl, and would hate to think I offended or annoyed such an outstanding gentleman by simply ensuring none of the ale he purchased went to waste. Worse, upon further reflection, "woo!" seems to pick up vastly different nuanced meanings the more I think about it. Is it "Woo! What the hell was that about?!" Or merely, "Woo! You are tipsy, my dear girl, but I will allow this just this once." Or even, "Woo! I was not expecting that, but I liked it." Or perhaps, "Woo! She totally just ran out of the car like I was going to eat her." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Bitter Amanda, I defer to your wisdom. In this context, what does "woo!" mean, and what does it hold for future rendez-vous? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;-In cervisia, loquacitatem&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear Robin,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Woo? Really, &lt;i&gt;woo&lt;/i&gt;? What, did this date happen on the pages of a comic book?? Did his eyes bug out of his head and turn into hearts, too? Was your date Batman? That is &lt;b&gt;not&lt;/b&gt; an appropriate reaction to a girl kissing you on the cheek! Particularly without any further explanation. As far as I'm concerned, gentlemen, the only wooing on a date should consist of you bringing flowers and the like. Not the &lt;b&gt;actual word&lt;/b&gt;. Unless your date's band just finished playing an awesome song. OR SOME OTHER SITUATION WHEN A WOO IS CONSIDERED ACCEPTABLE.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;This is so perfectly male, I can't even tell you. Rather than dealing with his emotions in an adult way (or even a coherent way) he resorts to cartoon bubble-esque responses to the situation. In reality, his woo likely means what so many things do, coming from the mouths of men. &lt;b&gt;"I don't know what I want."&lt;/b&gt; Let's be serious--do they ever? Men do not know what they want in relationships. They only figure it out once someone else tells them or makes it impossible for them to have it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;This is a puzzling situation for me, and not just because of Archie's strange exclamation. Maybe I got some of the facts wrong. He's single, you're leaving the area, you were drinking together? And he's lovely? And yet...somehow...you didn't end up making out? Because I have to tell you, that's the outcome I'd have put my money on. But I'd have been wrong. Instead, he wooed and now you get to find the boy translation for that. How thoughtful. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;So, do you have a future? Well, I don't think "woo!" is entirely bad, so what the hell? See him again. Just put a moratorium on anything that could be considered a sound effect. If he does anything of the sort, you have my full permission to respond in Batman cartoon words. See his woo! and raise him a POW or ZAP. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;i&gt;Then&lt;/i&gt; we'll see how outstanding this gentleman really is. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-5462780257805246546?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/5462780257805246546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=5462780257805246546' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5462780257805246546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5462780257805246546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/08/dear-bitter-amanda-ive-been-on-two_8585.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-2299546389711778474</id><published>2011-07-21T14:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-21T14:45:01.501-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear BA,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Facebook; why do people do that to themselves?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;-Brick&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear Brick,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Let’s see…peer pressure? Narcissism? The siren call of stalking people in a socially acceptable way? All these are usually coupled with thinly veiled excuses about networking and reviving friendships from one’s 2nd grade Girl Scout troop. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Oh, and whatever that FarmVille shit is. I'm still getting invites to that--knock it off. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-2299546389711778474?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/2299546389711778474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=2299546389711778474' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2299546389711778474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2299546389711778474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/07/dear-ba-facebook-why-do-people-do-that.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-857160306849777708</id><published>2011-07-19T15:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-19T15:15:24.707-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;BA,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;I went on a few dates with a boy. I thought things were going well, on our last date we spent all night cuddling and he told me I gave him butterflies in his stomach. Then... he fell off the face of the earth and I never heard from him again.  I know he's still alive, he just stopped all communication. I'm pretty sure it's because his last girlfriend was a psychopath and he wasn't ready for a new relationship, but it still hurt my soul.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;His company is one of my company’s biggest clients. They have a small facility, and I get to spend all day there later this week. What do I do if I see him? Call him out on his shitty actions? Pretend he's not there? Say hello and nothing else? Say hello and ask how he's doing? Get violently I'll and call out sick?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;What should I do?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Signed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Arg.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear Pirate,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;No. This is a no in two parts, one for each section of your letter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;First of all, let’s talk about your dates with him. He said some nice things. How nice for you. But you know what? Then he stopped calling. ACTIONS DO NOT MATCH WORDS. This is what we like to call a red flag, Eye Patch. It is easy to say things, but if you can’t back them up then they have no meaning. Psychopath ex or not, if he was into you, you’d know it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Now. Onto the second movement of Symphony in No.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;This no is more complex, with subtleties weaving in and out of the general chorus of no. Some of your suggestions for seeing him are not bad. But my big issue here is how much time you’re spending on it. He’s the one who cut off communication. He missed out! This is his loss, clearly. You are way more awesome than that. Right? Right.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;If and when you see him, you don’t need to worry. Just go about your day, do you job, and be the fabulous person you are. Let him spend time figuring out what to say to you, for he will surely be embarrassed by his childish behavior.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-857160306849777708?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/857160306849777708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=857160306849777708' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/857160306849777708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/857160306849777708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/07/ba-i-went-on-few-dates-with-boy.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-6679365062312479940</id><published>2011-07-12T13:04:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-07-12T13:11:46.198-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want a guy who rides a bike, does stupid tricks, goes on random midnight adventures, watches cartoons, and will steal street signs to help me make art. He also NEEDS to be sweet, intelligent, and educated. Do you think one exists?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-T&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dear Ms. T,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Not really, no. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh. That's harsh, right? Um...it's very likely that he does. But in the end, he probably also has a boyfriend or a prison sentence or a huge tattoo on his bicep of the ex girlfriend he's stalking or big plans for his upcoming 15th birthday party. So...you know, good luck. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-6679365062312479940?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/6679365062312479940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=6679365062312479940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6679365062312479940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6679365062312479940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/07/dear-bitter-amanda-i-want-guy-who-rides.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-3556132071135543765</id><published>2011-04-22T17:50:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-22T17:50:26.804-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;  I went to this Peace organization training in Dallas, Texas this weekend.  And I was somewhat  disturbed to see two semi awkward guys playing with one balloon for over 45 minutes! crazy.  It could have been an movie Titled: Two guys one balloon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;  I don't expect you to post this, but I do expect you to follow me on twitter,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;  The kid from D.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Dear Twitter,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; That sounds painful to watch. I'm guessing these awkward gentlemen were practicing some really odd, nerdy and anti-social flirting ritual? Whatever works. I could go on for a while here about their need to get out and talk to some girls, unless they're looking for a nerdy boy to hang out uncomfortably with...in which case I'd say they're doing alright for themselves. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; However. What I'd really like to address here is concern in two parts. First of all, that you watched this for &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;45 minutes&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;. That is a seriously long time. Don't &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;you&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; know any girls to talk to? Or have any friends you could hang out with? Or maybe you could have joined in, making it a social event, rather than a sad, voyeuristic sideshow. There are lots of alternatives. My other concern is that you've likened this experience to a graphic, gross internet porn phenomenon. I'm not sure what, but it definitely says something about you, D. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Solitarily yours, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; PS: Despite this, I will follow you on twitter. Don't disappoint! *ba&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-3556132071135543765?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/3556132071135543765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=3556132071135543765' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3556132071135543765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3556132071135543765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/04/dear-amanda-i-went-to-this-peace.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1138650538750704122</id><published>2011-04-03T20:49:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-03T22:12:07.745-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "  &gt;Is the following a compliment, or should I be offended?  "I kinda want to see you when you're 50. You're so pretty now... who knows what can go wrong before then!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-slightly confused&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "  &gt;Dear Dazed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "  &gt;...What? This...is baffling. I mean...talk about mixed messages. Let's break it down. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "  &gt;&lt;b&gt;I kinda want to see you when you're 50&lt;/b&gt;. This could be "&lt;i&gt;I am letting you know that in 20-some years I would still like to look at your face"&lt;/i&gt; in which case that's nice. Odd way of phrasing it, but nice. &lt;b&gt;You're so pretty now...&lt;/b&gt; hey now, that's better! Pretty is a very straightforward word. &lt;b&gt;who knows what can go wrong before then!&lt;/b&gt; Wait, what? I do &lt;b&gt;not&lt;/b&gt; understand. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"&gt;It comes down to who delivered this remark. A passive-aggressive aunt, speaking to a lifestyle she doesn't approve of with a thin smile on her face? Take offense. Then tell her she'll probably be dead by then. An ex? Take offense and then be glad he's gone. However, I suspect that it's neither of these. I imagine that it's a boy you may or may not be interested in. Who may or may not be interested in you. But those are two pretty important factors. Do you or don't you? Does he or doesn't he? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"&gt;I'll tell you one thing--it doesn't matter. Because until a man can deliver a straight up compliment, he hasn't figured his shit out and he'll continue to hand out bizarre half-compliments masked in a veil of snark. Trying out some nonsense douchebag-endorsed dating advice, no doubt. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"&gt;Ladies, do not accept a compliment unless you're positive it's meant as one. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1138650538750704122?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1138650538750704122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1138650538750704122' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1138650538750704122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1138650538750704122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/04/is-following-compliment-or-should-i-be.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-6613499568957930119</id><published>2011-03-20T23:27:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-20T23:27:57.390-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;I met a girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've known her from work for the last six months, been hanging out with her as a friend for four of those months, she's invited me to meet her family and attend her nephew's birthday party (an exclusive invite), I've met and been accepted into her friend circle, she's invited me to her brother's wedding, she tutors me in language, we eat a lot of dinners together, and we recently took a trip (with two other friends) to a few touristy locals.  During said touristy adventure, something happened.  She showed a side of herself not before seen and I showed a side of myself not before seen.  She was more playful and wild and I was more charming and adventurous (maybe just adventurous).  So, we talked a little after the trip and admitted that we had developed feelings for one another along the way.  I mean, after our trip, they were just... there.  Go figure.  In the beginning of January we were kind of hinting around dating, but no one asked anyone out at that moment.  I had to give it a lot of thought before deciding to ask as I am 1 - in a foreign country and would have to 2 - commit to a serious and long term relationship which may end up in marriage which meant 3 - I would have to stay abroad and of course 4 - change my whole life for one person.  If you know me, which you do, that's sort of an epic question.  Well, I surprised myself and the first answer I got in my head was, "I'll do it all."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Valentine's Day, I asked her out (cliched, I know).  She said 'maybe' because, well, it's a big deal to have a foreigner such as myself as a boyfriend.  Apparently, she lost a lot of sleep over the decision and finally turned up with a "no" two days later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I was confused because, well, do you see the above set up?  Friends, family, hanging out a lot, getting really close, admitting feelings... so I asked her why she answered that way.  It even turned into one of those romantic movie scenes and as I walked her to the subway I basically bared all with just about any romantic thought I had in my head about her.  Turns out, she's afraid of dating a foreigner.  Why?  She believes that the language and cultural barriers will not let us know each others minds.  Maybe we will be sad because we can't fully express ourselves.  I don't know enough of her language, she doesn't know enough of mine (though she is passable in any state in America any day).  We manage to bring these things up from time to time with each other and it's almost like she's slowly being convinced to change her mind.  At least, that's just the way I perceive things going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, we are awesome friends regardless of all of this.  I recently hung out with her and her sister and played with her nephew while we were shopping for groceries.  She's invited me to visit her in her new hometown next weekend, we're going on another touristy trip together this month too, and she wants to have me over so she can cook some traditional foods.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, I gave her something.  It was a gift that I bought while I was in New Zealand (yes, everyone knows who's writing this). I bought it for "someone"- this image of a girl I wished I could meet someday (honestly it was like making a wish), and though I have had a few opportunities to give it away, I never did until now.  It's a teardrop greenstone necklace with a symbol of a koru (google it) engraved on it.  She hasn't taken it off since I gave it to her and she proudly displays it everywhere.  I think she loves me, but I think she's afraid to admit it.  Could I be totally wrong?  See above?  Totally wrong?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my agency contacts me last week.  These are the people who got me a job overseas.  They say, (paraphrased), "What's next for you? Beijing?  Hong Kong?  Taiwan?  Japan?  The world is at your doorstep, all you need do is ask us."  I say (literal), "Before I can answer you, I have to see about a girl."  In the extended response I asked them to look for places for me to work that would be near this girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So let me complicate my previous question.  It used to be: travel the world or return to the United States of America.  Now it's: the girl or the rest of the world?  One whole world, or another?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this still an awesome problem to have?  I'd say yes, no matter how much is drives me crazy, but what do you think?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Charlie Brown&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Dear Blockhead,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Sort of. It's sort of an awesome problem to have. I only mean that compared to other problems you could have. On a global scale, this problem rocks. However, on a relationship scale, this problem does not rock.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;I like that you've manned up and you're out there with your feelings and not shirking away from them. I like that you're willing to commit to something, as many men in their 20s and 30s seem to be in this whole, "Hey man, I just want to do my own thing and go where the wind blows me, so putting down roots will seriously interfere with that" mentality. Those men should buy surfboards, rent a house together, and figure their shit out. ...Anyway. I like that you're sticking this out until you figure it out. It would be easy for you to walk away after hearing her say no.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;I seriously wanted to throw up while I read the description of your time together. Like, I was mad at you for putting that filth in my inbox. Buy a diary and doodle hearts around it, already. For those readers who haven't read my other letters (although I know you have, Charlie Brown) this is usually a sign that a relationship is sickeningly sweet. I can't deal. That's just gross. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;The universe conspires against us. I'm convinced. Trust me when I say that sometimes the universe does not have your back in the romance department. It's convenient to suggest that when two people are right for each other and make their friends gag, it will work out automatically. I guess it could? But more often that not, it would seem, we get obstacles thrown in front of us. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;There are basically two types of people: people who find an obstacle and see a stop sign, and people who find an obstacle and tackle it. It just depends on how hard you want to work. At the base of all the cultural stuff and distance stuff, we're people. The language is different and the cultures vary, but when it comes down to it, people are people. You don't have to speak the same language to gross people out with your hand holding and adoring glances. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Even though your sentimentality nauseates me, I'm going to tell you what I've told many readers. Go with your gut. If you believe she loves you and that you two have a shot at disgusting the world together, give it a shot. Keep at it. Talk to her about this romantic nonsense. You're talking about trading the whole word for her, for heaven's sake. If a man said that to me, I would slap him for being so sappy and pathetic and ask when Meg Ryan was showing up. Hopefully your girl isn't like me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Like I told you before, figure out what makes you happy in life and go after it. Just leave the gory details out, thanks. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-6613499568957930119?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/6613499568957930119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=6613499568957930119' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6613499568957930119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6613499568957930119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/03/i-met-girl.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-8596018036266084539</id><published>2011-02-26T21:55:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-26T23:42:57.741-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;div&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I recently had a boy ask me if we wanted to take things to the next step - by which he meant becoming a couple.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He did this by text message. Is this normal? It seems to me a conversation about couplehood should take place in person. Kinda like not dumping someone via text - you shouldn't start a relationship via text either.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Am I just old fashioned? Is this the new norm? If so - I object. Whats next? Sex via text?  Like that will ever work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sincerely,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Grow a Pair and Ask Me in Person&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dear Old Fashioned,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Unfortunately, the spreading of good news in a digital format seems to be gaining momentum as an appropriate method. I do not agree with this. I don't understand why my best friend should find out my news at the same time as my dentist. However, it's happening anyway. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As far as I'm concerned, a boy texting you about taking your relationship to the next level? Is only appropriate if your relationship up to that point has been a texting and/or internet relationship. Using this scale, I would assume he's ready to start having phone conversations? That's sweet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Buuuuut....if your relationship has been a standard issue texting/phone/date/face-to-face conversation sort of thing? Then it's &lt;b&gt;completely ridiculous&lt;/b&gt;. Texting isn't the way to move things along in the relationship department! It's just plain lazy! I cannot believe the extent of this epidemic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Where did we go wrong? I suspect this has been snowballing for some time. First we accepted flirting via text, and then we decided it was acceptable to ask someone out and before you can type "brb" we'll be reading on facebook about that time our friends got engaged when he typed "Will u marry me? y/n" into his iPhone and she responded with a y-smiley face combo. &lt;b&gt;We can't let this happen!&lt;/b&gt; I won't stand for it--and neither should you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stay strong, Old Fashioned. You're not wrong. He needs to man up and have The Talk in person. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;PS: Sex via text will never happen? Seriously? I'm going to pretend I never saw that. You're going to immediately google Tiger Woods and learn about his failed marriage. *ba&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-8596018036266084539?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/8596018036266084539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=8596018036266084539' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8596018036266084539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8596018036266084539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/02/bitter-amanda-i-recently-had-boy-ask-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-6737887049746800295</id><published>2011-02-05T20:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-05T20:05:31.370-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;span style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;BA,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm having some trouble with something.  I'm out in the world, traveling, seeing some great things, experiencing new cultures, getting to do things that most people won't be able to do or simply can't do.  Soon, I'm going to have to decide if I want it to end and return to the good old USA, or just keep going around the world - Italy, Germany, China, Japan, Taiwan...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The thing is, back in the states the economy sucks, there are no jobs that are available that I find appealing, and America is... not as interesting as the rest of the world.  However, America has my friends, my computer, access to the Americana I miss, and my dog.  I'm addicted to traveling the world but I'm wondering how long I can do that before I realize I'm missing out on family and friends, becoming the person "who is never there".  Do I want to be that person?  Or do I want to just keep going so one day, right before I die, I can smile and think, "I did that, and I never said no."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's your take on all of this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Bill Murry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Dear Phil Connors,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;This is rather timely, as I've recently been consulting with my partner-in-crime on a similar topic. It's a "curse" faced by many first world 20-somethings. "Should I find a stable job or travel the world the find myself?" Let's face it--there isn't a bad option here. You could travel the world and see awesome things and have life experiences fit to brag about in old age. Or you could go home to the dog who loves you and the people who matter and &lt;b&gt;also&lt;/b&gt; have life experiences fit to brag about in old age. That's actually an awesome problem to have, if you think about it. Life could be a lot worse. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;You're looking at this choice as a permanent one...it's quite limiting, don't you think? There's nothing to say you can't travel for a while longer and then return to America, or for that matter return to America and head out for adventures later. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;As long as you have the resources to support it, you're in a great position to be flexible here. This is not the decision to stress about. Stop whining.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-6737887049746800295?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/6737887049746800295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=6737887049746800295' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6737887049746800295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6737887049746800295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2011/02/ba-im-having-some-trouble-with.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-5110011553390451399</id><published>2010-12-30T15:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-30T16:49:08.997-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear BA,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am curious if the saying "I'm flattered" can ever be genuine or not? The word is inherently disingenuous, right? Or can someone actually say I am flattered and mean thank you or that they are touched or something of the like?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://dictionary.com/" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(87, 151, 176); "&gt;dictionary.com&lt;/a&gt; reinforced my thoughts:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;1. to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;try&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;please&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;by&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;complimentary&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;remarks&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;attention.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;2. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;praise&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;compliment&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;insincerely,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;effusively,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;excessively:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;She&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;flatters&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;him&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;by&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;constantly&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;praising&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;his&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;books.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;3. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;represent&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;favorably;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;gratify&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;by&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;falsification:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;The&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;portrait&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;flatters&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;4. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;show&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;advantage:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;a&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;hairstyle&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;flatters&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;the&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;face.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;5. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;play&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;upon&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;the&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;vanity&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;susceptibilities&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;of;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;cajole,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;wheedle,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;beguile:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;They&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;flattered&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;him&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;into&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;contributing&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;heavily&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;the&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;foundation.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;6. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;please&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;gratify&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;by&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;compliments&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;attentions:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;was&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;flattered&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;by&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;their&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;invitation.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;7. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;feel&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;satisfaction&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;with&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;(oneself),&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;esp.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;with&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;reference&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;an&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;accomplishment,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;act,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;occasion:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;He&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;flattered&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;himself&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;the&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;dinner&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;had&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;gone &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;well.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;8. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span name="hotword"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;beguile&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;with&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;hope;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;encourage&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;prematurely,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword"&gt;falsely,&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span name="hotword" style="background-color: transparent; "&gt;etc.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-The flatterer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Dear Apple Polisher,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Flattery does tend to slant towards the negative side. The differences between flattery and compliments are frequency and purpose. General wisdom deems flattery excessive in nature. A showering of compliments, it often detracts from the value of the words. I find that flattery comes from wanting to make oneself look good rather than making another feel good. It's what makes balding middle-aged men think so highly of the slutty 19 year old interns at work. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Now. When one &lt;b&gt;says&lt;/b&gt; "I'm flattered" things change. When I say I'm flattered, I typically mean, "Thank you, I appreciate that but please do not continue with this unwelcome showing of affection." I often follow "I'm flattered" with the tricky conjunction &lt;b&gt;but&lt;/b&gt;. (We've talked about &lt;a href="http://bitteramandaspeaks.blogspot.com/2010/10/all-aboard.html"&gt;dangerous conjunctions&lt;/a&gt; before, yes?) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;So yes, it can be genuine, but it's not necessarily good. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-5110011553390451399?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/5110011553390451399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=5110011553390451399' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5110011553390451399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5110011553390451399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/12/dear-ba-i-am-curious-if-saying-im.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7612988871592591768</id><published>2010-12-28T12:08:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-29T00:39:06.749-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My boyfriend once told me that he knew I had my period because I smiled more than usual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;&gt;:(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;Dear Angry Face,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;This...is preposterous. I am simultaneously impressed and dumbfounded by your boyfriend. On one hand, he is obviously smarter than I give the average man credit for. To observe your behaviors enough to not only notice changes but to keep track of them long enough to formulate theories? Is pretty good. Well done. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;However. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"&gt;Women are perfectly aware that our periods cause changes in our mood, behaviors, etc. They aren't necessarily things we're proud of, but we know ourselves. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;I know that I am a tad more emotional while I'm PMSing, for example. Does that mean I want my boyfriend to say, "Jesus, it's just a Pixar movie, chill out. Guess we should pick up tampons while we're out,"? Big. Fat. No. In fact, that would probably cause me to head off on an infamous crying rant. (This maneuver, while technically difficult, has zero fans. &lt;b&gt;Not that it bothers me&lt;/b&gt;.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;This illustrates a point I was discussing recently with my partner-in-crime: &lt;b&gt;some people do not know the line&lt;/b&gt; regarding What to Say Out Loud. Ask my father all about this. His classic moves include but are not limited to"Oh, I've heard all about you!" to boys who DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT THANKS DAD and "Well, that's a lot of eyeliner..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;My friends' boyfriends seem to suffer from a great deal of this inner/outer monologue confusion. I've heard many stories like yours, Angry Emoticon, from my girls. You're not crazy for making an angry face for this. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;But don't worry. I'm sure if you were, your boyfriend (ex? current? I'm guessing the former?) would inform you of as much. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;PS: I'm glad to see that you're not suffering from your period at the moment.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7612988871592591768?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7612988871592591768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7612988871592591768' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7612988871592591768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7612988871592591768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/12/dear-angry-face-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-4193899544382638119</id><published>2010-10-24T00:08:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-24T00:18:46.792-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;BA,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;A friend was telling me how one of her guy friends (Matt*) repeatedly asks her "Hey, do you want to have sex?" since both of them are single. And she always replies no, and has informed him she will always say no. But he continues to ask every now and then. And I pointed out "the worst thing that can happen is you say no. If you don't say no, that means you say yes and he gets laid. It can't hurt for him to ask."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Then we were talking about how its been awhile since I've gotten any action. And she suggested I try the Matt* Method!   Just ask someone single "Hey, do you want to have sex?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I'm kinda thinking about it. If I ask in a half/joking, half/not-joking way I can get laid if they say yes, and pass it off as 'just-joking' if they say no.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Have I gone crazy?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;~Just Askin'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;*Name changed to protect Paul's actual identity&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Dear Patsy Cline,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Yeah, you sort of have. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Not that I don't applaud your out-of-the-box thinking or your determination to keep romance out of this equation. However, I would hardly say the worst case scenario here is a negative response. It's a positive response--to a test at the doctor's office. You have &lt;b&gt;no idea&lt;/b&gt; what kind of grossness a random single dude may or may not have. A lady** has to be cautious about who she sleeps with! I'm not saying you shouldn't have sex--go for it, have a good time--but I'm saying there should be a bit more of a screening process before you vacate your undies. Just like, you know, two or three additional questions. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Thanks for checking in on that one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;**Or really anybody. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-4193899544382638119?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/4193899544382638119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=4193899544382638119' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4193899544382638119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4193899544382638119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/10/ba-friend-was-telling-me-how-one-of-her.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-6703230350077384416</id><published>2010-10-10T20:54:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-10T22:30:52.971-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Dear BA,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;So, I've been reading your blog for ages now, and i've always enjoyed the advice you have given other ladies (and men) when they are in a tricky situation. Well i am in a situation myself. I don't know if I went on a date or not. about 9 months ago i started talking to a guy I met on match. We hit it off really well, went out to lunch and then he kind of stopped talking to me. Another guy asked me out and i said yes because well, the match guy disappeared. He showed up a few weeks later but i was already attached.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;fast forward to 3 weeks ago. I was dumped, facebook statuses change and match guy starts fb chatting with me again. So we talk a bit and he uses the word "dear" with me, in the context of "yes dear" and "of course dear".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Well he rides motorcycles and i asked him if he would mind having a passenger before the weather got cold and he was for it. So yesterday was our set time to go. he is supposed to call me around 2/3 pm and i don't hear from him until 4. turns out he was in a car accident and his car is totaled but he still wants to go for a ride. So he shows up and we are getting ready to leave and he gets a phone call, and it turns out we are going to have dinner with his cousin and his cousin's girlfriend. Which i had no idea was going to happen. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;So we go to eat with them and i feel out of place. I mean they talk about cars and motorcycles and people they know and i just kind of sit there trying to be a part of the conversation. He pays for dinner btw.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;then "we" all go to the mall, not on a motorcycle ride like i was expecting (even though we rode the motorcycles to the mall and to eat). Match guy is attentive, and we talk/flirt. His cousin and girlfriend want to walk around the mall, so we do.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;We finally leave the mall and the sun is starting to set and we go on a short (10 minute) ride before match guy takes me home. (a great thing about motorcycle rides is you are forced to hold on to the person in front of you, and i couldn't help notice match guy has GREAT abs.) But its not just match guy who takes me home but his cousin and his girlfriend also come along. So I take off my helmet, hand it back to match guy and he put it on (there are no helmet laws in Indiana and match guy let me use his helmet and he went without).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;We stand around talking for a bit and then I go inside and I THINK i hear his cousin say "why didn't you kiss her?" they leave.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I am confused. Was that a date? or did he bring his cousin along so he didn't have to be alone with me? he did date things like pay for dinner and pick and drop me off, but the date moments were counteracted by all of the non-date moments.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I need professional advice, what do you think?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Love,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;an avid reader.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Dear Superfan,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;There needs to be a hotline for this kind of thing. The number of women wondering this same thing is absolutely ridiculous. Alternately, I would like a TV show about it...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Mystery Date Squad&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;...who follow you around and decide if you're on a date. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Anyway. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I'm not going to call men stupid (what??) but rather say that men are constantly making choices that women generally regard as clueless. (Example from your outing to follow, Reader.) It's very difficult to have faith in them sometimes, after dealing with so many Bizarre Life Choices. And so, so many of them seem to happen when debating whether or not one is on a date. Coincidence? Your call, friend. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I can see why you're confused. Lots of moments there point to Date. And popping back into your life out of nowhere? That's interesting. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I don't think he brought his cousin to make sure he wasn't alone with you. I would actually call this one more toward Yes on the Date Scale if forced to choose, since it was his cousin &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;and &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;his cousin's girlfriend. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Remember those clueless choices I mentioned? Here we go. Mr. Motorcycle Abs might have wanted to kiss you! He might have been working on that. Or maybe he wasn't. We'll never know! Why? Because his freaking cousin and his cousin's girlfriend were standing there providing you with a super awkward audience! Who is really going to go in for the first kiss in front of family and other people? Kissing is not a spectator sport! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Ok, so maybe his cousin didn't realize there was a Vibe and that he was totally stepping on Kissing Time. (Could I please capitalize more things in this post? I'll work on it.) Sure. Totally valid. HOWEVER. If you are aware enough to ask why it didn't happen, you should be aware enough to realize that you should &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;step away for a sec&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;. (Boys, get it together!) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;All in all, I'm calling this a Pre-Date. (Capital letters just for you, kids.) An interview for a date. You can't really call it a date because there are too many weirdo factors at work. However, I'm not comfortable saying it &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;wasn't&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; a date, either. You and I both need more information. If given another opportunity to hang out with this guy (and you're feeling it), go for it. We can reevaluate after that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Tell him to leave the family reunion at home. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-6703230350077384416?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/6703230350077384416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=6703230350077384416' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6703230350077384416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6703230350077384416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/10/dear-ba-so-ive-been-reading-your-blog.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1777302007268919362</id><published>2010-10-04T18:24:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-04T18:28:15.588-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I just saw &lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Waitress&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;, a charming and funny movie about how disappointing life is. Adrienne Shelly was a talented filmmaker and I find it tragic that she is no longer with us today. There is a scene in the film where a cranky old man reads a letter from an advice column to the main character. I couldn't stop laughing. It made me think of you. Please, please, please give us your answer to this fabulously bitter letter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Witty closing,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Someone Clever&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;p.s. If you have not seen this movie yet, do. RIGHT NOW!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;"[OLD JOE reads advice column for the lonely hearts] 'Dear Elizabeth. My husband fell in love with another woman from his workplace. I want to kill myself. I want to write the perfect suicide note to let him know how much pain he's caused me. I'm wondering if you can dispense any advice on composing a suicide note that would harm my snake of a husband and his slut girlfriend the most. Yours Truly, Betrayed In Biloxi'&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;OLD JOE: I love living vicariously through the pain and suffering of others."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Dear Interesting Name for Reader,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I am ashamed to say that I received your letter many moons ago. However, I was intent on seeing this movie before answering you. This letter was like my high school boyfriend's phone number: it was in my brain and if reminded that it was there, I could recite it. But until &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Waitress&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; was on Lifetime the other day, it remained in a dusty box.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I suck.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;However, I have seen &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Waitress&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; now. Let's do this.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Dear Forlorn in a Film,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;You are absolutely going about this the wrong way. This man does not want to be with you anymore. So clearly you deserve someone better! Any troll of a man who would cheat on his wife does not deserve a good woman. Killing yourself? Won't have the outcome you're hoping to achieve. First of all, you'd be dead. Huge point in the "negative" column. Second of all, he &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;might&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; be sad, but part of him would also be all, "Hey now, messy divorce proceedings? DONE." And then go home with his slutty coworker. (Who will inevitably leave him for someone with more hair, more visible abs, and more money.) ON TOP OF THAT, he will probably try to play the "Barbie McSlutty here was really there for me in my time of need when I was grieving!" card. Lots of people will probably say how brave he's being in the face of tragedy and how great it is that he's opening himself up to love again and other Hallmark card sentimental bullshit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;How dare you make his life easier for him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;No. That is not what you need to do at all. You need to make him regret losing you. You need to make him suffer. Here's what you're gonna do: You're going to look really good anytime you might see him or any mutual acquaintances. You're going to look so good that word of your hotness will get back to him. You're going to live your life for &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;you &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;and do awesome things that will make you so happy your horrible slimy ex won't be able to feel anything other than remorse. When your girlfriends gossip about him and his whorish new ladyfriend (taking liberties with the word "lady" here), you will sip your drink and feel justifiably smug that you got off that sinking ship before it was too late.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;And one day in the future, when the stupid little tart leaves him and he comes crawling back to you? And you get to turn him down? A bruised ego limping away from you will be the moment you waited for.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1777302007268919362?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1777302007268919362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1777302007268919362' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1777302007268919362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1777302007268919362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/10/dear-bitter-amanda-i-just-saw-waitress_04.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-334203597025971586</id><published>2010-09-18T18:59:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-18T19:16:12.426-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;Dear BA,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry!  Sometimes being male means you like to put in your two cents, even if its been said already!&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Andy Rooney&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear 60 Minutes,&lt;br /&gt;I find that totally unsurprising, though I appreciate the email. It's so rare that a man is willing to admit his shortcomings to a woman. Usually you let us discover them for ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-334203597025971586?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/334203597025971586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=334203597025971586' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/334203597025971586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/334203597025971586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/09/dear-ba-sorry-sometimes-being-male.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-766942383901921749</id><published>2010-09-09T13:54:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-09T14:13:55.807-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear BA,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Recently I've read a posting of yours about how to read the minds of  men... or perhaps it was about not bothering to read the minds of men.   Likely, it was the latter.  Anyway, your posting was in response to a  woman who had been told that she smelled good by a man despite the fact  that she was not trying to smell good.  I suppose this posting begged me  to respond as I may be one of the only male readers of your blog, and I  have to say, I disagree with your preliminary analysis.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Thinking as a man who has used sample statements such as the phrase "You  smell nice," I can tell you that is nearly always used as a lure.  The  same as "You look nice/great/pretty today," or "Your hair looks  nice/awesome/sweet today".   It is meant to see if the girl will bite at  the compliment, repay the compliment, and just create a general  awareness that there is some interest there.  Men are trained to hide  what they are thinking from everyone except for other men.  In some  cases, the more innocent the compliment, the more thought went behind  it.  So I have to disagree with you when you speculate that it is a man  simply stating the facts. I would conjecture that men state facts out  loud much more often when they DON'T like something and mostly keep the  things they DO like to themselves, for example; "Dude, your farts smell  like rotten cabbage and hard boiled eggs," or "That girl's voice annoys  the hell out of me," with the exception to the rule being when something  violent or competitive happens like "He just kicked him int he nuts!   Awesome! OR when it promotes him in the current social hierarchy such  as, "I can eat a whole pizza by myself!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; So I would have to say in an 85-15 split, in favor of a flirtation, that  the woman who wrote you that message should wear some nice smelling  things and maybe even some nice clothing in order to confirm the  flirtation.  The safe bet is that this guy will continue to compliment  having an excuse now to compliment and thus more flirtation can continue  and finally someone can sit down with the other someone and say,  "My-oh-my you seem to have been taking a big interest in me.  Should we  have dinner sometime?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; But never forget that 15%.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; -Charlie Chan&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear 15%,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I am constantly surprised by the letters sent to me by men. Why? I'm not sure. But you all consistently keep me on my toes. I guess that's good, as I would have nothing to write about otherwise. (So...good for blog, bad for personal life? Hmm.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I'm preeeetty sure I told Rose that her coworker was likely flirting. I didn't suppose that he was just pointing things out. ("You are wearing green today! Your hair is brown! The sun is shining!") What Rose hopefully took away from my words was that this gentleman &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"&gt;didn't&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; mean the other things she feared--such as, "You smell good because you do not smell like a dumpster today and that is definitely a positive change." Guess you should read &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;all &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;the words before you shoot off an email, huh? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;While it is nice to know that there are some brave men trudging their way through my posts, be careful not to disagree with me if you don't actually disagree with me. (This is one of those things that would likely start a fight in a  relationship and then guess who gets to sleep on the couch? That'd be  you.) You'll notice we both lean towards this being a sign of flirtation, although you seem to think my reader ought to step up her game for it to continue, whereas I would like to remind everyone that in nature, it is the male who typically shows off and struts about to impress the female. I'm just saying. Let's not give this coworker a free pass on anything. Men may appreciate a little extra effort, but they are not alone in that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-766942383901921749?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/766942383901921749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=766942383901921749' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/766942383901921749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/766942383901921749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/09/dear-ba-recently-ive-read-posting-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7712131273110507421</id><published>2010-09-03T12:02:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-03T13:30:23.606-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;BA,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I had a (recently single) male coworker tell me "You smell nice."   Which took me off guard, because I wasn't trying to smell nice. I had  showered the night before, was wearing clean clothes, and remembered  deodorant that morning. So I don't think I was smelling bad... but there  was no reason for me to "smell nice." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;So here are the options:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;1. I mysteriously started to smell awesome, which he kindly pointed out. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;2. The coworker at the desk next to me smelled good, which was  mistakenly attributed to me. In which case, he thought I smelled like a  dude. Which would be weird. Since I'm a girl. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;3. I work in gross places, so wouldn't be surprised if I get back  to the office and smell like cat piss sometimes. Maybe he was pointing  out "you smell &lt;em&gt;nicer &lt;/em&gt;than your normally-foul just-got-back-from-the-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;wbr&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;landfill" stench.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;4. He was looking for a way to give a compliment... and what girl doesn't want to hear she smells nice?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;So lets assume its a combination of 1 and 4.  Did I fuck things up  if, instead of just accepting the compliment, I stated "I don't think  that's me. I'm not trying to smell nice."  Because that's what I did.   Which turned out to be an awkward thing to say.  Do boys normally say  things like that if they aren't interested in a girl?  If I was trying  to smell nice I'd probably just think "yay&lt;/span&gt; someone noticed!". But I  wasn't, so I'm confused.&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Am I overthinking this?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;BitterAmanda I don't know whats going on! How do boys minds work? What was he really trying to say?!  Please help decipher!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Thanks,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Smells like a Rose?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Secret Decoder Ring,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Yes, you are overthinking this. That you've worked yourself into a letter-writing frenzy over whether or not a boy thinks you really smell nice? Means you are clearly overthinking this. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Boy minds? Work pretty much the way they appear. Generally speaking, the things they say are basically what they mean. Or a misguided lie, when they've royally screwed things up. So unless you've had a huge fight with this coworker recently and he's doing his best to make things better, then he probably meant "You smell nice." It's that simple. I've written before about &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/09/dear-bitter-amanda-why-are-boys-so-lame.html"&gt;the perils of decoding the words of men&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;...they just don't operate the same way we do. Which, despite being a constant source of anxiety for many overthinking women, at least gives us something to talk about with our friends, I suppose. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;That being said, I think it's safe to say that you just straight up smelled good. (This could mean that you smelled good on a normal scale, or that you smelled good in a non-animal urine kind of way. It's an odd scale to use, sure, but you never know.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;However.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; That he chose to voice this opinion is another matter entirely. There's the distinct possibility that he was attempting to flirt with you. And if that's true, that is awesome. Wanna know why? Because if you weren't &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"&gt;trying&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; to smell good and he still thinks you do? You would literally have to put in ZERO EXTRA EFFORT to continue impressing this boy! If you're into him and things progress? You can start wearing your sweats around him so much sooner than the average relationship. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;You'd be living the dream, Rose. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Oh, and I would guess you didn't totally screw things up by blowing off a compliment. Fixable, for sure. (I mean, this is a boy we're dealing with here.) And if he &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;was&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; totally offended by your remark? Well whatever, he was probably talking about the guy at the next desk anyway. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7712131273110507421?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7712131273110507421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7712131273110507421' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7712131273110507421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7712131273110507421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/09/ba-i-had-recently-single-male-coworker.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1242177108247492505</id><published>2010-08-18T12:38:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-18T12:41:15.469-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;What does the phrase "My girlfriend used to be from around D.C." mean? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I  know a boy who has a talent of referring to his girlfriend in the past  and present tense in the same sentence. Yes I could ask, but I feel odd  as we've known each other long enough that it's generally assumed that I  know his relationship status. I wanna know if I can tap that without  getting anyone in trouble.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Syntax Error&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;    &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Grammar Check,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;This...is a conundrum. One can't change where they are &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;from&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;...so  I can see where you're confused. The way I see it, there are three  possible reasons for this kind of lazy sentence structure. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; 1. He is no longer with this mystery girl from the District. However, I would be hesitant to get involved in any tapping. If he refers  to her often enough for you to see a pattern, there are still feelings  there. The term "&lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;ex-&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;girlfriend" needs to become a part of his vocabulary. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; 2. He is currently in this relationship and does not know how to string  together a coherent sentence. This is problematic because...well,  because I am a snob about the men I associate with and I think &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;everyone&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;  should be. Particularly when it comes to men you're thinking of making  out with. (Or women! This is an equal-opportunity statement, readers.)  It is also problematic for you because it would mean he is, in fact,  taken.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; 3. He is currently in this relationship but likes to maintain a veil of  mystery about it. This third option is the most troubling. I know not  everyone likes to publicize the details of their relationship...and  that's awesome. But those people who are vague and tiptoe around the  subject? That's just sketchy. Sure, maybe this guy isn't being vague on  purpose. But to me, it kicks up a little red flag. Maybe a little, "I'm  open to other things" flag, or perhaps just an "I'm a shitty boyfriend"  flag. Either way, this option renders him a common douchebag and not  worthy of your time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Admittedly, not great options. Better to look for someone who paid attention in the 4th grade. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1242177108247492505?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1242177108247492505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1242177108247492505' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1242177108247492505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1242177108247492505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/08/dear-bitter-amanda-what-does-phrase-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1933594889122207914</id><published>2010-06-15T12:58:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-15T13:22:45.684-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;BA,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simple question:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have all the best traits in the world to do with what I wish, but I'm  not in a career and I'm single and that makes my parents unhappy.  Do I  drop my ambitions to see the world to find a career I don't want and  meet a girl I have to drop my standards to be with just so I can be  close by to a now happy set of parents?  I mean, they did raise me.   Pursuing my own ambitions seems to be selfish.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know.  Maybe it's not a question so much as it's a WTF moment.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Lost&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Smoke Monster,&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, that's definitely a great plan. Find yourself a mediocre relationship and an ok job and spend the rest of your life resenting your parents because you're only &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;content&lt;/span&gt;. Spend your days in some cubicle wondering what your life could have been like if you'd done what you wanted to do. Settle for a very nice woman who frankly deserves someone who is totally enamored of her. Have a couple kids and perpetuate the "American dream."&lt;br /&gt;Our parents are from a different era, where the thing to do was get a job and have Sunday dinner with your parents. (Alright, a fair share of them are hippies who HATE kids like that but clearly that's not what you're dealing with.) If that was what you wanted and it made you happy? That'd be awesome. But it's not. Maybe one day it will be what you want, but for right now, you're looking for more.&lt;br /&gt;Yes, your parents raised you and you want them to be happy. That means they did a good job. But it's just as important to realize that &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;they&lt;/span&gt; want &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;you&lt;/span&gt; to be happy. And they DO NOT want you to have a midlife crisis where you leave your pretty nice wife, quit your pretty ok job, and decide that your calling in life is selling handmade keychains on the beach in Spain while you deny that you're going bald and wear clothes for a man twenty years younger. That's just sad.&lt;br /&gt;Do your thing, if you can swing it (financially, etc). Better now than when you're aging and pathetic.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1933594889122207914?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1933594889122207914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1933594889122207914' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1933594889122207914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1933594889122207914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/06/ba-simple-question-i-have-all-best.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-3978341571285772838</id><published>2010-05-19T20:28:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-19T20:38:04.166-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div id=":12r" class="ii gt"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Do you want to come to the pants party?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Brick&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Lamp,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Are you trying to tell me that there's a party in your pants, and that I'm invited? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Because that is a terrible, pathetic excuse for a line. I'm sure there are desperate women out there with lower standards and this line, applied with whatever limited charm you possess, might work on them. But on this lady? Not so much. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-3978341571285772838?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/3978341571285772838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=3978341571285772838' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3978341571285772838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3978341571285772838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/05/bitter-amanda-do-you-want-to-come-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1399393569357910804</id><published>2010-04-06T14:45:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-06T17:11:42.216-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear BA,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; You know, I realized something lately - a lot of the girls that browse  and post on your blog might be the kind of girl I would like to meet.   Would it be wrong to shamelessly promote myself on your blog as a  single guy with mostly good qualities?  If not:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Male&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; 27&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; 5'11ish&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Brown hair/Brown eyes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Mostly white&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Super smart, somewhat sensitive, low maintenance&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Great kisser, athlete in bed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Downside - Can be shallow &amp;amp; plays video games&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Ok, I laughed out loud while typing this, but I'm sending it to you  anyway.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; -Mr. E&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Mysterious,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I'm torn. My immediate reaction was to say yes, you are shameless. Then tear apart your dating resume. (What do you mean by "5'11ish"? Is that like "the last time I was measured by a medical professional it was 5'11" but you never know since that was a while ago"? Or more like, "Well strictly speaking I'm 5'6" but I carry myself with the confidence of a man taller than that"? And when you say you're an athlete in bed, I worry that this is rather vague. Are you getting at a whole team player, physical stamina thing? Or fiercely competitive? What sport are you talking about? Because some sports are kind of a one-man deal. Like luge. Those guys don't worry about anyone but numero uno. Is that the kind of sexual partner you are? I'm just trying to clear things up.) I mean, what kind of site do you think I'm running here? This isn't some dating pool, pal. I'm not particularly interested in hooking you up with one of my readers so you can be a Hallmark movie. (Or worse, a Lifetime movie.) Gross. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;A tiny part of me considered allowing this and throwing you to the wolves.  I figure there are plenty of women who are ready to be disappointed by a man when the relationship doesn't match Disney fairytale-levels of romance. You seem eager to fill the role, and at the very least you provided some honest (albeit questionable) commentary on yourself. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;But then...I remember that I am not interested in setting a precedent around here. I'm not your meddling aunt flipping through my ancient Rolodex to find you a life partner. I sleep pretty well at night, and I'm afraid that would change if I encouraged this. Just like in relationships, I trust my gut when it comes to advice. Points for putting yourself out there, E, but this is a no-go on my end. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1399393569357910804?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1399393569357910804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1399393569357910804' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1399393569357910804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1399393569357910804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/04/dear-ba-you-know-i-realized-something.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-4197428048011739320</id><published>2010-03-14T23:31:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T01:17:56.211-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Two years ago I dated a girl that I met through a friend. It didn't work out and we stopped seeing each other after a few weeks. She however has infrequently texted me over once every few months in the last 6 months asking me to various events. The latest of which is a hockey game, watching hockey being an activity which I actually enjoy. Not wanting to turn it into a date, but also wanting to catch a game before the end of the season, our text conversation went like this.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;her: you wouldn't happen to be a hockey fan would you? I've been wanting to catch an ice game. i don't know why. thought i'd ask &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;me: i go a few times a year. it's cheap and enjoyable&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;her: feel like going anytime soon?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; me: i could fathom getting a group together&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;her: 26th would be good&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;me: let's invite the masses then&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;her: okay. i will attempt but might get a person&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;me: you know we have this facebook thing at our disposal. one of us should create an event and invite folk. i'll spearhead&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It was late, but I didn't get a response. I wanted to get it across that I wasn't interested in having it be a date, but I'm worried that I left it too open. Let's be clear: I'm not interested - we already tried dating and it didn't work. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sincerely,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sketch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Dear Sketchy, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Yeahhhh...she wants to date you. Whatever you've done in the past to convey that you don't want to date her has not worked. Because she still wants to date you. She may have attempted casual there, but that's because she's not typing everything she's thinking. If she had, it might look a little like this: (additions in bold)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;her: you wouldn't happen to be a hockey fan would you? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I've stalked you on facebook and I know you are. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I've been wanting to catch an ice game &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;in hopes of showing you that we share many interests&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;. i don't know why. thought i'd ask &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;because I would like to spend some time with you and I'm confident you'll say yes to this activity. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; me: i go a few times a year. it's cheap and enjoyable&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; her: feel like going anytime soon? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Also our children would be really cute. I'm just saying. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;  me: i could fathom getting a group together&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; her: 26th would be good &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;It would make a great anniversary for us. Nobody I know has a birthday or anniversary that day and it's not a holiday or anything. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; me: let's invite the masses then&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; her: okay. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Not really okay. &lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;i will attempt but might get a person &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I will probably ask two or three of my girlfriends who already have plans, hate hockey, and know that I want to be alone with you. I will not leave messages if they don't answer. I will call them on the 25th. Something tells me they will say no. Looks like it's just you and me! &lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;  me: you know we have this facebook thing at our disposal. one of us should create an event and invite folk. i'll spearhead&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Do you see how that's not casual? It is &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;very much&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; to your benefit to make this a group outing. You'd like to be assured that she'll get the point and you'll be out of the woods, right? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; I can't do that. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;(Let it be known that what I'm about to say is not something I feel good about. Like telling a child that coloring on the walls is totally fine just this once and expecting it to go well.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; You have to be mean. Not a complete douchebag, mind you. But a little mean. Anything &lt;a href="http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/06/dear-bitter-amanda-im-in-need-of-some.html"&gt;date-like&lt;/a&gt; will stand out as encouragement in her mind. It will be what she tells those girlfriends she "invited" to the game. It will be the story she imagines being told in her maid of honor's wedding toast. You have to be super-extra-without-a-doubt clear. And being mean? Is a great way to lose a woman's interest!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; ...Actually you may want to find a date for the game--either a real one or get someone to pretend. Do you have time to make up a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;    &lt;script src="chrome://searchshield/content/avgls-inline.js" type="text/javascript" id="avg_inject_popup"&gt;&lt;/script&gt;&lt;style type="text/css"&gt;#avg_ls_inline_popup {  position:absolute;  z-index:9999;  padding: 0px 0px;  margin-left: 0px;  margin-top: 0px;  width: 240px;  overflow: hidden;  word-wrap: break-word;  color: black;  font-size: 10px;  text-align: left;  line-height: 13px;}&lt;/style&gt;      &lt;span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:1em;"&gt;fiancée&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; or something? That'd really help. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-4197428048011739320?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/4197428048011739320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=4197428048011739320' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4197428048011739320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4197428048011739320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/03/dear-bitter-amanda-two-years-ago-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-474643974631224253</id><published>2010-02-20T14:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-20T16:51:31.581-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I got dumped via text message at 7AM the day before Valentines Day. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Just venting. No advice needed. Since I'm never dating again. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Sincerely, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;WhatsThePointofTryingWhenAllYouFindAreDouchebags&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Pointless,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Ouch. That is brutal. Every part of that sentence added to my considerable anger. If I had to make a "How Not to Break Up with Someone" checklist, those would all be near the top. You have to wonder what makes a person think, "Hey, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;here's&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; the best way to let someone know I'm not interested anymore." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Obviously you don't need advice about the loser who dumped you. Anybody who behaves that way is pretty much devoid of desirable qualities. Let's face it--dating is way too much of a pain in the ass to be involved with someone less than awesome. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;And as we've all noticed, there are PLENTY of people who are less than awesome. Many of them are, as you correctly assessed, straight-up douchebags. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Let's all stay away from the douchebags. Okay? It just gives our friends more to gossip about behind our backs. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-474643974631224253?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/474643974631224253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=474643974631224253' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/474643974631224253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/474643974631224253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/02/bitter-amanda-i-got-dumped-via-text.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7237747751209529502</id><published>2010-02-13T11:29:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T11:10:39.907-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div id=":5u" class="ii gt"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Why does Valentine's Day matter? And when did it become the new Christmas? Am I really expected to get my boyfriend, my mom, my dad, etc presents?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Sincerely,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Celebrationally Challenged&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Ebenezer Scrooge,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Valentine's Day doesn't matter. In the grand scheme of things, Valentine's Day really ought to register as a mere blip and nothing more. A tiny snag in the tapestry of life. Or whatever.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;However, anyone who has set foot in a Target recently (and by recently I mean since December 27th) knows that isn't true.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Some people try to pass Valentine's Day off as "a holiday for everybody! It's a celebration of love!" (Mom and Dad, I'm looking at you.) But we all know the emphasis is really more on Significant Others. Nobody in a jewelry commercial is handing their sister a diamond pendant. (...I really hope those aren't siblings, anyway.) It is a Romantic Holiday.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;But! Then! Someone at Hallmark or Whitman's or another purveyor of glittery heart wares realized what they were missing! An untapped market! And so Valentine's Day went from a Hateful Romantic Holiday to Christmas Redux (But Mostly for Couples and Way Less Fun).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;[I have no idea how it went, but I like to imagine it went a lot like that, and all the bigwigs were cold, unfeeling men twirling their sinister black moustaches as dollar signs flashed in their eyes like a cartoon.]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Yeah, you should probably do a present or card or something for your boyfriend. It's the done thing, I suppose. Blech. But parents? Absolutely not. I buy my parents presents for their birthdays and Christmas. Mother's Day and Father's Day also require gifts. And my parents' anniversary is the only one I remember and buy a card for. That is a lot of presents! I will not add Valentine's Day to that list--it's time to take a stand. Join me! (This year my parents will get a greeting of "Yeah, whatever," when they wish me a happy Valentine's Day. And they're lucky to get it!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Let's keep Valentine's Day what it was meant to be--a detestable, lonely holiday where people get unnecessarily sentimental and nostalgic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7237747751209529502?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7237747751209529502/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7237747751209529502' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7237747751209529502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7237747751209529502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/02/dear-bitter-amanda-why-does-valentines.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-2277576020501683837</id><published>2010-02-11T21:28:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T23:40:53.061-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Last week, I was asked out by an amazing guy. He's apparently been in love with me for almost 16 years, is one of the last few genuinely good people I know, and would make me the luckiest/happiest girl alive... if only I were the least bit attracted to him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Now I know that these things can't be forced, but I also know how much rejections hurt. It's one of the greater tragedies of life that I keep falling for the wrong men, so I'm pretty experienced in that area. This guy deserves better. How do I let him down easy?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;-- Loveless Monster&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Lovebug,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;No. No no no no no. You can't force attraction! If you're positive it's not there, then it's not there. I'm guessing you've given it some thought and always wind up back at this same answer? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I'm sure he's a very nice guy. Actually, I'm not that sure. I'm 99% sure he's got Typical Male Behaviors lurking in him somewhere. However, I won't argue that with you right now. I'd hardly expect you to believe me on this, considering none of my friends ever do. (Ladies, stop asking what I think of your new boyfriend! I can only come up with so many neutral statements. "He is very tall!" "Wow, he was wearing red!" "He texts a lot.")&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;We'll go ahead and assume he's a real-life Lloyd Dobler, hoisting an ipod dock above his head to declare his feelings.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;...Sure.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;You're not Diane Court. Yeah, that sucks. But I've said it before and I'll say it again: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;You deserve better than someone who doesn't want to be with you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;. Don't be one of Those Girls and string him along until you've ruined him for the real Diane Court of his life. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;You have to be the bad guy and just tell him. There's really no easy way to let someone down, if you think about it. It always comes back to "no." Take care of yourself first, and worry about his rejection second. (We all have to get used to it.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-2277576020501683837?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/2277576020501683837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=2277576020501683837' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2277576020501683837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2277576020501683837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/02/dear-bitter-amanda-last-week-i-was.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-5511050638495557723</id><published>2010-02-01T17:51:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-04T15:57:12.663-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;There is this boy I like. He smells good. And I've been getting mixed signals from him.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div face="georgia"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div face="georgia"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Turns out that when I met him he was single, but then shortly thereafter had a girlfriend. When he told me he had a girlfriend, it felt like an "I am interested in you... but I was waiting to see if this other thing would work out first." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;FML.  I rarely fall for people, and this is crushing my soul. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;:-(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;~Crushed and Crushing at the Same Time&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Crusher,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A boy who smells good is like a lily of the valley. You see a lily of the valley and it's this lovely little flower and it reminds you of your grandmother's garden and picking them to put in a juice glass to take home**. It's all very warm and fuzzy, right? But let me tell you a little something about lily of the valley: they're poisonous. You don't want to tangle with the lily of the valley; they are deceivers. (And by "tangle with" I mean eat. Just so you know.) It's a trap! You'll regret it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Where was I? Oh, right. Men who smell good. That scent is there to attract you and make you feel the warm and fuzzies. (Blech.) But don't be fooled by this--it's another trap!! Sooner or later, they're going to start with the disappointment and bullshit. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Your man there, the one keeping his options open? His behavior is just...lame. It's not despicable, although you're totally justified in thinking really mean things about him and also his new girlfriend. He's just a clueless jerk who didn't think about anyone but himself. Predictable. He sucks, and you're better off. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;**Shut up I never did that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-5511050638495557723?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/5511050638495557723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=5511050638495557723' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5511050638495557723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5511050638495557723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/02/dear-bitter-amanda-there-is-this-boy-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-2559976990843889123</id><published>2010-01-02T16:43:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-02T16:51:43.809-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;dear bitter amanda.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I'm pissed! But I'm not sure if I have cause to be, so since I've always enjoyed your blog I thought I'd ask for some advice of my own. I go to a relatively small college, and for my Psychology class I have been working closely with (what else) a boy who I think I like a lot. (And I don't normally like people, I suppose because I'm particular.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Anyway we have spent the past few weeks working together which equals LOTS of working together time. One of the student observers (our school lets incoming students from the area or some underclassman sit in on classes and help if needed, particularly for students interested in teaching.) One of these students is a girl who I met last semester through some friends, who I always got along well with. However lately her and my partner (aforementioned "boy") have been talking a lot. Most of the times I'm there but more and more I've seen them talking and he's talking to me about their hanging out. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Our school is very small so everyone essentially knows everyone, and a lot of people have been talking about these two even though I'm pretty sure nothing has happened yet. The thing is that he and I are both seniors and she is (in my opinion) significantly younger - five years. It's not that I think she's immature or anything, just too young! Is it wrong of me to feel just a little bit entitled because he's my partner and we met first and I'm older and all? I don't know what to do! And what to do about my friendship with the girl? Her and I have never talked about it. I don't know if you've ever experienced anything like this but boy, am I just going crazy! Please, Help!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Finders Keepers,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Ok. I know you wrote me really hoping that I'd side with you and call her a skank and get all "you go girl" on you. But that's just not going to happen. Here's why:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; 1. I &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;never&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; get all "you go girl."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;2. You only mention hanging out with him in academic settings. This...is not dating, in any sense of the word.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;3. You never talked about it with the other girl. She probably has no idea how you feel, so you can't blame her for trying. (This entire reply would be different if you'd talked to her about this boy. In that case, I would definitely have called her a skank and I might have encouraged you to cut a bitch. I'm a big advocate of girls not stealing a friend's man. But, alas, that was not the case.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;4. Since you don't talk about him with other people, I am guessing you haven't talked about it with HIM. And on that note, you're probably not trying...I'm guessing there hasn't been any strategic hair flipping or sending yourself flowers and candy so he'll see how desirable you are? (Deduct points from your life total if you don't know what that's from.) Boys are totally oblivious; you have to make it SUPER OBVIOUS that you &lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;like them&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; like them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; 5. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;b style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;You said yourself that you're not even sure you like him.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I don't even know what to do with that! It sounds to me like you're upset this girl did what you didn't/couldn't do. She made a move and it's sort of working, at least from what I can tell. And that sucks. For you, it sucks bigtime. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;However, I'm totally with you on her being too young. An incoming student? Assuming everyone involved is a traditional aged student, then he needs to grow up because that means she's still in high school. (I've written about that before; check &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/03/dear-bitter-amanda-you-seem-bored-so.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Are you allowed to feel a little territorial? Sure, I can't hold that against you. I've been in your position before. (It sucked. I hated it. A lot. Let's move on.) But the Girl Scout didn't really break any Girl Rules and so it's out of my hands.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Not to be all maternal here, but maybe you learn from this one. Boys are really more like life experiences anyway. Until you like a boy enough to admit that you like him, he's not really worth your time. (They so rarely are; they frequently suck at life.) Next time, trick him into asking you out before another girl does.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Chin up, buttercup, because he'll realize soon enough that he's not interested in taking her to the senior prom and that'll be over. Maybe then you make a move. Or just sit back and laugh. Your call.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-2559976990843889123?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/2559976990843889123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=2559976990843889123' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2559976990843889123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2559976990843889123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2010/01/dear-bitter-amanda.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-6137774824830236218</id><published>2009-12-21T14:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-21T14:16:01.538-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In regard to your last letter, I have a few bones to pick:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's the big deal about ballroom dancing? For that matter, what's wrong with doing it on a Tuesday? I've ballroom-danced on a Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday and many other days of the week. In fact, the majority of the last weekend was spent ballroom dancing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps you mean to imply that ballroom dancing is automatically super-date-like. All romance and roses. Au contraire. It's more akin to playing one-on-one basketball: two sweaty people moving around with a purpose, showing off,  and attempting not to accidentally injure the other one during a collision.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Additionally, I will have you know that ballroom dancing is just as prone to "am I on a date?" syndrome as any other activity, including dinner and coffee or a hot cocoa rendez-vous, if not more so. While some of the evening may in fact be spent moving about the floor plastered to the chest the person you arrived with, you will still probably dance with many other people in the room. Conversely, when you have hot cocoa, usually the person sitting at the table won't get up and be replaced by some other guy plopping a candy cane in your drink. (That is not a double entendre, fyi.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Mon Dieu, there is a lot of French in this letter.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, perhaps your "no ballroom dancing" suggestion for "coo-coo for cocoa-boy" is a good one, but not for the reasons you seem to imply. In conclusion: ballroom dancing is a good activity for not being able to determine if you are on a date or not on a Tuesday. Or a weekend, for that matter. I know, because I've lived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Happy Feet&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Elijah Wood,&lt;br /&gt;Wow, you are really into ballroom dancing.&lt;br /&gt;There's nothing wrong with that. On the contrary, I think ballroom dancing could be great. (I myself am not blessed in the coordination department, so dancing is largely out of my scope of knowledge. Reading your assessment, though, I like that it sounds less romantic and more gross. I could get behind that.) But you chose to zero in on that one phrase in my response, rather than take it all in. In that, you've missed my point, I fear.&lt;br /&gt;My point was not that ballroom dancing has to be super formal or inherently date-like. However, to the untrained boy, that is the kind of activity that screams "SUPER FORMAL" and "TUXEDO" and your average boy will freak out a little--particularly if, like my other reader, you only see him during the week. Should he pick you up in a pumpkin carriage and wear a tie? Will the lady be expecting a fairy tale evening?  Should there be flowers involved? This is starting to sound like a senior prom--it's too much to take!&lt;br /&gt;The goal is to pick something non-threatening because you want him to decide whether or not he'd like to hang out with &lt;b&gt;you&lt;/b&gt;--not whether or not he'd like to learn a waltz. If you happen to be interested in a boy with whom you have ballroom danced in the past, then by all means throw it out there. But for a study/cocoa break boy, I'd suggest something more in line with what you usually get up to.&lt;br /&gt;While I've got you here, penguin, it sounds like you've got some unresolved issues regarding dancing with boys. Wanna talk about it?&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-6137774824830236218?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/6137774824830236218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=6137774824830236218' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6137774824830236218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6137774824830236218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/12/dear-bitter-amanda-in-regard-to-your.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-310212382183702394</id><published>2009-12-14T16:33:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-14T17:37:29.631-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; I have a story (not to mention a question) about a boy who I see in class twice a week and with whom I seem to have fallen into a routine: goof off in class and then exchange witty banter and loiter outside or in the library afterwards for hours at a time. Into this mix we’ve recently added late-night-cocoa-study-breaks, a downtown trip that lasted until 3am, burritos for dinner, lunch and studying, as well as additional hours of outdoor chatter. Don’t get me wrong, my dear bitter lady, I’m not complaining about any of this; I have, in fact, been having an inordinate amount of fun with my chatty fellow and what could potentially be flirting and what might even be called – dare I say it? – “dating.” That being said, the Thursday-to-Tuesday period without any word from the boy has become nearly unbearable. I am by no means a game-player, but the ball at the moment I clearly in his court. The waiting is driving me batty! Any advice?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Fondly,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Nearly off her rocker&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Wednesday,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ouch. It seems to me that you're a work-week girlfriend. I actually felt nauseous while reading about your relationship with this boy. I mean, late-night cocoa dates? That's adorable. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt;And awful. You are grossing me out. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And then I got to the part about you not hearing from him all weekend. And that is not adorable at all; thus I do not want to throw up. This is usually a bad sign for relationships. Honey, weekends are prime dating time. If this man wanted to properly date you, you'd at least hear from him during the weekends. (And let's not forget that it's time to push &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;proper&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; dating. No more of this casual "hanging out" nonsense.) As it stands, you've got a weekday boyfriend. It could mean a lot of things. He might have a legit girlfriend/someone he sleeps with on weekends. Like the pill containers my grandmother used to have, he's keeping you closed tightly in that safe Wednesday compartment. Or he might not realize how similar to dating your situation has become. Maybe he's one of those "I'm not looking for anything, but I like hanging out casually" guys (=sad)...and he unknowingly found something. (And SERIOUSLY stop favoring that casual hang out, gentlemen.) Maybe he has no interest in dating you for real. (That one hurts, I know, but it's possible. I tell you this because you so clearly deserve better.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;All of these options really boil down to him being an idiot. (A common theme.) The wildcard is whether he's a clueless idiot or a conniving one. You might have to lay down the weekend card and watch his reaction. (I'm sorry about the multiple 'card' references here; I don't feel any better about it than you do.) Bring up some social thing for Saturday. Not ballroom dancing or anything, but something you'd actually do together, say, after studying on a Tuesday. If he squirms and mumbles something about an appointment and suddenly gets a text message and/or something in his eye he needs to take care of, then it's time to put those hopes back in your bag where they belong. But let's just hope he reacts like a normal human being.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-310212382183702394?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/310212382183702394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=310212382183702394' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/310212382183702394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/310212382183702394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/12/dear-bitter-amanda-i-have-story-not-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7830313345142112983</id><published>2009-11-12T15:14:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T15:46:39.396-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Balls.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; This dating thing sucks balls. I'm nervous all of the time. Self-conscious. Giddy. Unsure. Self-doubting. Questioning. And awesomely happy. And then all kinds of confused. And depressed. And super excited. Up and down more times than an EKG.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; I think I might throw up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Remind me not to do it again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Thanks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Kisses,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Entirely Bipolar&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Carousel, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Gross. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"&gt;I'm &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;going to throw up. This was not the kind of letter I anticipated. I thought you were angry. But you're not! You mention some negative emotions, all of which can and &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;should&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; be associated with dating. But...I don't sense any real anger here. I think you're just upset because a good date sends people into emotional turmoil! And that means you &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;had a good date&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;So. Do you know what that means, princess? Shut up. I bet you're feeling insecure because he hasn't called in the 46.2 hours since you saw him. You think he had a bad time. But then you review it mentally...and that's just not possible! It was a great date! Why hasn't he called? Oh, because he doesn't want to seem eager and freak you out because he had a great time, too! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Gag. Really, this is disgusting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I WILL caution you against doing this again! I'll warn everyone! I'm like U2 over here throwing out the warnings! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;But you won't listen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;. You'll listen to me until he calls you and you have some nauseating exchange and make plans for coffee tomorrow afternoon. Blech. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I'm disappointed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7830313345142112983?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7830313345142112983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7830313345142112983' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7830313345142112983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7830313345142112983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/11/dear-bitter-amanda-balls.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-6018217884298313654</id><published>2009-11-05T22:11:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-05T22:13:19.732-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;This is a follow-up to Legally Blind's question. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;What if you are the girl who is: interested in the boy, talking to him more than anyone else around, texting him, making sure we're facebook friends, making sure he notices me, making sure he knows I'm free on the weekend and have the same interests he does, and making it completely obvious to everyone else around that I'm interested. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;And the dumbass is completely clueless and doesn't pick up on the signals?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;What can I do besides give him a lapdance so that the 'oh hey, she likes me!' lightbulb goes off in his brain? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Seriously. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; -Invisible&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Visible,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;You know that old saying about horses? "You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink." You do everything in your power to make something happen, but in the end, the horse has to decide to man up and &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"&gt;take a freaking drink&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; You see where I'm headed here? Honestly, I'm at a loss. We lead them right to the water, make sure it's a suitable temperature, assure them that drinking it is a Good Life Choice, and put a twisty straw in it--but we cannot make them actually take a drink. Mind boggling, no? There is, of course, the option of you asking him out. That's up to you--it's a personal choice we all have to make.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; I'm sorry. That's not something you wanted to hear, but it's not my job to hold your hand and sugarcoat things. It's a tough world out there. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-6018217884298313654?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/6018217884298313654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=6018217884298313654' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6018217884298313654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6018217884298313654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/11/bitter-amanda-this-is-follow-up-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1399709386019542754</id><published>2009-11-04T18:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T18:32:33.145-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Additionally...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Readers: It occurred to me that I made a grave error in my previous letter, from Legally Blind. Please consider this a belated PS.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Cher,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Ok, so I forgot who I was talking to--a clueless man. I don't know how that happened. (Wishful thinking?) I guess I figured you'd extrapolate from what I wrote--apologies. I stand behind every word I wrote to you. However, I forgot one tiny, but significant, detail in my advice for you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;If you notice any of these signs, or even &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;think&lt;/span&gt; you do, and you're likewise interested in that lady, then by all means make a move. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I know, rejection is a bitch. I feel marginally bad because it's a terrible (for you) double standard that you should be the ones putting yourselves out there while we wave the Magic Wand or Rejection or Approval. But it's better than ignoring the signs altogether! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1399709386019542754?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1399709386019542754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1399709386019542754' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1399709386019542754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1399709386019542754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/11/additionally.html' title='Additionally...'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-4481675752685789343</id><published>2009-11-03T22:37:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T22:41:33.688-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear BA,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; This is life, I'm totally clueless how to stop a girl who is interested in me.  All my successes in the past have been been blind luck.  You're a girl, right?  What are the top ten signs a girl would give a guy to let him know, covertly, she is interested in him.  You know.  The signs that all guys probably miss 9 out of 10 times.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; - Legally Blind&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Cher,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ok...so you might be totally clueless on girls, but I'm totally clueless on how to answer your letter. I'm not sure if it's a typo or if you just don't know what you want--either way, I wouldn't be terribly surprised. I've had to read this a couple times. And...well, I'm still not entirely certain if I should tell you how to STOP a girl who is interested or how to SPOT a girl who is interested. The rest of your letter indicates that it's the latter. So...I'm gonna go with that. Oh, and thanks for noticing that I'm a girl. Well done, sir. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;Covertly&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;, you say? As if the things women have to do are at all subtle! We tried subtle, a hundred years ago, but you guys kept missing it and thinking we had something in our eye. We had to step it up. A lot. You say your past successes were blind luck? No. They. Weren't. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;You were successful because the woman involved was successful.&lt;/span&gt; Guys, honestly...it's like you're waiting for a lapdance to know we're attracted to you! (Hint: do not hold your breath on that one.) You're looking for a checklist; for me to do the work for you. Not likely, my friend. It's not like that--and also, there are some things I just can't divulge. A girl has to have &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;some&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; tricks up her sleeve. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; The main thing you need to know in this situation is that women emphasize that it's YOU we're interested in. We talk to you more than anyone else around, we text you, we want to know about your life. We make sure we're facebook friends. We remember things you've talked about, we position ourselves near you. We have to exaggerate everything so you'll notice! In the end, we all but end up asking ourselves out. (Because we told you we were dying to see that movie we talked about and we let you know that we don't work on Saturdays.) If you think a woman might be doing something intentionally, or playing some sort of game, she probably is. We're very good at this. Don't worry, just keep your eyes open and don't overthink it. That's our job.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Remember, kids: spell check doesn't catch real words. Let's proofread. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-4481675752685789343?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/4481675752685789343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=4481675752685789343' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4481675752685789343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4481675752685789343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/11/dear-ba-this-is-life-im-totally.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-5603997395754750154</id><published>2009-10-27T13:07:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-27T13:09:06.169-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Seriously, am I the only one offended by Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies"? What pisses me off about the song is this phrase "if you liked it than you should have put a ring on it."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Dear Beyonce: you are a person, not an object that people can just add pretty decorations to. Please refer to yourself as "I" or "me" and not "it". Lets change that phrase to "if you liked me, than you should have given me a ring."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Don't even get me started on the part where she says "Pull me into your arms, say I'm the one you own." You are not an object to be owned!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Its hard enough when men go around objectifying women, but here we have a woman objectifying herself. Millions of people listen to your music, and this is the message you're giving them!?! It hurts my soul.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;BitterAmanda, how do we convince Beyonce she's sending out shitty messages to young people about the way women should be treated?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Really Irritated in CT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Single Lady,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;You have some excellent points. And bonus points were awarded for your letter because I felt your anger! I can't believe how irresponsible some celebrities are regarding the public image they present to young people--young women in particular. I don't think we need to shelter young people, but I think &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" &gt;everyone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; needs to realize what an impact we as a society have on them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;This song has bothered me since Beyonce released it. (Beyonce, this song is great for dancing--why can't you use your powers for good??) To be honest, though, my reason is different from yours. This song was Beyonce trying to record the new Anthem for Single Ladies. She wanted us to have a slumber party and be angry together and I don't know, eat raw cookie dough? Whatever. She wanted to be the figurehead for our new Campaign Against Clueless Men. While normally I can totally get behind the idea, Beyonce seemed to forget one thing:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt;Her very public relationship with Jay-Z. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;She's been dating him for years! They got married in April 2008--&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" &gt;6 months before she released "Single Ladies."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; Um, Beyonce? You can't lead the Angry Single Ladies Parade if your husband will be marching next to you. It doesn't feel genuine! It must be easy to say, "hey, guys, you have to treat us better or you can forget it" when you've got a man at home who loves you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Did you ever talk to an adult when you were in your awkward adolescent phase and hear them tell you it'll get better? That you'll be out of the woods soon? Do you remember that sounding like bullshit in your young ears? Like, "Sure, it's easy for you to say...you've done it. You're living the good life now!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It's kind of like that. You mean well, but let's be honest...it rings of bullshit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm not sure what we can do about Beyonce--I don't think she reads my website. (She should.) In the meantime, please enjoy this clip which makes me feel 100% better about Beyonce's song.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lvjxi55LRfI&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lvjxi55LRfI&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-5603997395754750154?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/5603997395754750154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=5603997395754750154' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5603997395754750154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5603997395754750154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/10/bitter-amanda-seriously-am-i-only-one_27.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-8742946598330040401</id><published>2009-10-20T21:49:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T23:23:15.879-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" &gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    If a woman needs a man, then a fish needs a bicycle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;           P --&gt; Q&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  If P then Q. P is "a woman needs a man" and Q is "a fish needs a bicycle". Let's break it down.  Let's say the fish does not need a bicycle.  Q = false.  I'll even throw in P = false, women don't need men.  So, F --&gt; F = a True statement.  Fine.  Now, it's been discussed that a woman would like to have a bicycle or a handbag (need), just to have around for it's usefulness when the time comes.  P = True, but the poor fish doesn't need that bike so Q = False.  T --&gt; F That statement becomes False and therefore, a woman does not need a man even if she says she wants one around for the hell of it simply because that fish does not need a bike.  Now, Let's say a fish could use a bicycle and needed it, but the woman still doesn't need a man.  F --&gt; T.  It's a false statement, the woman is a wrong because if a fish needs a bicycle, then a woman needs a man!   Finally, let's say both P and Q are True, then the entire statement is true!  So our table looks a little like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     P --&gt; Q&lt;br /&gt;     T -- No man, no fish bike&lt;br /&gt;     T -- Woman needs a man but can't have it on the condition that a fish does not need a bike.&lt;br /&gt;    F -- A woman does not need a man but a fish needs a bike, and therefore a woman has to have a man because the fish needs a bike.&lt;br /&gt;     T -- A woman needs a man and a fish needs a bicycle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; And so it would seem that a lack of fish bicycles is preventing women from needing men.  Who would have thought?  In our table, as long as there are no fish bikes, there's no need for men AND without fish bikes no woman could ever need a man even if she WANTED to need a man.  BUT, 3/4 of the time according to that table... a woman needs a man either because a fish needs a bike, needs a man only because a fish needs a bike, or she simply needs a man but can't have one because a fish does not yet need the bike. Allow me to fastforward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    (T --&gt; T)  /\ (F --&gt; T)&lt;br /&gt;     T /\ T = True&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   A woman needs a man so someone should invent a fish bicycle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Bono,&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow. Congratulations on passing Logic 101 at your local university. You've definitely pulled out the most germane parts of my &lt;a href="http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/04/dear-bitter-amanda-today-i-was-thinking.html"&gt;previous advice&lt;/a&gt;. A fish bicycle is absolutely the solution.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you kidding me here? This is preposterous.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-8742946598330040401?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/8742946598330040401/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=8742946598330040401' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8742946598330040401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8742946598330040401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/10/t-t-t-true-woman-needs-man-so-someone.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-3890481251833588136</id><published>2009-10-13T17:25:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-13T17:45:08.484-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div id=":sx" class="ii gt"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I like a boy. I think he likes me back. The problem is we are both socially awkward engineers, and we are both too much of a pansy to do anything about it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Help! What do I do?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Certified Socially Awkward Nerd&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Awkward Turtle,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;This is a well-timed letter. I was just last night having a discussion with my partner-in-crime about taking initiative in relationships. The vast majority of women fall into one of thee categories: 1.) Take the lead or take a hike, 2.) I'm an independent woman and I'll handle this myself, thanks, and 3.) Let's just take turns on that because we all know it's tough. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I think it's important for both people to take initiative, although I'm not ashamed to admit that I (like many women) like feeling as though I'm being pursued. (You're an engineer, so let me give you some numbers to work with: I think 60/40 or 70/30 is preferable to 50/50.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;During our discussion, we stumbled upon the idea that your first serious or important relationship really sets the tone for your expectations. As a result, it's not always fair to the people waiting in our future. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;However, you've got a smitten engineer on your hands. Back to work, hm? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Usually I'm a big proponent of a man locating his testicles and putting them to good use. But you're dealing with a shy engineer, and they're a difficult breed. Like an abused puppy in the shelter, you have to be careful about your approach. If they come up to you and don't get super positive feedback, they back off. If you approach too quickly, they spook. They won't try too many times if they're feeling rejected. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;I think it's time for you to make a perfectly clear move and let him know you're interested. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Good luck!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-3890481251833588136?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/3890481251833588136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=3890481251833588136' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3890481251833588136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3890481251833588136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/10/bitter-amanda-i-like-boy.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7332618071169353150</id><published>2009-09-11T13:05:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T13:42:02.534-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div id=":rv" class="ii gt"&gt;&lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I'm tired of dating. I want to get married. I've tried everything to convince my man to pop the question. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;I left magazines scattered around, open to giant, full-page ads for diamond rings. I hummed "Every kiss belongs to Kay" and every other jewelry store jingle I could think of. I tried to work jewel-related metaphors into every possible conversation: "I wish my hair were PLATINUM."  "My cousin's favorite reptile is the DIAMONDback rattlesnake."  It didn't work. So I tried reasoning with him:  "Look, neither of us are getting any younger, let's just get married;" and I showed him a bunch of spreadsheets proving how much money we could save by living together. He looked at me like I was crazy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;So when all those plans failed, I went the passive-aggressive route: When he asked what I wanted for Christmas I told him "I want to die alone, in my parents' basement, covered in cat hair".  He's still not getting the picture.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Is it illegal to drug him and elope while he's high as a kite?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;~Waiting Impatiently&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Bridezilla,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Well, I can't be sure on the legality of your plan, since each state might have different-- ARE YOU INSANE? You need to tone it down and chill the hell out or you &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;will&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; die alone in your parents' basement, covered in cat hair. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dating sucks. It's a pain in the ass until you actually have a decent date. I don't blame you for wanting to move on. (But marriage? Really? What, is that shit contagious? Everyone's getting married these days. No thank you.) Here's the problem I'm noticing with your relationship: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;your boyfriend doesn't want the same thing. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Either he's one of those perennial bachelors who "just doesn't see the point of it" (=fine now but sad in five years) or he doesn't want to marry &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;"&gt;you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;. This next thing I'm going to tell you, it could be the thesis of my opinions on relationships.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;You deserve better than someone who doesn't want to be with you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;That could be said in most of the letters I answer. If someone leaves you or treats you badly, well fine. You're too awesome for them. Any disgusting toad who doesn't see that does not deserve you. You eat some ice cream, watch sad movies, cry on the couch, go out and say angry things with your friends--whatever works for you. Then you move on because someone more awesome who will appreciate you is out there. They're elusive, sure, but you can handle the challenge. Me? I'd rather be single than settle. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;That being said, I will award points for your varied methods. I like the creativity! But you failed and that's why I'm here. I stand by my advice of moving on. And calming down about the wedding. ...And toning down the crazy, at least a couple notches. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7332618071169353150?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7332618071169353150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7332618071169353150' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7332618071169353150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7332618071169353150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/09/bitter-amanda-im-tired-of-dating.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-274853749922804858</id><published>2009-08-10T21:01:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T21:13:05.574-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; I'm beginning to suspect that he might actually be an asshole after all... damn...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; Sherlock Holmes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Dear Elementary,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;No shit. Of course he is. I'm not sure who you're talking about or what made you think he WASN'T an asshole, but they usually turn out that way. Better to move on.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-274853749922804858?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/274853749922804858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=274853749922804858' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/274853749922804858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/274853749922804858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/08/dear-bitter-amanda-im-beginning-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-5200726621768688012</id><published>2009-06-10T17:12:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-13T17:21:08.569-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Recently there has been some discussion in the news about how smelly farts can help regulate one's blood pressure. Some stupid-ass study showed that the chemical that causes smelly farts relaxed blood vessels in mice, and scientists think it serves the same function in people.  Well, this has led my boyfriend to the conclusion its appropriate to let one rip at any given time. "Its healthy!" he says. What he doesn't realize if he continues this behaviour, I might have to kill him. It would be easy to make it look like an accident; "Why, officer, I didn't realize lighting a match in his presence would cause all the toxic fart gas to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;combust&lt;/span&gt;..." Is there a way to curb his 'healthy' behaviour without ending the relationship or ending up in jail? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The Gas Mask is my Friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Toxic,&lt;br /&gt;I have been writing and dispensing advice for 3 years now, and I believe this is the first farting question I've had! I'm almost surprised, since many readers write to me about man troubles...and we all know there is some sort of connection there. Every day brings new surprises, readers.&lt;br /&gt;Now, as for your boyfriend woes. Why do scientists do this?? It's as if no one looks over these studies before they're published to say, "Hey, this might backfire." &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ohhh&lt;/span&gt;, no. Not if it's in the name of science! They're all in the lab, chuckling over their newest discovery, saying, "This idea has no flaws! It cannot go badly at all!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Enter you, with your smelly boyfriend thinking he's doing the world a favor. Typical. You could do something decidedly underhanded and female, like talking to a doctor--your personal doctor might have issue with it, but maybe you have a friend with a medical degree? Or one who has started medical school? Or someone with a white lab coat and messy handwriting? Perhaps you have a friend with questionable ethics who once played Operation and feels that qualifies them to spout medical advice? Have your doctor or pseudo stand-in doctor prattle on about your blood pressure being TOO low, as a result of being TOO relaxed. Sort of, "Wow, darling, your disgusting farts were SO EFFECTIVE! Way to go! Now please stop before I die."&lt;br /&gt;If this seems too soap opera for you (well...teen soap opera, really...it's not that dastardly) you have two additional choices. One is to put all your cards on the table and flat out tell him you're offended. The other is...well, it's gross. But if he's taken a casual view of farting in front of you, you might as well reciprocate. Challenge his notion that women don't emit any foul-smelling odors. Let him know that if he's going to ignore certain (perhaps antiquated, but appreciated by many) male/female standards, you will too. He'll soon see the error in his ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-5200726621768688012?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/5200726621768688012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=5200726621768688012' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5200726621768688012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5200726621768688012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/06/dear-bitter-amanda-recently-there-has.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1602438595813695799</id><published>2009-06-07T21:26:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T22:15:13.956-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm in need of some guidelines. How do I tell if I'm on a date or not? Is there a checklist you could provide me with? I'm trying to figure out if people just enjoy buying me beer lately or if there is something else going on here. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Thanks,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Not Opposed to Free Beer, Just Curious&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Jessica Fletcher,&lt;br /&gt;"Is this a date?" is truly one of the most enigmatic issues plaguing the minds of single women. (At least, all the single women I know. FYI, this number is decreasing at an alarming pace.) If you find yourself in this situation, take our your mental magnifying glass and Sherlock pipe, because you are trying to solve a mystery. But what are the clues you're looking for? I'll try for a comprehensive list, ladies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Bitter Amanda's Guide to "Is This a Date?"**&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Did he pick you up? (N/A if your area favors public transportation)&lt;br /&gt;2. Does he smell nice? (If he's a friend, does he smell BETTER than usual?) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;3. Did he bring you a trinket of some sort? (flowers, etc.)&lt;br /&gt;4. Does he open your car door for you or hold other doors?&lt;br /&gt;5. Does he pay?&lt;br /&gt;5a. If you offer to pay, does he still pay?&lt;br /&gt;6. If you're somewhere with a bar, does he go to fetch your drinks?&lt;br /&gt;7. Have there been any compliments?&lt;br /&gt;8. Are you both engaged in the conversation?&lt;br /&gt;9. If things seemed to go well, does he suggest seeing each other again?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;9a. In conversation, does he ever drop comments about doing something in the future?&lt;br /&gt;10. This one is tricky, since it's not specific. It's hugely important, though. Are you getting a general vibe of attentiveness from your companion?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you said yes to most of these, it's probably a date. If you said no, then either he does not consider it a date, or you're having a really bad date.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Clear Signs You're NOT On a Date (Or Having a Really Really Bad Date and Should Sneak Out ASAP.)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. He answers phone calls and texts that aren't important or time-sensitive. (See: "Hey man, what's up?")&lt;br /&gt;2. He openly ogles or flirts with your waitress or other women nearby.&lt;br /&gt;3. He talks about other women.&lt;br /&gt;4. He is totally uninterested in you.&lt;br /&gt;5. Your conversation is basically you asking him questions about himself because he isn't actively participating.&lt;br /&gt;6. You'd very much like to drive a fork into your eye or fake a heart attack for an excuse to go home. This is also why it's wise, ladies, to have a friend ready to call you at a certain time, in case you need to fake an emergency. In the case of blind dates, have several appointed times. For &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; dates who come without the personal endorsement of someone you trust, double security measures and have a couple calls, texts at regular intervals, and a friend on standby to come get you. However, you should have driven yourself if at all possible. Kids, this is how people end up on the news.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things change slightly if you're with someone you are already friends with. In this case, you've got a good opportunity to compare his normal behavior to his behavior on your Is This a Date? outing. Lucky you, you can also compare and contrast his grooming and wardrobe for further hints. I have also left out anything about him getting fresh with you. These are not necessarily helpful. I've had great first dates where the gentleman did not attempt to kiss me, and I've kissed gentlemen whom I was not dating. It's something you should analyze on a case-by-case basis, keeping in mind you and the boy. I can't include it on my checklist, or I'd have to re-evaluate all my past dates. I don't have time for that. It is, mind you, a great Date Signal if there is physical contact, no matter how subtle it may be. (Consider that Bonus Item #11, courtesy of Mellow Matt, who was rather helpful in providing a male perspective.)&lt;br /&gt;Hope this helps!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;PS--If you're still confused, check his twitter when you get home. Clues!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**If your companion is a man.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1602438595813695799?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1602438595813695799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1602438595813695799' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1602438595813695799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1602438595813695799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/06/dear-bitter-amanda-im-in-need-of-some.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1705141835237219101</id><published>2009-05-09T23:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-09T23:54:57.132-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;I am currently sitting on the couch in my dear, wonderful apartment doing some ugh-it's-Sunday sort of work (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ie&lt;/span&gt; grading and lesson planning). It's bad enough that I have to finish up a work-filled weekend with more work in preparation for a full week of work, but to make matters worse, hark, what do I hear? Giggles. And whispers. And more giggles. Followed by more whispering and further giggling... all coming from my roommate's bedroom where she and her (ugh) boyfriend are hanging out (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ie&lt;/span&gt; doing gross things that I shouldn't have to hear). I don't really have a question dear Bitter, this was more of a  rant... though I suppose any suggestions that don't involve buying a box of earplugs would be lovely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Mz&lt;/span&gt;. Frizzle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Magic School Bus,&lt;br /&gt;There are few things more painful (and awkward, more often than not) than having to listen to other people's...activities. This is a major downside to having roommates. Early in my first year of college, my roommate M (if one must have a roommate, get a carbon copy of this girl) and I had a friend sleeping on our floor, having been turned away from her own room due to activities happening within. The next morning, M looked at me and said, "I am not sleeping on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;anyone's&lt;/span&gt; floor." Just as serious, I replied, "Neither am I." That was that. There was no further discussion. (Like I said, you want a roommate like M.)&lt;br /&gt;As for your dilemma, I am afraid there isn't much to do, if you like your roommate and want to maintain your friendship. The precedent has been set, and as far as your roommate knows, you're Totally &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt; With It. Unfortunate, maybe, but true. You could, however, do little things to make your apartment seem less "Let's Get It On." (Including but not limited to: altering your choice of music, watching any movies or newscasts about giving birth or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;STDs&lt;/span&gt;, and cooking with strong flavors. Be creative!)&lt;br /&gt;Stay strong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1705141835237219101?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1705141835237219101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1705141835237219101' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1705141835237219101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1705141835237219101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/05/dear-bitter-amanda-i-am-currently.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-4132235714031527291</id><published>2009-04-19T21:32:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T21:34:50.071-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Interlude.</title><content type='html'>&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"My view is that very few human beings on this earth can resist the almighty compliment of their instruction being sought. The implication is, you prostrate your lowly self before their greater wisdom. People love that."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;                                   --&lt;em&gt;Being Committed&lt;/em&gt;, by Anna &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Maxted&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-4132235714031527291?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/4132235714031527291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=4132235714031527291' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4132235714031527291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4132235714031527291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/04/interlude.html' title='Interlude.'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-3544471910066749982</id><published>2009-04-17T00:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T00:57:14.238-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What if I started greeting my guy friends with "Hey there, studly."?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inquiring Mind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear National Inquirer,&lt;br /&gt;Their heads would increase to the size of parade floats and you’d be forced to deal with the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;egomaniacal&lt;/span&gt; behavior of a man who believes he is extremely good looking until the end of time. Be advised, this is not in your best interest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-3544471910066749982?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/3544471910066749982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=3544471910066749982' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3544471910066749982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3544471910066749982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/04/dear-bitter-amanda-what-if-i-started.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-6828725513175825454</id><published>2009-04-15T18:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-15T18:52:52.397-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I was thinking about that saying, "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle," and I was thinking about this t-shirt that has this really happy fish with his brand new bicycle and his parents looking on... He may not need that bike, but gosh darn it if he isn't enjoying it. I contemplated this and came up with the following: I don't have a man, but I do have a bicycle.  I don't ride it very often because, well, I just don't feel like riding a bicycle all the time, but I have lots of fun taking it out once in a while. Also, the brakes don't work very well, and I like to be able to stop. Anyway, it occurred to me that I would like the same things from a man that I would like from my bicycle namely, 1) when I'm in the mood, they should entertain me, and 2) they should always have properly working brakes. So, do you think that the quote has been misinterpreted all these years? Have I hit upon the true intended meaning? It's quite deep, don't you think?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zen and the Art of Bicycle Maintenance&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Lance Armstrong,&lt;br /&gt;I have never appreciated the whole fish/bicycle saying. I’m not one to side with men, but I think it is a trifle unfair to their gender. I won’t comment on the intended meaning of the saying itself, since I haven’t done the proper legwork. (Nor do I intend to. I’m an advisor, not an investigative journalist, kids.) I like your take on it, though. Standards are important in both transportation and potential mates.&lt;br /&gt;I prefer to think of the saying in other terms. Rather than a fish needing a bicycle, I like to think of a woman needing a man like she needs a new handbag. She’s fine without it, and it certainly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;doesn&lt;/span&gt;’t serve any purpose she can’t handle herself. Sometimes they’re more of a hassle—you have to keep track of it and make sure it’s not out of place at your destination. Handbags are useful at times and good to have around, and they can definitely improve an outfit if chosen wisely. But, I repeat, &lt;em&gt;she’s fine without it!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS— [Fish shirt:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.topatoco.com/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&amp;amp;Store_Code=TO&amp;amp;Product_Code=CG-FISHBIKE&amp;amp;Category_Code=CG"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;http://www.topatoco.com/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&amp;amp;Store_Code=TO&amp;amp;Product_Code=CG-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;FISHBIKE&lt;/span&gt;&amp;amp;Category_Code=CG&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-6828725513175825454?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/6828725513175825454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=6828725513175825454' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6828725513175825454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6828725513175825454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/04/dear-bitter-amanda-today-i-was-thinking.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-2941961008954827166</id><published>2009-03-28T18:54:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T18:59:36.373-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;You seem bored, so let me shoot this question to you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;What is an unreasonable age gap for dating?  Without getting overtly sarcastic or going to extremes, allow me to provide you with an example.  Let's say that I'm 24.  Is it okay for a 24 year old to date an 18 year old?  How about a 26 year old and an 18 year old, is that a reputable couple?  What if a person is 30 and dating a 20 year old?  Is there an unspoken judgment somewhere that strictly says "No!"?  Of course this includes only those people who are, of course, adults as defined by the law, I'm not asking for responses to questions that would go include anyone under 18.  Is the chemistry between people the only thing that matters?  I mean chemistry is fine, but a gap of six to eight year between people means a mess of developmental differences.  In reality, an 18 year old who ACTS older really has a lot to go through still to BE older, and that only comes with time and experience. You can't fake experience.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Right?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;What's your view on that one?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-Old Man River&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Show Boat,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt;, I'm just going to put this out there at the start. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You should not be dating an 18 year old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;Alright, I feel better now. This is kind of a sticky subject. People who ask usually have a specific person or situation in mind, and inevitably don't like what they hear. (Picky bastards.) (Oh, not you, Old Man.) (Well...you might be. So far you're good.) There's no real rule or formula. I was once told the youngest a person could go was half their age plus 7. Following that, I could date a 19 year old. (He'd have to be a pretty upstanding 19 year old, to meet Bitter Amanda Standards.) But I think 19 is too young. This theory, along with all the others, is sketchy at best. My sister won't even consider anyone who is too young to go to a bar. Six years is a lot at my age, but thinking of a 40 year old dating a 46 year old doesn't even phase me. (Except that she's setting herself up for disappointment; a common theme no matter the age.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me, here's what it really boils down to: where you are in life. An 18 year old is dealing with, let's assume for the sake of me being right, finishing high school and going to prom and figuring out how to wear a mortar board without looking sort of goofy. (Hey grads, the answer is: you can't.)  They are planning the next big stage of life, whether that's college or the military or a job or whatever. And that might sound a lot like your mid 20s, but ask yourself: do you want to escort your significant other to their prom? (&lt;em&gt;Sweet, creepy old guy is buying the beer&lt;/em&gt;!) I don't know about you, readers, but I had one prom and that was quite enough. Do you want to take her to your office party? (&lt;em&gt;Hey, the boss brought his daughter, that's sweet....oh, wait&lt;/em&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;When you're looking at age gaps, you have to forget the number (assuming it's over 18 for both parties, thanks very much) and look at where your life is. Chemistry is important, but if you can't have a real conversation and understand each other, you don't have much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And no, you cannot fake experience. You can fake a lot of things--some people even fake whole relationships. But you cannot fake experience. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Finally, before I sign off, &lt;strong&gt;do not date an 18 year old. You're too old for that.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Bonus parenthetical insert!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-2941961008954827166?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/2941961008954827166/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=2941961008954827166' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2941961008954827166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2941961008954827166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/03/dear-bitter-amanda-you-seem-bored-so.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-8284431187031467722</id><published>2009-03-27T17:43:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T18:11:39.597-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dearest Bitter,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Oh where have you gone,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sour relationship guru?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I miss your sharp wit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Love,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Lord Byron&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Rover,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Apparently my credit card company expects me to send them money BACK on a monthly basis. Work has consumed my life. But I'm taking my own advice, and I plan on being all, "Hey, work, stop being so needy. Codependency is dangerous and pathetic. Sometimes I like to hang out with my friends and not check in with you."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;True story.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-8284431187031467722?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/8284431187031467722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=8284431187031467722' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8284431187031467722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8284431187031467722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/03/dearest-bitter-oh-where-have-you-gone.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1300020452335927616</id><published>2009-02-21T01:23:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-21T01:28:24.035-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;In your latest response to Bill Murray, you encourage "harmless flirting". I want to know if such a thing truly exists and how one does it safely. Dear Friends of mine lead me to believe otherwise saying that no such thing can exist because every guy secretly wants to fuck you. Therefore, every flirt is hopeful. This news made me sad (and a little grossed out). Prior to this information, I enjoyed flirting for fun. It was like a hobby. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;But then the a silly thing happened: I laughed in a boy's face as he was trying to kiss me (even you have to admit that is harsh [but if you were in my place, you probably would have laughed too!!]) and the Dear Friends dropped the no-such-thing-as-harmless-flirting bomb. I suppose it was kind of like an intervention. Am I a special case? Is my hotness so grand that I am incapable of flirting without causing destruction? Or are boys feelings really so delicate and all that machismo is a bunch of bullshit? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Please, Bitter Amanda, guide me to the truth! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sincerely,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Heartbreaker&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Mariah&lt;/span&gt; Carey,&lt;br /&gt;It does kind of gross you out, doesn't it? It often leads us, as women, to adopt a blanket policy of ignoring strange men in bars or the general public. (Quick note, ladies: this is usually better, since randoms in bars are seldom interesting men.)&lt;br /&gt;I still say flirting can be harmless. Not in all cases, but definitely some of the time. (Or maybe I'm the special case. Not unheard of.) Sure, it will still lead to the occasional awkward situation. That's not going to change! I don't think that's any reason to stop doing what you enjoy. I would guess that for every situation in which a woman gives off leading vibes, there is &lt;strong&gt;at least&lt;/strong&gt; one man misreading the signals, like your poor rebuffed friend. (Hey guys, a quick FYI? Just because you &lt;em&gt;cornered&lt;/em&gt; me and I've been talking to you for five minutes does not mean I plan on sleeping with you. You're missing all the bored searching over your shoulder for my friends. Go away now please.) As for victims of harmless flirting, such as your trampled suitor mentioned above, don't worry about them too much. It's a learning experience! He'll replay it in his mind like a game tape and alter his plan for next time. You're helping to mold him into a suitable boyfriend for some woman! (They all need it.) How very humanitarian of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1300020452335927616?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1300020452335927616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1300020452335927616' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1300020452335927616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1300020452335927616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/02/dear-bitter-amanda-in-your-latest.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-3089751329216356604</id><published>2009-02-15T20:32:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-15T20:34:06.504-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;BA-&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;What's speed dating and is it recommended?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-Wiley E. Coyote&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Acme,&lt;br /&gt;Ah, speed dating. I knew this would come up eventually. According to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;everyone's&lt;/span&gt; favorite information source, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Wikipedia&lt;/span&gt;, speed dating is "a formalized matchmaking process or dating system whose purpose is to encourage people to meet a large number of new people." But basically you're at an event with other single people (Well, people who claim to be single. I'm sure there are some non-singles who go, the assholes.) and you go on a series of short "dates" with everyone of the opposite sex. (Unless you're at a gay speed dating event, in which case you don't want to be on dates with the opposite sex.) I haven't been (surprise) but have heard from lots of people about it.&lt;br /&gt;Do I recommend it? I'm on the fence. For me personally, I'm not interested. I don't really care about answering whatever inane questions the man across from me comes up with. I'm not really looking for a date, speedy or otherwise. For others, though, it's a different story. If you're looking to meet new people, it can't really hurt. It's more personal than &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt; dating, as far as I'm concerned. (Know instantly if someone gives you the creeps!) On the plus side, if it's a bad date--most will be, sorry--it's only two minutes long! You'll get a dud, sure, but that bell rings and he's gone. You won't have to arrange for a friend to call you and fake an emergency or find the quickest escape route! It's actually much better than most first dates, if you think about it.&lt;br /&gt;So, kitten, I say to proceed with caution. If you decide to go, for heaven's sake think of some interesting questions to ask during your two minutes! Try to impress someone. Also, maybe take a friend so you can make fun of the losers together later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-3089751329216356604?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/3089751329216356604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=3089751329216356604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3089751329216356604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3089751329216356604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/02/ba-whats-speed-dating-and-is-it.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7049076008667343869</id><published>2009-02-01T22:22:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T22:27:49.689-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm bored and ignorant. When are you coming back? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bonsai Penguin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Random,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm back now. Back to the frozen hellhole that is Michigan, after some blissfully warm weeks in Guatemala. Advice will resume tomorrow. Unsolicited advice for now: seek refuge in a sunny locale. It does wonders for the spirit. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7049076008667343869?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7049076008667343869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7049076008667343869' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7049076008667343869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7049076008667343869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2009/02/dear-bitter-amanda-im-bored-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-56603705787404864</id><published>2008-12-24T15:32:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-24T15:35:18.010-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Interlude.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Hey kittens--&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Check out my latest &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://bitteramandaspeaks.blogspot.com/2008/12/happy-holidays.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;over here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; for some important information regarding our relationship. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-56603705787404864?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/56603705787404864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=56603705787404864' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/56603705787404864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/56603705787404864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/12/interlude.html' title='Interlude.'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-8006856447503687538</id><published>2008-12-19T18:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-19T18:56:36.761-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;What the hell is going on with me?  I'm so confused that I can't sort out the facts.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;My life is wrought with stress, big decisions, a lack of certainty, and terrible situations. I hate my job, but I need to keep it.  I hate my major, but it gets me a job.  My friends aren't reliable, but I need them to talk to.  And on top of it all, I'm not dating anyone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;With this whole mess of insanity in mind, tonight I began to think, "Wow, wouldn't it be nice to have something for certain?" and the first thing that pops into my mind is a person.  I wonder, could I mend things with this person and get it back to the way it was?  Is it possible?  Is it just the familiarity and comfort I miss, not so much the person, and I'm turned off by finding it in someone else AGAIN? Was the familiarity and comfort something genuine enough that I really should get it back, or is this all simply a product of a stressful time?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Keep in mind, being with this person again would require a lot of work, and long distance commitment that would end, ultimately, worse than ever if it didn't work, and better than ever if it did... potentially.  So in trying to mend things wouldn't I be taking on more uncertainty?  What the hell???&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I can't help myself right now. My mind keeps coming back to electricity and little details that I like about this person and miss, and I find it hard to understand why I'm not with her anymore.  Like, why did I do that?  Why am I doing this! Sort me out!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-Sleepless in Seattle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;MFEO&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;Damn, you ARE a mess. Before you ask me any further questions (since you covered your quota in this email) you need to chill. You're gonna &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;overthink&lt;/span&gt; it and that never goes well. (Ask any woman.)&lt;br /&gt;I know that when you're stressed and feeling overwhelmed, it's easy to think about something good you used to have and pine for it. Sometimes, life is complicated, leading you to remember how good you used to have it. Sometimes, like with college, these things aren't in your life anymore because they can't be. (Both my college and parents made it pretty clear that once I was handed the diploma, I was no longer eligible to live in campus housing.) Other times, a person isn't in your life anymore because they shouldn't be. (See: ex.) Relationships end for a reason. Sure, some relationships find a better time or place for round two. It's usually in romantic comedies. (Usually a big letdown. Gross.)&lt;br /&gt;However, it does happen! Sometimes people get back together. To figure out if this is wise, look at it this way. You know you miss that girl when you're feeling overwhelmed. But do you think about her when you're &lt;strong&gt;underwhelmed&lt;/strong&gt;? Or just whelmed?&lt;strong&gt;**&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, not quite the same answer, huh? She may have been familiar and comfortable, but it sounds like now it'd be a high maintenance, risky relationship. And then you'll be sending me more emails.&lt;br /&gt; Do yourself, and me, a favor. Wait until your life and mindset calm down. When that happens, reevaluate this person. If you still miss her and think it's worth a shot, go from there. Don't make the classic mistake of acting under stress. Poor life choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;**&lt;/strong&gt;Note: only possible in Europe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-8006856447503687538?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/8006856447503687538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=8006856447503687538' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8006856447503687538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8006856447503687538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/12/dear-bitter-amanda-what-hell-is-going.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-4543750483898892168</id><published>2008-12-14T11:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-14T12:18:23.061-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm a long time reader, and I've even written before (Bill Murray) about the dreamy boy from out west who sends the unmistakable signals despite being in a long distance relationship. So I'm writing again, because the aforementioned gentleman-friend and I hang out all the time and have a great friendship... and admittedly there's still definitely some flirting business going on on both sides. Recently, however, my dear darling roommate cornered him in a bar while they were both somewhat inebriated. She made an inappropriate comment about his incessant flirting, to which he replied, "Yeah it's harmless, you know... but I do have a girlfriend." ::long pause during which roommate makes another inappropriate drunken comment:: "Well if I weren't seeing my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;MidWestern&lt;/span&gt; Slut (read: his current girlfriend), things would probably have happened already with X (read: yours truly)." Bitter, what am I supposed to do with this information!?!? It's pretty much worse than not knowing. Like, consolation prize, I kinda dig you, but &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;nothing's&lt;/span&gt; going to ever happen because I'd rather have a long-distance-thing with this chick I like to constantly fight over the phone with (because there totally is a ton of regular over-the-phone arguments). So there you have it, why in the world are boys so lame? And why the hell do they admit things (things that you can't do anything about) that just make you feel sort of dazed and confused?Sigh...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Madame X&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bill Murray,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ah, yes, I remember your question! (Readers: see question &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/10/dear-bitter-amanda-theres-this-totally.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;.) I'm sorry to hear that you're still troubled by this boy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It seems to be a truly male quality to admit to things that you can't actually do anything about but that inevitably change things.  (See: "I used to like her!") I don't know why they do this. I think in some twisted boy way, they see it as doing you a favor. "I'm not rejecting you! I know girls hate rejection! But this isn't like that, because I'm not in a position to &lt;strong&gt;accept&lt;/strong&gt; you, either. If I WAS, I would totally be into you! " (Thanks?) As much as I desperately want to blame them for this bizarre behavior, I really think it comes from somewhere good within. Boys know that women often suffer from What Did I Do Wrong Syndrome, and this is their way of helping us not fall prey to it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;What they don't take into account is that combating &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;WDIDW&lt;/span&gt; Syndrome directly leads to What If Syndrome, sometimes known as What Could I Have Done Differently Syndrome. (One of the main causes of long late-night chats with your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt;.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Essentially, men, there's just no pleasing us. If you're a boy we like, and we are not in some sort of relationship with you, we will be in some sort of agony, self-imposed or otherwise. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Anyway, Bill, it sounds like this guy is going to stick it out with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;MidWesternSlut&lt;/span&gt; until things fall apart at the seams. (They will.) You should just be flattered that someone digs you, realize that OF COURSE he was into you, for you are fabulous, and move on to search for an &lt;em&gt;available&lt;/em&gt; boy who recognizes you as the goddess you are. Feel free to indulge in harmless flirting, if you can indeed flirt without getting your hopes up. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-4543750483898892168?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/4543750483898892168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=4543750483898892168' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4543750483898892168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4543750483898892168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/12/dear-bitter-amanda-im-long-time-reader.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1014824827259595679</id><published>2008-11-17T17:30:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T17:32:07.762-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Your reader demands that you'd better&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Remember to answer her letters&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Or she's forced to write tomes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Of ill-rhyming poems&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;To ensure that you won't forget her. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-- A girl from the Ritz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Irving Berlin,&lt;br /&gt;I hope that you can understand&lt;br /&gt;Ignoring you wasn't my plan!&lt;br /&gt;Alas, now I see---&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have time for this nonsense.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1014824827259595679?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1014824827259595679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1014824827259595679' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1014824827259595679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1014824827259595679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/11/dear-bitter-amanda-your-reader-demands.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-9196594867589270550</id><published>2008-11-13T22:59:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T23:02:36.391-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;When I mentioned to my male friends that my roommate would be away for a few weeks, the first conclusion they came to (each independently) was "Awesome. That means you don't have to wear pants!" This had not occurred to me as a "benefit" of having no roommate. (My first thought was, "Ooo, I can play my guitar really loud.") I recall other conversations with many of these friends that have started, "So I got home, took my pants off..." and "I was walking around my kitchen in my boxers the other day..." and other phrases to the effect that clothes explode off their bodies as soon as they cross the threshold of their home.  I've found this trend crosses the many boundaries of nationality, religion, politics, economics, you name it, however it seems to be confined to the male gender. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I have several questions for you, Bitter Amanda: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;1) Why do men think the first and best perk about not having a roommate is that I can walk around pantsless? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;2) Why do they hate pants? I mean, society puts so much emphasis on "wearing the pants", and they go pulling them off as soon as the door shuts behind them. (Hopefully they wait until the door shuts behind them...). Could this be symbolic? Are they throwing off the shackles of the patriarchy? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;3) If it is symbolic-- or even if it isn't, I suppose-- do you think I could get more of them to wear kilts? That would be hot. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Thoughts?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Amelia Bloomer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Risky Business,&lt;br /&gt;Ah, men. How I adore this kind of information. Just when we, as women, think that we've learned all the bizarre twists and turns in a man's personality...this. They come out with something we haven't heard yet.&lt;br /&gt;In this situation, I can merely speculate about their motives. (I trust that even if polled, the men themselves would have no more logical an answer than I do.) The desire to be sans pants might come from some primal, caveman-like urge deep inside. (For some, not so deep.) Often, when I'm around men in suits (which does not happen as frequently as I'd like) they complain about feeling constricted by their duds, pulling at ties like they were slowly tightening of their own accord to strangle a well-dressed man. (FYI, guys, the tie isn't trying to kill you. Suck it up.) I suspect that the suits are just the tip of the iceberg. From your experiences, I'm guessing that guys just don't like feeling held down. Particularly by textiles.&lt;br /&gt;As for your query about symbolism...well, that's a different story. As much as I would like to think they are, indeed, rejecting the shackles of patriarchy, I suspect that's giving them too much credit. You know how guys complain about women reading into everything? Because at the heart of it, men are really saying what they mean? Well...I think they just like to walk around in their undies. It's a spectacular notion, a nod to solidarity and the end of male dominance. Alas, they don't quite have it in them. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.&lt;br /&gt;Kilts are wonderful things. Let us appeal to the vain, show-offy side of men and let them know we simply adore a man in a kilt. Anything the ladies love will be tried by at least a few of them. Success by the few will inevitably lead to more sheep joining the herd. Best of luck.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-9196594867589270550?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/9196594867589270550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=9196594867589270550' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/9196594867589270550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/9196594867589270550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/11/dear-bitter-amanda-when-i-mentioned-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1767348891789286695</id><published>2008-11-01T18:34:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-01T18:36:12.075-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I met a man who is almost perfect. Intelligent, nice butt, funny, steady job, really great ass, good with kids, goal oriented, no criminal history. A really great guy. Did I mention he has a fantastic &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;hiney&lt;/span&gt;?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Only problem: He's a conservative Republican.   And I am a pro-choice, anti-war, raise taxes on the wealthy, pro-gay marriage, environmentalist, tree hugging &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hippy&lt;/span&gt;, hard-core liberal Democrat. We don't see eye-to-eye on politics AT ALL. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;We're not currently in a relationship... but would we have any chance of making a relationship work?  Or would or polar-opposite political stances destroy any chance of romance we might have?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;~Found Mr. "Too Far" Right&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Hillary,&lt;br /&gt;What at timely letter! Well done, finding a man you can tolerate being around for more than a couple minutes. Already you're ahead of the game. I can see your concern, though. Those are some serious issues.&lt;br /&gt;If you dated this guy, a lot of that wouldn't really impact your relationship directly. (Providing you avoided all political talk.) I mean, he might grab more paper napkins at the movies than you'd like, but it'd just be minor stuff. It might work. But if things got more serious, your political differences would definitely throw a wrench in even the most blissful of relationships. (Yes, even though he has a fantastic ass.)&lt;br /&gt;But hey...you never know! If you really like him (/his ass) and are willing to give it a shot, see how things go. Maybe you can be a model for a bipartisan government working in harmony despite their differences! You could win a Nobel for this, or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just to be safe, make sure to grope the bottom you so adore on the first date, just in case you don't get another chance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1767348891789286695?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1767348891789286695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1767348891789286695' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1767348891789286695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1767348891789286695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/11/bitter-amanda-i-met-man-who-is-almost.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-6719547212485430950</id><published>2008-10-29T15:17:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-29T15:20:21.825-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, there is this angry-dude who is convinced his girlfriend is sleeping with my neighbor.  Maybe she is, maybe she isn't, I don't know and honestly don't really care. However, angry-dude enjoys showing up at all hours of the night, screaming "open the f&amp;amp;#!*ing door now!" while trying to body slam his way into the apartment.  Usually, but the time I wake up and realize what the banging is, the angry-dude is wishing STD's upon everyone and storming off.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Either he is smart, and doesn't stay long enough for anyone to call the police, or pretty-boy neighbor is intelligent, refuses to open the door, and threatens to call the police if angry-dude doesn't go away.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm torn between calling the police and minding my own business. From the sounds of it, pretty-boy neighbor has no intention of confronting angry-dude and keeps the door closed and locked. He's also a fully grown man and hopefully capable of calling the police on his own if he thinks they are needed.  However, I don't want angry-dude to show up one day and successfully break his way into pretty-boy's apartment - I'll feel horribly guilty if something happened and I did nothing. Then again, I don't want to get involved, and my neighbor should be old enough to deal with his own problems.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'd also really like to get a good nights sleep. Angry-dude has sort of been interrupting it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Thoughts? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sleepless in a City That's Not Seattle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Meg Ryan,&lt;br /&gt;Classic male behavior. Childish and jealous and absolutely devoid of any consideration for anyone other than himself. And then he wonders why his girlfriend might move on to another man. Like I said, classic.&lt;br /&gt;Setting aside any thoughts on your neighbor and what he should do (like, say, man up and talk to this guy?) let's focus on you. By my calculations, you have three options for dealing with this precious gem of a man. First choice is to talk to your neighbor. Tell him that you hate to butt in, but the little problem at his door every night is disrupting your life. Second option would be to call the police. Yeah, yeah...nobody likes to be That Person. But if you don't want to deal with your neighbor (or if he doesn't want to deal with you) it's perfectly legal to call and say there's a noise disturbance. Anonymously. (You can totally do that. Don't ask how I know.) Behind door number three? Maybe this unsavory gentleman is available!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nope, I don't feel good about that. Stick to one or two.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-6719547212485430950?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/6719547212485430950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=6719547212485430950' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6719547212485430950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6719547212485430950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/10/bitter-amanda.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-6328719115920460673</id><published>2008-10-14T17:11:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T17:14:52.447-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I am in love with my yoga pants. From the moment I first put them on I knew they were The One. They hug in all the right places while hide the flaws of my legs with their dark color. They are not too high at the waist, not too low; just right on the hip. And, they make my butt look amazing. They are Magic Pants. I want to wear them all the time, no other pants will do.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Crazy thing is, I don't even do yoga. Well, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;, I do &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;pilates&lt;/span&gt; but it isn't the same thing. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;However, I worry that they are too casual for work and other activities that require me to be in public. What should I do?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sincerely,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ready To Wear&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Magic Pants,&lt;br /&gt;This is a serious dilemma. I completely understand the yearning for perfect, comfortable, soft cotton while in the ironed confines of work pants. Trust me, I feel your pain.&lt;br /&gt;I had a friend in college who was getting ready for a presentation. She had to dress nicely but could not find her Adult Pants. Her solution** may help you here. She broke out the iron and put a crease in her pinstriped pajama pants. General theory in our hall stood that if she dressed well otherwise, it would fool her audience.&lt;br /&gt;So, dear, iron a crease in your yoga pants for work. Have a look in the mirror. Are you fooled? If yes, then put on a work shirt and work shoes and you're good to go! If you're not fooled, then put on an inappropriately revealing top so no one will bother to look at your pants. Everyone wins!&lt;br /&gt;Best of luck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**&lt;em&gt;In the end, she borrowed my Adult Pants and subsequently looked better in them than I did, so I killed her.&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-6328719115920460673?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/6328719115920460673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=6328719115920460673' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6328719115920460673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6328719115920460673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/10/dear-bitter-amanda-i-am-in-love-with-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-2146827531030414624</id><published>2008-10-02T17:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T17:37:59.608-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;There's this totally dreamy boy who has told mutual friends that he's in an "open relationship" with a chick out west. That being said, the aforementioned dreamboat is sending some unmistakable signals. I, for one, do not want to get my hopes up for someone who is in a relationship, er, excuse me, I mean "open relationship"... but what exactly does this "open relationship" thing mean!?!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Lost in Translation&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Bill Murray,&lt;br /&gt;It means he can physically cheat on his far-away girlfriend but if it turns emotional she'll get pissed. At least, that's my general take on the subject. I can't say I know of any open relationships that work out well, but hey, I could be wrong. So, if you're involving your hopes, I'd stay away. Because even if he does make it past your Neanderthal Radar, if you get close and his western lady hears him talking about some girl named Bill he hangs out with, she'll get jealous and go crazy and then he'll have to decide if he wants to be with her or you or no one. And regardless of the decision, you won't like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-2146827531030414624?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/2146827531030414624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=2146827531030414624' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2146827531030414624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2146827531030414624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/10/dear-bitter-amanda-theres-this-totally.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7791329397592039878</id><published>2008-09-30T20:05:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T20:11:47.297-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Let's say there was a guy and a girl that broke up, and I got to know the girl after. Now, let's say we started seeing each other, but then the guy comes back and wants the girl back. Say she didn't want anything to do with him, turned him down flat, and is now persistently annoying in his attempt to "win her". Also, let's say things are good between me and the girl, but there's added stress on the developing relationship because of the guy's behavior, and also that the guy annoys me to no end with this crap. What the hell should I do? Do I have permission to beat him up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-Anonymous&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Hypothetical,&lt;br /&gt;Guy sounds like a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;douchebag&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. If you break up with &lt;em&gt;and then get rejected by&lt;/em&gt; the same girl (or person, really) you just need to move on. There's no sense in trying to be with someone who doesn't want to be with you. Why do that to yourself?&lt;br /&gt;But back to your situation. If things are good between you two, you probably want to keep it that way? You &lt;em&gt;could &lt;/em&gt;beat him up--what a typical male response. There are two possibilities. She could think you're her knight in shining armor and that chivalry isn't dead! You could restore her faith in men! &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Orrrrr&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;...she could think you're a juvenile pig who can't handle things like an adult. You don't think she can deal with him on her own and she needs you to protect her??&lt;br /&gt;See? It's tricky.&lt;br /&gt;If his attempts to win her heart occur while you're together, you can certainly pull him aside and let him know that you're working your magic and he's ruining everything. Doesn't that fall under Guy Code? THEN (and only then), if he still won't leave her alone, you are allowed to consider the alternative. You might feel less like a man, but she'll appreciate not seeing the testosterone circus. And really, that's better for you in the long run. (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ie&lt;/span&gt; Will improve your shot at getting laid.)&lt;br /&gt;Best of luck, boss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7791329397592039878?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7791329397592039878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7791329397592039878' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7791329397592039878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7791329397592039878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/09/dear-bitter-amanda-lets-say-there-was.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7924954633179645989</id><published>2008-09-24T15:46:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T15:48:13.470-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I don't know what to do. I'm concerned about a friend.  I hadn't had a chance to speak to her for a while, so decided to read her blog to see what was going on in her life. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;She had an entry about photographing, scrutinizing, and making a &lt;em&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;flipbook&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; of insect porn!  She saw two flies going at it and documented the entire thing on film. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;She's not an entomologist, and she's never showed an affiliation for bugs before. And clearly, no one &lt;strong&gt;sane&lt;/strong&gt; (who doesn't study bugs for a living) would want to closely observe the mating habits of flies. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I think she needs some professional help. How should I approach her about this?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;~Grossed Out&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Gross,&lt;br /&gt;Oh, you're &lt;em&gt;hilarious&lt;/em&gt;. I notice you sent this during office hours. Is this what you're getting paid to do? Does your boss know about it? Shouldn't you be doing something productive, instead of just being annoying and getting older? (Oh yes, I went there. You're old.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7924954633179645989?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7924954633179645989/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7924954633179645989' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7924954633179645989'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7924954633179645989'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/09/bitter-amanda-i-dont-know-what-to-do.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-209642746172605268</id><published>2008-09-22T16:01:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T16:03:12.169-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;Would you pay for certainty whenever you wanted it?&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Manpet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Manpet&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;I'm only marginally employed, and this site does not count. So....&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;probs&lt;/span&gt; not. Some certainties in life, however, are free: I'll share them now.&lt;br /&gt;1. February 29&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;, presidential elections, and the summer Olympics always fall in the same year. This does not mean anything, but I like those things.&lt;br /&gt;2. Taxes, if you live in this country. I'm not sure about other countries, so I'll stick with what I know.&lt;br /&gt;3. Men are a serious, mind-boggling pain in the ass. No offense.&lt;br /&gt;Also, something about death, but let's not turn this into a &lt;em&gt;total&lt;/em&gt; downer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-209642746172605268?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/209642746172605268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=209642746172605268' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/209642746172605268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/209642746172605268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/09/dear-bitter-amanda-would-you-pay-for.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-2538928844342381624</id><published>2008-09-19T23:53:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-19T23:58:27.347-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;Why are boys so lame? I could probably break this question into about three or four hundred others, but honestly they all seem to stem from this one small truth.&lt;br /&gt;Hoping you have some wisdom on the matter,&lt;br /&gt;Definitively from Venus&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Venus,&lt;br /&gt;You're damn right it's the truth. Dealing with a boy is like dealing with a toddler who has his own cell phone.&lt;br /&gt;I can figure out their thinking, but it's not sane or logical. It's stupid.&lt;br /&gt;Here's the problem: &lt;strong&gt;they don't think so&lt;/strong&gt;. They are under the impression that everything they do is simple and rational. (What folly!) So they make a simple statement, and we think they can't &lt;em&gt;possibly&lt;/em&gt; be that stupid. We search for deeper meanings, coming up either angry or empty-handed and &lt;em&gt;then&lt;/em&gt; angry--of course. Why? There are no deeper meanings! (That we continue to look for them drives men crazy.) But we keep looking because we say to ourselves, "Well that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard! He must have meant it some other way."&lt;br /&gt;Pumpkin, I hate to break this to you, but I have to: if I had a definitive answer for your question, I'd have figured out a way to make millions. We're different, and men are wired for lame. That's about as close as I've come to an answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-2538928844342381624?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/2538928844342381624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=2538928844342381624' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2538928844342381624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2538928844342381624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/09/dear-bitter-amanda-why-are-boys-so-lame.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7277487287225105423</id><published>2008-09-18T22:01:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T22:04:50.580-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Yeah, I've read your bitching about "dating" and men and it's time for me to set you straight on what your real prob is...  You want me.  You hate it, but it's true.  You need a real man, and I'm it.  It's so simple.   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Quitchyer&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;fussin&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;fightin&lt;/span&gt;... surrender to your hunger... me.   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I'm attaching a pic of me... your first dose of awaits. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Apollo,&lt;br /&gt;Well, &lt;em&gt;thank God&lt;/em&gt; you've emailed me at long last! I've been waiting ages! *sigh* And in such a romantic manner...you sure have a way with women. I can hardly believe that you're available to be soliciting women on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Seriously?&lt;/strong&gt; Couple things, really quickly. Number one, I don't know you. I couldn't possibly be in denial about wanting you, because &lt;strong&gt;I don't know you&lt;/strong&gt;. Two, I don't suspect (based on your charming email) that I would want you if I &lt;u&gt;did&lt;/u&gt; know you. And finally, you did not attach a photo. Not that I was anxious to look at it, but I just thought you should know that this rejection (and it's a very firm, solid rejection; make no mistake) is not based on your appearance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please cease and desist all communication.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7277487287225105423?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7277487287225105423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7277487287225105423' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7277487287225105423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7277487287225105423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/09/yeah-ive-read-your-bitching-about.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1871892101854878251</id><published>2008-09-10T23:08:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-10T23:11:11.033-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I think my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cupid's&lt;/span&gt; aim is off. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Say, for instance, I met a nice guy. Say he's intelligent, funny, good looking, etc. Say I can stand talking to him for more than a few minutes and actually look forward to our conversations. Say I have a mind to ask him out. Now. Why is it, at that particular moment when I've made up my mind to pursue a particular person, that some random friend/acquaintance/colleague (whom I've never had any interest in beyond being buddies and probably never will) starts making googly eyes at me/follows me around/asks me out? Bitter Amanda, why does this consistently happen? No sooner have I got my sights locked in than does some interloper blindside me with affectionate advances, startling me, screwing up my game, and making things difficult. The problem is usually exacerbated by the fact that the two people in question frequently know each other, causing all sorts of loyalties to be called into question. Why!? Why does this happen all the time? And what can I do to a) fend off the intruder (tactfully) while b) pursuing a relationship with my originally intended target?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Pheasant Hunting with Dick Cheney&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Target Practice,&lt;br /&gt;First of all, if you've found a man that can be tolerated for more than a moment or two, this is a big deal. Don't give up just yet!&lt;br /&gt;As for your dilemma, that's quite tricky. Let's start with other men noticing you after you've made your choice. I think that when a woman is interested in someone, she tends to walk a little taller. There's that lovely feeling of a new crush that hasn't let you down (yet) and you're seeing new shades of green in the trees and all that romantic nonsense. (Gag.) A confident woman is more attractive, so it only makes sense that when you're feeling pretty good, you're going to get noticed more. And while you're doing your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;girly&lt;/span&gt; strut thing (which we all do when we're interested in someone) while the friends of your desired are around...well, you see my point. They're going to be the ones who notice you. Vicious cycle.&lt;br /&gt;One of the greatest and worst things about men is that they're blissfully oblivious. Knowing this, you should be able to tactfully ignore your extraneous suitors and play it off like you don't notice the drool and googly eyes. Act like nothing is different. Say things like, "It's too bad my friend _______ doesn't live here, because you're just her type." That's like saying ,"Hey, I'm not into you."&lt;br /&gt;Then, just stay the course with your intended. I'm telling you, a boy who doesn't annoy you is a rare and mythical thing. You've spotted a unicorn! Keep tracking him until you can shoot him down to mount onto your living room wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1871892101854878251?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1871892101854878251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1871892101854878251' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1871892101854878251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1871892101854878251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/09/dear-bitter-amanda-i-think-my-cupids.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-8693133358194284984</id><published>2008-09-08T23:16:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T23:19:14.589-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;   Is it true that a kiss tells no lies?&lt;br /&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Manpet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Useful,&lt;br /&gt;Wouldn't that be nice? It would save a lot of trouble, if you could know where someone stood after kissing them. Then again, there are plenty of people who want a kiss to tell them a little lie. We kiss people for all different reasons, and they all seem to make perfect sense at the time. And while sometimes a kiss is the whole truth, sometimes...not so much. You can find in it whatever you're looking for. So if you really want it to, it can be the truth, even if just for a little while.&lt;br /&gt;A kiss doesn't tell any more or less lies than the people involved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-8693133358194284984?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/8693133358194284984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=8693133358194284984' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8693133358194284984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8693133358194284984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/09/dear-bitter-amanda-is-it-true-that-kiss.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-9000033527043799005</id><published>2008-09-04T23:06:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T23:08:45.017-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;There's this chick, her name's Amanda.  Sometimes I'll think things will be going great.  Then she'll just...disappear on me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Often she provides some sort of excuse that sounds legitimate, but I'm having my doubts.  WHAT SHOULD I DO???&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-  I.M. LOST&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear A/S/L,&lt;br /&gt;Well, I'm sure she's awesome. I mean, hello, power name. But you sound rather clingy and needy, so she probably could do better. (I'm just being honest.) You've got two options, sport. Either man up and trust her or man up and trust your gut. Unless, of course, you want a really wacky solution, like &lt;em&gt;talking&lt;/em&gt; to this wise young woman. Craziness!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-9000033527043799005?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/9000033527043799005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=9000033527043799005' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/9000033527043799005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/9000033527043799005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/09/dear-bitter-amanda-theres-this-chick.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7811217529437266261</id><published>2008-08-21T19:47:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T20:02:57.155-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Would you like to go get coffee sometime?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sincerely,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-Bob &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bobcat,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I've been mulling over your question for a few days. But here you have it: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Why yes, I would love to! I love getting coffee. I'll be heading to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;' just as soon as I finish this letter! Thanks for the suggestion. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Oh wait, were you implying that you would also be getting coffee? (I'm not stupid, readers, I'm making a point. Wait for it and try to keep up.) I checked you out, boss, and unless you lie to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, we do not live in the same place. Hardly close enough to drink coffee in the same building. But you were sincere in your effort (you even stated that!) so I'm going to thank you for illustrating something I recently talked about. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;In my last response, I pointed out that men often rely on an "easy-out" date invite. This is a perfect example of that. (Thanks Bob.) Imagine that this happened in person. There is no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;timeframe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; involved, so I'm not obligated to &lt;strong&gt;actually make plans&lt;/strong&gt; with the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;asker&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;! I could say yes, but then if I walk away and didn't really want to have coffee, I don't have to return his phone calls/&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;IMs&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;/&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;facebook&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; messages/you get my point. And then, well, it sucks to be Bob. Better luck next time. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;He &lt;em&gt;does&lt;/em&gt; earn some points for suggesting a specific activity, though. It is infinitely better than an offer to "hang out." Guys, seriously, this tells us nothing. You're trapping us--the only way we'll say yes to that is if we really like you and don't care when you wanted to hang out or what you wanted to do. In that situation, you are a lucky man. But if we're kind of "eh" about you...well, we need more information. What if you meant hang out like "go see the new Batman movie" and I can't stand comic book movies? See my point? We don't want to get roped into some lame activity. &lt;em&gt;(For the record: Batman was just an example. I love Christian Bale.)&lt;/em&gt; Moral of the story: when dealing with asking someone out, man up. Don't be passive about it, boys. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And Bobcat, I realize that you &lt;em&gt;may&lt;/em&gt; not have written this to help me compose a cautionary tale about the pitfalls of lazy dating and the modern man. If that's the case, and you were trying to be nice, then I'm sorry. I'm not really into, you know, people. It's not you, it's your Y chromosome. No hard feelings. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7811217529437266261?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7811217529437266261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7811217529437266261' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7811217529437266261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7811217529437266261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/08/dear-bitter-amanda-would-you-like-to-go.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1902593786366780443</id><published>2008-08-19T17:52:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T17:54:42.565-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Why is it that the last three people who've hit on me have:&lt;br /&gt;-had a girlfriend,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-been married, and&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-been engaged&lt;br /&gt;What could I possible be doing thats attracting people already in relationships? Or do boys just hit on anything that may, on occasion, wear a skirt?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-Don't Want to be the "Other Woman"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Other,&lt;br /&gt;It's a widely discussed sentiment that men are cowardly and useless. Regarding asking women out, that is. (Ok, it's not just that area, but let's focus on one issue at a time.) They rely on a wingman and then throw out vague, easy-to-recover-from invites to "hang out." They have to be spoon-fed the idea that you're interested and in the end, we all but ask ourselves out! Delightful. Well done, guys.&lt;br /&gt;So how come these guys are so open about their interest in you? It doesn't matter for them! If you say no, well, they just go home to their unsuspecting lady who can inevitably do better. Nothing lost! And if you say yes...SCORE. For them. (Not so much for you, since you're now a homewrecker, and definitely not for the girlfriend or wife. Because they've been fooled by this horrible manchild.)&lt;br /&gt;So you're not doing anything wrong! It is, predictably, the fault of the Y chromosome here.&lt;br /&gt;Such is life.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1902593786366780443?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1902593786366780443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1902593786366780443' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1902593786366780443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1902593786366780443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/08/bitter-amanda-why-is-it-that-last-three.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-6843190128229025947</id><published>2008-08-07T10:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-07T10:52:40.438-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I can't git &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;marryed&lt;/span&gt; to my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;swethart&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;theres&lt;/span&gt; law &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;ginst&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;marryin&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;yur&lt;/span&gt; sister. But &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;I's&lt;/span&gt; don't see &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;nothin&lt;/span&gt; wrung wit incest longs it stays in the family. Hows can we change the law so me and sis can tie the not? &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Iwnat&lt;/span&gt; to set a good example for our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;youngin's&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;BillyBob&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Sir,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Yeahhhh&lt;/span&gt;.....I'm not sure you should be focused on changing laws. You would make a terrible politician and/or lawmaker. Those people possess many qualities that I'm not sure you've heard of, let alone share.&lt;br /&gt;Clean up, get out of the trailer, and introduce yourself to the big world outside of your gene pool.&lt;br /&gt;That's the only advice I'll be giving you, so I'd take it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-6843190128229025947?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/6843190128229025947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=6843190128229025947' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6843190128229025947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/6843190128229025947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-cant-git-marryed-to-my-swethart-cuz.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-5319349677119844112</id><published>2008-07-30T21:35:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T21:39:43.924-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I was at a retirement party for a well-respected coworker - lots of people were there. Including a cute young woman I'd seen around the office and I had assumed was either a new hire or a college student interning for the summer.  We ended up exchanging numbers, and hooked up a few days later (and by hooked up I don't mean "grabbed a cup of coffee" but "had lots of really awesome sex after grabbing a cup of coffee.")&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Turns out she was NOT a cute new hire. It was the vice president's 18-year old daughter who just graduated from high school.  I don't know what to do!  I was planning on a casual summer fling (before I found out who she was and that she's barely legal), but she's already started talking about marriage and babies and hinting about "our future" together. And its only been two weeks! I don't think Mr. Bossman currently knows his daughter's banging an employee, and I only see two possible outcomes to this:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-Break up with psycho-girl, break her heart, and have Daddy-dearest after my ass for hurting his youngest child and only daughter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;-Stay with psycho-girl to prevent breaking her heart, get introduced to the parents, and then have Daddy-dearest furious that an employee is banging his precious baby.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Either way it looks like I'm screwed. Is there any way out of this mess without losing my job?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;~Work Booty is Bad Booty, and Learned it the Hard Way&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Duh,&lt;br /&gt;Really? Work booty is bad booty? &lt;strong&gt;You think&lt;/strong&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;You might not lose your job, but there is definitely no painless way out of this situation. Which, by the way, you put yourself in. You should probably start, you know, finding out who you're sleeping with in advance. Just a tip.&lt;br /&gt;There's no good way out of it. I shouldn't be helping you, jackass, but I will. Tell her this: you don't want to get in trouble at work because of your relationship. If she gets all dreamy-eyed "no one can come between us" crazy, then tell her it's because you care too much about her and you don't want to risk losing her. (A lie, yes, but sometimes you need to tell a helping lie.) If you can string her along until the fall, she'll head off to college and hopefully find some nice frat boy to tell her lies instead.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-5319349677119844112?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/5319349677119844112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=5319349677119844112' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5319349677119844112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5319349677119844112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/07/bitter-amanda-i-was-at-retirement-party.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-4145049087563829590</id><published>2008-07-28T15:48:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T15:54:10.205-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So I've been dealing with some health issues. And according to my doctor, the best treatment option is getting knocked up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;No, seriously. The first thing my doctor said to me was "pregnancy would clear this right up." And I do see certain benefits to this option:  1. lots of getting laid (the condition is also a leading cause of infertility... so lots and lots of sex would clearly need to be involved)  2. nine months without a period  3. i love food, and I'll be eating for two!  4. condition goes away. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The only problem I'm seeing so far is that pregnancy usually leads to infants.  Which I'm not so ready for. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The problem is, my doctor doesn't seem to understand this.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Everytime&lt;/span&gt; I go in, she's asking me about when I plan on popping one out. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ACK&lt;/span&gt;! How does one convince their doctor they aren't ready to have an eating/crying/pooping machine come bursting out of their vagina?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;~Not Ready for Parenthood&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bad Mommy,&lt;br /&gt;I don't have to do a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;google&lt;/span&gt; search to assure you that your assumption is correct. Pregnancy does usually lead to babies.&lt;br /&gt;As for letting your doctor know that you're not exactly ready to buy a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;carseat&lt;/span&gt; and a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Gymboree&lt;/span&gt; membership, I'd say you could use the last line of your letter. Anyone who describes the miracle of birth as, and I quote, "having an eating/crying/pooping machine come bursting out of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;their&lt;/span&gt; vagina" is clearly not ready to be a mother. No self-respecting medical professional would encourage parenthood to someone with that kind of attitude.&lt;br /&gt;Just go get some and eat a lot of pie. You'll like that more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-4145049087563829590?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/4145049087563829590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=4145049087563829590' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4145049087563829590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4145049087563829590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/07/dear-bitter-amanda-so-ive-been-dealing.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1945853577603251186</id><published>2008-07-23T15:30:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-23T16:01:34.227-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;I've heard from numerous sources the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. I decided to put this to the test and ask a certain good looking fella out to lunch. He said yes, we had a lovely time-- lively conversation, laughing, and an agreement to hang out again soon.  Days go by with no call or invitation from this young man. Two weeks later, I summon the guts to once again invite the gentleman out for a meal. He accepts, and once again, we have an absolutely lovely time, and, once again, quite some time goes by with no contact. Tenacious gal I am, I propose another food oriented rendez-vous, which is, again, accepted, and again, a good time is had by all. There is no follow-up by the man in question. Disgruntled, at the end of the week I bake a batch of award winning brownies to assuage said disgruntlement. When I can no longer eat anymore, I call the lad, who agrees to take the brownies off my hands. I sip my tea as he polishes off my baked goods, and we discuss all topics great and small. And doesn't call me the next day.&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda, is this some bizarre shy-boy routine or is he just using me for food?&lt;br /&gt;-Starved for Attention&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Julia Child,&lt;br /&gt;Oh, open your eyes, woman! After a couple instances, I was still thinking that he needed to man up and grow some balls. But by the end of your email, my god! He doesn't need to man up! He's being PLENTY male in his behavior. You keep coming to him, sometimes with baked goods! He's playing games. A rational person would start reciprocating when it comes to hanging out with a new friend. But since he's a man, we clearly are not dealing with a rational being. He doesn't need to call you or show initiative! He's living the good life.&lt;br /&gt;It says a couple things about him. You're not going to like this. First of all, he's not into you. If he IS, by some strange happenstance, then he &lt;strong&gt;sucks at life&lt;/strong&gt; and does not deserve you or your homebaked goodies. (Or ANY of your goodies.) (You know what I mean.) Second of all, he's a total douchebag.&lt;br /&gt;Now, it's not likely but there is a small possibility that I am wrong. Maybe he's just one of those really low maintenance friends, like my sister, who only needs contact every once in a great while? I call them Camel Friends. They don't think separation hurts a friendship, and therefore only get in touch when they realize it's been a long time. You can't be offended by those kind of friends. But you do need to test it out. Stop contacting him. If he DOES care, then after some time he'll call you.&lt;br /&gt;But for heaven's sake, stop bringing him treats. You don't reward a dog when it shits on the carpet.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1945853577603251186?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1945853577603251186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1945853577603251186' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1945853577603251186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1945853577603251186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/07/dear-bitter-amanda-ive-heard-from.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-4961255415026418724</id><published>2008-06-19T11:14:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-19T11:16:19.070-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Abandonment.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Darling readers,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I regret to inform you that I'll be taking a three week hiatus from advising the lame, pathetic, and otherwise hopeless. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;HA I so do not regret it. That was hard to type! I'm going to Italy for summer camp, kids, so write to Dear Abby if you're desperate while I'm gone! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours (but not until mid-July),&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-4961255415026418724?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/4961255415026418724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=4961255415026418724' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4961255415026418724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4961255415026418724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/06/abandonment.html' title='Abandonment.'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7436381578672189176</id><published>2008-06-14T00:36:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-14T00:47:36.537-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;So, I emailed you not too long ago asking about greeting cards for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;STDs&lt;/span&gt;.  I decided to do some research on my own.&lt;br /&gt;The first web site that pops up for a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;google&lt;/span&gt; search of "gonorrhea greeting card" is titled &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;FamilyFun&lt;/span&gt;... a Disney Family.com website. Twisted... but unfortunately the Disney website doesn't have any "sorry about that STD" cards I'm looking for.&lt;br /&gt;~Still Itchy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Clingy,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;"Not too long ago"? Your emails came &lt;strong&gt;34 minutes apart&lt;/strong&gt;. Do you think I stare at my inbox all day, waiting for emails? Um, I have a life. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Get over the greeting cards. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7436381578672189176?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7436381578672189176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7436381578672189176' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7436381578672189176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7436381578672189176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/06/bitter-amanda-so-i-emailed-you-not-too.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-1793475013792552234</id><published>2008-06-13T22:39:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-13T23:45:10.938-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Do they make greeting cards saying "Sorry I gave you an STD?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;~Itchy in CT&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Herp&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Um, &lt;strong&gt;gross&lt;/strong&gt;. They don't. Know why? Because that's the kind of card &lt;strong&gt;nobody wants&lt;/strong&gt;. Just stick to the obligatory "maybe you should get tested" phone call and be done with it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-1793475013792552234?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/1793475013792552234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=1793475013792552234' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1793475013792552234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/1793475013792552234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/06/do-they-make-greeting-cards-saying.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-4423466708520116295</id><published>2008-06-11T12:35:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-06-11T12:48:19.772-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Guys keep asking for my advice. Not just on appearance or video games, but GIRLS! I'm pretty obviously straight AND a tomboy, so it's hard to see why I'd seem like such a beacon of wisdom. And to make things worse, men I'm attracted to are also asking me for advice on other females. How do I make them stop?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Damsel in Combat Boots&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Distressed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bastards. Their asking you is actually kind of a compliment, in terms of cloudy, ridiculous boy stuff. I know, it doesn't &lt;em&gt;feel&lt;/em&gt; like one, but trust me. Two options for you, Doc Marten. You can start giving really shitty advice, which will absolutely make them stop coming to you for help. Practice this line: "Tell that bitch she's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;batshit&lt;/span&gt;-crazy." That ought to cover most of your bases, in terms of advice. (Oh no, giving away my secrets...)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;If you're not into alienating yourself from all your friends, then perhaps you should go with Option Two. Be more forward about your interest in them--then use THIS advice for them: "Tell her to leave you alone and then ask me the hell out because buddy, I will not wait around forever for you to get a clue." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Just remember this if things go well: getting a new boy in your life is like getting a puppy. You have to train him and feed him and clean up after him. It can get pretty gross. Don't say I didn't warn you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-4423466708520116295?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/4423466708520116295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=4423466708520116295' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4423466708520116295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/4423466708520116295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/06/dear-bitter-amanda-guys-keep-asking-for.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-885237294324051241</id><published>2008-05-25T14:56:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-05-25T15:41:27.382-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;My girlfriend keeps stealing my shoes. I bought these &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;kickass&lt;/span&gt; plaid sneakers, and she thinks that just because she can get them on her feet and walk without tripping in them that she is entitled to them. But, Bitter Amanda, they are my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;kickass&lt;/span&gt; plaid sneakers. They go with my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;kickass&lt;/span&gt; plaid pants perfectly. And love them. I love them more than any other article of clothing I have including my lucky Red &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Sox&lt;/span&gt; baseball cap (which helped win not one, but two World Series' in the past 3 years). I love them more than chicken soup with rice. I love them more than- dare I say it- my iPhone. Yes, Bitter Amanda. I love my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;kickass&lt;/span&gt; plaid sneakers very, very much. And she keeps wearing them. How do I make her understand that my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;kickass&lt;/span&gt; plaid sneakers are not hers for the taking?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Shoeless Joe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Hannibal, MO&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Field of Dreams,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;First of all, you should not be wearing plaid shoes with plaid pants. Period. Maybe she's doing you a favor because you're embarrassing her in public with your total lack of coordination. And because of that, she's probably a really good lady to have around. So help yourself out and do two things: go buy her a pair of plaid shoes in her size and then go buy some non-plaid shoes to wear with your plaid pants. Oh, third thing: chill the hell out. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And if I ever hear about you and your lady wearing your matching plaid shoes at the same time, I will make your life so miserable you'll wish you'd never written to me. Gag. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-885237294324051241?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/885237294324051241/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=885237294324051241' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/885237294324051241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/885237294324051241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/05/dear-bitter-amanda-my-girlfriend-keeps.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-5246738141566391311</id><published>2008-04-30T21:39:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-30T21:46:15.740-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;This weekend. Relay for Life. Dearborn. Ford Community and Performing Arts Center. Be there. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://relay.acsevents.org/site/TR/RelayForLife/RelayForLifeGreatLakesDivision?fr_id=4462&amp;amp;pg=entry&amp;amp;JServSessionIdr007=o1jfkgyv11.app312a"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;All the details you need.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-5246738141566391311?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/5246738141566391311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=5246738141566391311' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5246738141566391311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5246738141566391311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/04/this-weekend.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-8803054226242152435</id><published>2008-03-30T21:35:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-30T21:39:47.783-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Biter-girl,&lt;br /&gt;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! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;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.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;R. D. (Author, Published)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Dumbass,&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't cling to you if you were a lifeboat and I was a victim aboard the Titanic. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Couple things, cowboy. First of all, I &lt;strong&gt;do not&lt;/strong&gt; 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.&lt;br /&gt;What I &lt;em&gt;haven't&lt;/em&gt; 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.&lt;br /&gt;(Whew. I feel better having gotten that out of my system! You?)&lt;br /&gt;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.&lt;br /&gt;Right now, I want you to do exactly what you decided and let her read my answer:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;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!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright big guy, I think we got her! *wink*&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-8803054226242152435?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/8803054226242152435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=8803054226242152435' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8803054226242152435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8803054226242152435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/03/dear-biter-girl-so-what-hell-is-wrong.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7948994345787000832</id><published>2008-03-28T23:17:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-29T00:08:32.670-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;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?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;A Free Bird&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Lynyrd Skynyrd,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;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. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;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.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;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.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;PS--Yes, am burning journals when I reach old age. *ba&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7948994345787000832?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7948994345787000832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7948994345787000832' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7948994345787000832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7948994345787000832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/03/dear-bitter-amanda-as-young-lady-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7824907401588859197</id><published>2008-03-27T21:19:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-27T21:28:28.841-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Boy at work. Look good. Smell nice. Make brain stupid. Drool. Paperwork soaked. What to do? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Tarzanna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Cheeta&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;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 &lt;em&gt;good manners&lt;/em&gt; or the long-lost art of being a &lt;strong&gt;gentleman&lt;/strong&gt;. (I can't say I'm worried they'll crack the code on those.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;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.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Solitarily&lt;/span&gt; yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7824907401588859197?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7824907401588859197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7824907401588859197' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7824907401588859197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7824907401588859197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/03/dear-bitter-amanda-boy-at-work.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-2952679436432623769</id><published>2008-02-28T23:05:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T23:10:09.494-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I know this guy. He's not my ideal, but he's fun enough to hang out with on at least a friendly basis. I have reason to believe he is interested in me, and that if I decide to give the signal, it's possible I'll have something to do on any given weekend. I am at odds as to what to do with this information. He's very intelligent, well versed in many subjects and a decent conversationalist, and I could use a night out, to be perfectly honest. However, as sometimes happens with high intelligence, particularly concerning the male of the species (possibly some function of the less robust Y chromosome?), he does lack certain social skills, such as basic table manners. I worry that his faux pas might be indicative of larger inconsiderate/gross-boy-type issues. I'm not concerned about the rarity of a toilet seat not returned to its proper downright position, or the occasional unwashed dishes in the sink. I'm more worried about combinations of the two, like peeing in the sink because the toilet lid is down. Or peeing on the unwashed dishes in the sink. Far be it for me to change a man's ways (I certainly have no desire to be a female Pygmalion), but I must say this: I will not tolerate sink pee-ers. I draw the line there.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I admit I have no evidence of this creative urination style with regard to the male in question, but it has been my experience that people who mistake coat sleeves for napkins and soup bowls for drinking vessels outside the sanctity of their own home are prone to other, more serious transgressions. He is also what popular culture would deem a "foodie", so, should I deign to give him the time of day, we would likely be spending much time in restaurants. Perhaps schmancy ones. I'm all for intelligent conversation with foodies in schmancy restaurants, but if someone is having difficulty remembering to use &lt;strong&gt;a&lt;/strong&gt; fork, let alone the &lt;strong&gt;correct&lt;/strong&gt; fork, how is one to cope? This is what troubles me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;My question, Bitter Amanda, is this: Am I being too picky or not picky enough? Is it really too much for me to ask that a man have a brain &lt;strong&gt;and&lt;/strong&gt; be aware that manners exist, or have I just been deprived of any available man's attention for so long that my standards have dropped to a point where those previously considered unacceptable weasel their way up to a "well, perhaps if he buys the drinks"? Could the answer be different if he were very attractive? In short, am I lowering the bar, or is it still too high?  I just don't know anymore. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Sincerely, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Pole Vaulter&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Titanic,&lt;br /&gt;Men are like icebergs. The part you see is in no way an indication of what is under the surface. Sometimes, very rarely, that's a good thing. You may find one of those fabled men who have more to offer a girl than a night out and free drinks. But more often than not, it is bad. Just like the situation you're describing, you can't tell how pig-like a man is until it's too late. You can never be too cautious about this sort of thing.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, women do set the bar too high. Women who have seen too many Meg Ryan movies and read too many romance novels. There is absolutely nothing wrong with standards (this keeps us from dating sink pee-ers), but sometimes you need to step back and ask if they are realistic. If you only want a man who has a Pulitzer Prize, then perhaps you need to widen the horizons. Strictly into Olympic gold medalists? A nice idea, but there aren't very many of them, statistically speaking. But a man with good manners? That is certainly not unheard of! (Well...)&lt;br /&gt;Nothing wrong with hanging out with the guy you talk about, but don't stop looking for a man who does the dishes in the sink, does his business in the toilet, and puts the lid down when he's at your place. (Note: if you are this man, email me. Who knows? Maybe I can do some match-making.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-2952679436432623769?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/2952679436432623769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=2952679436432623769' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2952679436432623769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2952679436432623769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/02/dear-bitter-amanda-i-know-this-guy.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-2942751163432967733</id><published>2008-02-23T23:34:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-23T23:38:32.186-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;Considering your vast knowledge of the human condition, I am hoping you can assist me.  I find myself at an age where many of my friends are getting married.  These weddings are usually full of women I do not know, and would like to dance with.  But they are often dancing with their friends in a big group.  How do I know when I can approach one of them and get a dance?  What signs should I be looking for?  Is there some sort of code I am unaware of?  Please help me, Bitter Amanda.  Much like Obi-Wan Kenobi for this generation, you are my only hope. &lt;br /&gt;Thanks,&lt;br /&gt;Single Dude&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Princess Leia,&lt;br /&gt;You flatter me. Really. Too kind. All that bullshit. I’m sure you intended to, thinking I might help you. And you’re correct—but you’ve also left me confused. I mean, obviously you know &lt;em&gt;some&lt;/em&gt; things about women. And yet your letter would suggest otherwise. You’re looking for signs? A code? News flash, champ. &lt;strong&gt;It’s right in front of your face&lt;/strong&gt;. Of course there are signals! If a woman is dancing with a group of women, she’s probably willing to dance with just one person. Imagine, if you will, a group of [straight] men dancing with each other while all the women stand off to the side of the dance floor. Isn’t that sad? Don’t you want to go up to those women and shove them in the direction of men? That’s kind of how women feel when they’re dancing in a group. Don’t get me wrong—they’re having a good time. But when we see you standing around on the edge of the floor, looking around and bobbing your heads, we just want to shake you like a bad mother with her screaming child. Stop worrying about rejection, grow some balls, and just ask one of them to dance! If you’re not creepy or rude, the odds are heavily in your favor! We just respect you asking—really. That’s the big secret. You have to &lt;strong&gt;ask&lt;/strong&gt;. Sound like something you can do, champ? Should we review?&lt;br /&gt;            -Don’t be creepy.&lt;br /&gt;            -Don’t be an asshole.&lt;br /&gt;            -Don’t be a creepy asshole.&lt;br /&gt;            -&lt;strong&gt;ASK&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Give that a try.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-2942751163432967733?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/2942751163432967733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=2942751163432967733' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2942751163432967733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/2942751163432967733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/02/dear-bitter-amanda-considering-your.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7276489709984645692</id><published>2008-02-14T10:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T23:20:25.772-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/R7RY4t-24hI/AAAAAAAAADs/7PfyA3X2gdI/s1600-h/scan0001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166852403939959314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/R7RY4t-24hI/AAAAAAAAADs/7PfyA3X2gdI/s400/scan0001.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7276489709984645692?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7276489709984645692/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7276489709984645692' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7276489709984645692'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7276489709984645692'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/02/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/R7RY4t-24hI/AAAAAAAAADs/7PfyA3X2gdI/s72-c/scan0001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-471272532086495067</id><published>2008-02-11T15:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-02-11T15:34:40.227-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;I was having trouble getting work done today. I needed some motivation. And I realized what the best motivation EVER would be: a sex kitten. Someone who would reward me with sexual favors when I was productive and got shit done.  Not someone to have a relationship with, just a cute piece of ass who is strong-willed and won't put out until all the work is done.&lt;br /&gt;Where can I find one of these?&lt;br /&gt;~Seeking Motivation&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Genius,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Holy damn is that a good idea. (And you know I hate to admit other people are smarter than me!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I mean, it sounds a &lt;em&gt;bit &lt;/em&gt;like prostitution at first glance. In the Julia Roberts &lt;em&gt;Pretty Woman&lt;/em&gt; sort of way. But I don't think your average whore works the way you've described. So it's really more like a friends-with-benefits thing. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Since there are no matchmaking services for this sort of thing...(Colleges and universities everywhere should have postings like this, similar to a ride board. (HA!) Pairing you up with other like-minded, strong-willed individuals. You'd monitor each other's progress and stay on track.) I suggest you ask around. Perhaps you have some friends you wouldn't mind sleeping with? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;See what you can do, and keep me posted. I love to hear about non-relationships! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-471272532086495067?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/471272532086495067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=471272532086495067' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/471272532086495067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/471272532086495067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/02/bitter-amanda-i-was-having-trouble.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-5994465966543516357</id><published>2008-01-13T21:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-13T21:41:06.702-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dearest Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So, this guy I know asked me out over email (he didn't have my number.)  And I was on the fence about it, he seems like a nice guy but not really my type. So I decided: go out with him once, if it's awkward then it ends there, if not then maybe I have a shot of finally getting laid. Well, our schedules were completely opposite, we never got a chance to go out, so we continued with small talk over email.  Well, the last email I got from him casually mentioned the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am moving out of my wonderful new place because my roommate had a psychotic episode and tried to choke me and shoot me so I will be busy next weekend moving.  I am never doing the roommate thing again. Time to find a new place.  Anyhow..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Umm, how am I supposed to react to that? I've only met him twice in person, we haven't been emailing each other for that long, and AWKWARD!!  I mean, I'm glad he survived his ordeal, and I would have understood if it was worded more like "I had the scariest weekend ever..." but he talks about it like it's the weather.  How am I supposed to respond?  Now I think he's weird for reacting so casually to the entire episode, and who wants to date a weirdo?  But I also desperately need to get laid. What's a horny girl to do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Signed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Confused and Celibate (but not by choice)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; (PS.  When I saw him in person before he asked me out he was talking about his "wonderful new place", and it was almost like he was waiting for me to go "hey, you should invite me over sometime so I can see it."  Glad I didn't take the bait on that one.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Lifetime Movie,&lt;br /&gt;I don't have very many good things to say about men, but I will go out on a limb and give them this one: they never cease to amaze. Their illogical and head-scratching behavior really keeps the mystery alive, at the very least. I suspect that with his roommate sob story, he was going for sympathy and wanted your maternal instincts to kick in so you'd fawn all over him. (Typical.) And he's trying to appear manly and strong by passing it off as a very casual near-death experience. (Again, typical.)&lt;br /&gt;Regarding his date invite, you sound pretty apathetic towards him. (You didn't even give him your number!) And horny or not, you don't want to be apathetic towards a boyfriend. Quite frankly, they are too irritating and too much work to only feel "ehhh."&lt;br /&gt;You have to worry about a guy who can't recognize a batshit-crazy roommate when he has one. I'm not saying &lt;em&gt;this&lt;/em&gt; guy is batshit-crazy, but you probs want to sleep with a better judge of character.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-5994465966543516357?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/5994465966543516357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=5994465966543516357' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5994465966543516357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5994465966543516357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2008/01/dearest-bitter-amanda-so-this-guy-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7674139731801069234</id><published>2007-12-24T15:48:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T23:20:25.937-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Three Sizes Too Small.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt; I recently hung out with my holiday hero! Together, we were mean and discussed our smaller-than-average, cold, bitter hearts. It was a good time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/R3AblGH7uGI/AAAAAAAAADc/phuViGkknxc/s1600-h/grinch.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5147644698197473378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/R3AblGH7uGI/AAAAAAAAADc/phuViGkknxc/s400/grinch.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Happy Holidays!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7674139731801069234?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7674139731801069234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7674139731801069234' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7674139731801069234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7674139731801069234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2007/12/three-sizes-too-small.html' title='Three Sizes Too Small.'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/R3AblGH7uGI/AAAAAAAAADc/phuViGkknxc/s72-c/grinch.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-8664757876690660777</id><published>2007-11-19T20:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-19T21:58:08.909-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recent life experiences have left me with a bitterness so intense, I can taste it like yesterday's hot dog. I crave something sweeter. Like revenge. Do you have any guidelines or tips on getting even?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best Served Cold,&lt;br /&gt;Gazpacho&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Restraining Order,&lt;br /&gt;Ahh, hell hath no fury. It warms my cold, grey heart. I can only assume you're speaking of relationship-related scorn.&lt;br /&gt;(If I'm wrong, email me again and I'll get back to you. But I'd strongly advise against using the word "wrong.")&lt;br /&gt;Let's see what we can do for you, sunshine.&lt;br /&gt;Try to turn your problem into an amusing anecdote. ("My boyfriend broke up with me by bringing me a present! I guess they just didn't have a greeting card with the appropriate sentiment?") Yours won't be as amusing as mine, but keep that chin up. In time it will improve. (Maybe. No guarantees. You might be one of those bad storytellers.) That way you can throw it around wherever you go, which is a subtle (and quite frankly, classy) way of bringing someone down. Making him the butt of every joke lets the whole world know that he was the butt of your relationship.&lt;br /&gt;There are always the tried and true standards. The Chanel suit of revenge, these tactics just don't go out of style. Making sure that any girl he gets close to knows about his unadvertised traits is a good way to ensure that he is alone. ("God, I'm so glad we're through! I don't know how many more Friday night &lt;em&gt;Lord of the Rings&lt;/em&gt; marathons I could have taken!") While you're at it, become friends with the new ladies so that he is in a constant state of AWKWARD.&lt;br /&gt;Now...there are &lt;em&gt;other&lt;/em&gt; ways to get your revenge, but it has been advised that I not endorse any of them. So you're going to have to use your imagination. *cough*spread rumors*cough* Excuse me. Rely on your bitter instinct here. *cough*syphilis is unattractive*cough* Damn, I'll have to have that cough checked out.&lt;br /&gt;Hope that satisfies your craving.&lt;br /&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;br /&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;PS- As for guidelines, I believe there is a phrase in the popular vernacular that sums it up. Go big or go home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-8664757876690660777?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/8664757876690660777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=8664757876690660777' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8664757876690660777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8664757876690660777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2007/11/dear-bitter-amanda-recent-life.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-3436260732322747708</id><published>2007-11-18T21:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-18T21:24:09.699-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ok.  So after a company shindig, there was still a keg of beer left.  So whats a group of twenty-somethings to do besides take it back to a coworkers house and kill it by playing some beer pong?  Well, the socially awkward kid who we work with... gave me a peck on the cheek... when I went to leave.  I've worked with him for years and have barely spoken to him.  I don't think I've ever touched him, even a simple handshake.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;What does it mean?  Was it just a friendly but drunken good bye?  Was he trying to make out with me and missed my mouth?  Was he trying to get into my pants? I'd be ok with that, no ones tried to get into my pants for a while.  Except for me, but they're my pants.  If I don't get into them every morning, I can't go to work. So thats no fun. And does that mean my standards have dropped dangerously low? Am I just overthinking this way to much?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;~Need to get laid, and soon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Awkward Button,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Wow. That must have sucked for you. Since he's a boy, and an awkward one at that, there's no way of figuring out what his goal was. Not to mention, you didn't give me nearly enough information. I mean, what line of work are we talking about? Is awkward unusual? Are you more on the friendly-to-everyone flight attendant end of the spectrum, or more on the engineers-who-don't-know-how-to-have-regular-conversations end? Was he ignoring you all night and then randomly kissed you? Or was it something he  was probably working himself up to? Was he kissing everyone? Or were you the target? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;See what I mean? Not enough info.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Based on your minimal (and yes, disappointing) description, I'd just chalk it up to him getting somewhat plastered and finding the courage to not be awkward. You probably could have tried to turn it into something else, since he's a boy and they don't strike me as very picky regarding action. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And yeah, you're definitely overthinking it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-3436260732322747708?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/3436260732322747708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=3436260732322747708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3436260732322747708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/3436260732322747708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2007/11/ok_18.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-9026238996354222177</id><published>2007-11-08T14:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-08T15:19:16.423-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Ok.  So I ordered some Chinese food to be delivered to my house.  Because I'm single and lonely and have no one to take me out to dinner.  And the fortune cookie that came along with my meal said "This is a wonderful time in your life to look inward for answers." And its one of those fancy fortunes, which has a Chinese word on the back.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Nan pun yau.  Boyfriend.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Umm, is it just me, or did the fortune cookie tell me to look inside my life, to figure out why I don't have a boyfriend?  Go fuck yourself fortune cookie!! I don't need your 'advice'!  Go shove your nan pun yau up your kung pao szechuan ass!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Signed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Setting my fortune on fire&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Mrs. Fields,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It's a &lt;em&gt;cookie&lt;/em&gt;. You're looking at this all wrong. (Thank God you people have me.) Eating with a boy is often a contact sport. If they're really hungry, it's like that hippo game that kids play--get your hands out of the way! Guard what you really want to eat, and kiss any leftovers goodbye. To a boy, "leftovers" are simply food that you left on your plate for him to eat. You got to eat in your pajamas if you felt like it, and you could put anything on the television. And if Chinese food makes you gassy? No matter! Nobody to censor yourself in front of! (Not that boys feel the same need to leave some aspects of life private. Since they are gross.) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Moral of the story, eat the second fortune cookie and ignore the first one. Your single life rocks. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;And seriously, calm the hell down. It's a cookie. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-9026238996354222177?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/9026238996354222177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=9026238996354222177' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/9026238996354222177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/9026238996354222177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2007/11/ok.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7431392820933676156</id><published>2007-10-27T20:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-27T20:24:02.604-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you *really* that busy? Or are you suffering from a dearth of questions? I'm sure there are *some* poor saps out there that need your advice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need my fix, dammit!&lt;br /&gt;Impatience McGee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Keep Your Damn Pants On,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Oh, calm the hell down! Go find a hobby or something. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;PS: Am still deciding how I feel about being compared to an addictive substance. Is Bitter Amanda the new crack? Thanks, I think.  *ba&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7431392820933676156?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7431392820933676156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7431392820933676156' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7431392820933676156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7431392820933676156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2007/10/dear-bitter-amanda-are-you-really-that.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-127204821470699542</id><published>2007-10-04T00:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-04T01:04:20.271-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A note.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Why haven't I been berating any of you lately? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://bitteramandaspeaks.blogspot.com/2007/10/alive-yes.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Reality television and dating guides, my hopeless friends&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;. Check it out and I'll see you in a week!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[For the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.melanomawalk.org/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;2nd Annual KDB Melanoma Walk&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;...go read the link above for more information!]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Try not to disgust anyone while I'm gone--PDA kids, I'm looking at you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-127204821470699542?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/127204821470699542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=127204821470699542' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/127204821470699542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/127204821470699542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2007/10/note.html' title='A note.'/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-5262759456598160788</id><published>2007-09-23T18:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-23T20:10:46.184-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;I was at a party and a guy who has been interested in me was there.  He told me he was going and was excited he would see me there.  I went with some friends and everything seemed to be going fine but he just kept avoiding me!  I left because I thought this party was lame and I found out later that he went off dancing with the friend I showed up with!  I talked to him about it and told him I was mad.   He kept apologizing but I just cant shake the feeling he's using me.  I also talked to my friend and she said she didn't see what was wrong with it when she knew I had feelings for him!  How do I act and am I overreacting? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Betrayed By the Best&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Julius,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Alright, I have several points to make here, so stay close. First of all, you're not overreacting. I'm about to give you some of the most basic advice out there, courtesy of my mother. Ready?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Trust your instincts.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;It doesn't always make sense, but you get that feeling for a reason. If your gut tells you he's bad news, then princess, you should listen. It's smarter than you think it is. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Second of all, boys are LAME. They consistently behave in ways that boggle the mind. They claim to be simple creatures; easy to figure out. This may be true, but first you have to put yourself in this ridiculous mindset of mixed signals and illogical moves. For example, you're a dude and you're into a girl. You see her at a party. What &lt;strong&gt;should&lt;/strong&gt; you do? Ohhh, talk to her. Hang out near her. &lt;em&gt;Acknowledge her general presence&lt;/em&gt;. And if he's really into you, he'll figure that out. Bu if he can't come up to you and hang out after being "so excited to see you," then maybe you're too good for him and should set your sights higher. Because, I repeat, &lt;strong&gt;boys are lame. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;THIRD. Ladies, this is just ridiculous. You can't dance with your BFF's mancandy. I know, I know--"we're just friends and it didn't mean anything!" But it LOOKS like it means something, and you KNOW that. We've all been on both sides of that. And it sucks. We are better than that kind of treatment! I am so tired of seeing women treat their friends like crap at the first sign of testosterone in the area. So remember this: even if you know it doesn't mean anything, your friend might not. And nobody wants to be labeled the bitchy friend--dance with too many of your girls' crushes and that's what you'll get. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;So princess, what should you do? Talk to your friend. Tell her how you felt, and if she doesn't try to understand, then you totally have my permission to spread the word that she's the bitchy friend. The guy is another story. It sounds like he has to grow up. (Like most of the male gender.) If he's really into you, he'll man up and make some time for you. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-5262759456598160788?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/5262759456598160788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=5262759456598160788' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5262759456598160788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/5262759456598160788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2007/09/dear-bitter-amanda-i-was-at-party-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-7845604314534268360</id><published>2007-09-20T15:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-20T16:01:58.963-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is the proper response to a man-child that asks for your number before he asks for your name?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Digits&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Babysitter,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Well clearly your best course of action is to make him feel like the drooling, grunting caveman that he is. Allow me to model a conversation for you. Please note that depending on his level of evolution, he may or may not get that you're calling him a moron. Even if he doesn't, though, it'll hit him later as he relays it to friends, perplexed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;The Missing Link: "Can I have your number? *grunt*"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Your Royal Hotness: "Hi, I'm *insert name here*."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;TML: "Huhhh?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;YRH: "Nice to meet you."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;TML: "Whaaa? Number? No?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;You see what I did there? You play out the conversation as though he'd &lt;strong&gt;properly introduced himself first&lt;/strong&gt;. In doing so, it's thrown him off his course, because he didn't hear any numbers. Then you can give him a phone number--check out &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.rejectionhotline.com/default.aspx"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;this page&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;. It's called The Rejection Hotline, and it's a real number you can give someone, but it leads them to a recording about how they just got hardcore turned down. I've never used it, but it sounds like good fun!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Best of luck, buttercup.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-7845604314534268360?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/7845604314534268360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=7845604314534268360' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7845604314534268360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/7845604314534268360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2007/09/dear-bitter-amanda-what-is-proper.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34242242.post-8697924571679915662</id><published>2007-09-06T15:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-06T15:53:10.143-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear Bitter Amanda,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in grave danger of engaging in PDA. HELP!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Terribly Tempted&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dear HUGE MISTAKE,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!! STEP AWAY FROM THE OTHER PERSON! &lt;strong&gt;Just say no! &lt;/strong&gt;Unless you are getting married and the PDA you're referring to is a kiss at the altar, there is &lt;strong&gt;absolutely no excuse for PDA. &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;SYPHILIS! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Get out of there, Eve. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Solitarily yours,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Bitter Amanda&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/34242242-8697924571679915662?l=bitteramanda.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/feeds/8697924571679915662/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=34242242&amp;postID=8697924571679915662' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8697924571679915662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/34242242/posts/default/8697924571679915662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bitteramanda.blogspot.com/2007/09/dear-bitter-amanda-i-am-in-grave-danger.html' title=''/><author><name>Amanda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09843470059129750437</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='27' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Aka66NJk4YE/S8p3q97XuCI/AAAAAAAAALY/oXv7MABN9dg/S220/twitter+dance.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
