Dear Sleeping Beauty...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
So I've been busy and stressed out lately - working until 6, 7, and even 9:30. I haven't even had time to call or email my friends. (Admittedly, that's ridiculous, and I'm a bit of an ass for not even tipping my hat in their vague directions.) But back to me... last night, I went to sleep late again, and all I wanted was a few hours of blissful sleep and maybe a nice dream or two. Well, let me tell you, what I got was a doozie about all of the losers I've ever "dated". How do I kick my subconscious in the ass?
Yours truly,
The Nightmare Queen


Dear Sleeping Beauty,
If your friends are remotely awesome, and something tells me that they are, they will understand that work is a bitch. At least you’re not ignoring them in favor of some fling. Because, as we are all aware, that is a despicable, obnoxious habit. And I would tell you (in a beat of my withered, hardened heart) if you were doing that.
I’ve kept your letter at the top of my pile for a few days now, hoping some wisdom would come to me. No such luck. So, because I hate to keep you waiting for so long, I will use my college essay method and fake it.
Try to clear your head before you sleep, sunshine. Something mindless. I like puzzles or catching up on my celebrity gossip. (Shut up.) Drink some cocoa. (Because I feel somewhat incomplete when I give advice without mentioning chocolate.)
And if you happen to figure out a foolproof way to get losers out of your head, please let me know. We can write a book and split the profits.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Abby...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
Lately i have been the go to advice girl for all of my friends in relationships. They come to me and ask for help, for thing like gift ideas, and romance advice, all the while they are reminding me that i am single. They don't seem to understand that being single is not something i want to be reminded of every day. I haven't got the heart to tell them to bugger off. What do you think i should do?
~the timid teller


Dear Abby,
So with you on this. I think it's just another way for couples to gloat to single people. A thinly veiled excuse to flaunt their happiness. Because honestly, what would make a person automatically assume that a single lady has all the dating answers? It's just bad logic. Like I said, they're bragging.
If you're looking to quietly back away from your role as Advice Girl, might I suggest pointing people towards an expert? Or me? I'm just...you know...saying.
If subtle hints don't work out, you may have to practice the following. "Leave me alone! I don't give a damn! Ask someone who cares! I'M ALONE!" I've found that the last part can work wonders in many different situations, as well.
Good luck, kiddo.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Blondie...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
Someone at work had flowers delivered today from her S.O. I retreated to my cubicle where I gagged in horror. Not to mention, I made blondies and brought them to work today... sugar-replacement therapy, you know. I totally should have labeled them: for singles only. I had better go snag me one before all of the coupled people eat them all. Greedy bastards.
Yours,
Kicking myself


Dear Blondie,
I hope you received my emergency "Go eat them all ASAP!" message. It truly is greedy of coupled coworkers to think V-Day treats are them them. Go back to your cubicle and eat the chocolates from your Valentine! Soak up the obnoxious fumes from your "I'm too special to get my flowers at home" flowers!
I hope you survived the office Valentine's Day!
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Advice Break...

Try to enjoy your Wednesday in peace, kids!!

So, once again it's Valentine's Day. Please enjoy my hand-crafted Valentine, just for you, my favorite readers. And then, go do whatever you have to to get through this anti-single, despicable excuse for a holiday. As for me, I'll be spending my day doing any number of the following: shouting obscenities at VDay themed television shows, movies, or commercials, eating my bodyweight in pity candy from my father and these delicious treats that my siblings force our mother to make whenever we possibly can, and watching non-romantic DVDs, such as School of Rock and Jackass: The Movie.

See you all on Thursday!

Dear Cupid...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
I am cleaning out my house and came across this most disturbing image of The Day, written to my high-school sweetie and future ex-wife sometime in 11th or 12th grade. Other than that One Thing, what in the world could I have been thinking? I mean really! I'll be spending the rest of the evening cleaning up my vomit and asking myself "Why?" Anyway, I feel like I needed to share this with someone, finally, and somehow be purged ... in addition to the biffage and hurlage.


Dear Cupid,
You'll notice I blocked out the names. It's not because I care whether or not you remain anonymous, really. It's because I was so horrified that someone actually wrote that note that I don't want to be associated with you. You did the right thing by sending it to me, though. Valentine's Day is a detestable occasion, and you've given me a great excuse to write that very sentiment. Thanks. Now, I am so glad you see the error of your former ways. I would issue some sort of encouraging remark, like "rock on" or whatever the kids are saying these days, but quite frankly it wouldn't make me feel good about myself. So you'll have to encourage yourself, champ.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Vince Vaughn...

Dear Bitter Amanda,

I am a true wedding crasher. I arrive at weddings before they begin, and try to get either the bride or groom alone to ask if they have truly considered the consequences of the actions they are about to take. Unfortunately, I’ve been banned from every church, synagogue, and wedding hall in the area. How can I convince these institutions that I provide an essential public service which can possibly save couples enormous amounts of time and money in the future when they realize the errors of their ways and want to divorce?

~Just trying to help in CT


Dear Vince Vaughn,
Tough break! Those bastards in charge of joining couples for all eternity (ish) are just in it for the money! Obviously if they’re banning you, they see you as a threat, which tells me that they agree with your goals in some small, hidden way. And you know what that means! Their spirits can be broken. Like the parent of a child in the middle of a toy store, asking over and over and over for a new toy, you can wear these people down, champ! Just keep up with what you’re doing, and eventually they’ll be so exhausted from the fight that they’ll give in.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Sir Thomas Moore...

Dear Bitter Amanda,

I have a new mission in life. My goal is to make all the happy couples in the world as bitter and jaded about relationships as I am. How would you recommend starting this monumental task?

~On a Quest


Dear Sir Thomas Moore,
Wow. I read your letter, and picturing the utopia you described brought tears to my eyes. What a beautiful sentiment. I can’t even move past the visions of single, cynical, solitary little sugarplums dancing in my head to a symphony of bitterness. It’s like you read my mind and learned exactly what I imagine heaven to be. Minus the rivers of flowing hot fudge, anyway.
However, it is a massive undertaking. But I respect your ambition and you definitely have the right attitude! I think your best bet is to strike from a few different angles. Off the top of my head, I’m going to suggest recruiting help. Sure, St. Nicholas is the top guy, but would he be able to spread Christmas cheer without his helper elves? No, he would not. And you, St. Singleness, cannot send packages of bitterness down the chimneys of couples without some assistance. So get the word out there! (Might I suggest writing an advice column?...) After that, you could take my other advice.
Keep fighting the good fight!
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Wisteria Lane...

Dear Bitter Amanda,

Have you ever been in the following situation? You meet someone for the first time, and you're making polite introductory conversation. And then THAT question comes up. The "Are you seeing anyone" question. And when you reply "No, I'm single" they give you a sad pitying look, which is followed by an awkward silence, and then an offer of "well, I know some single people I can try to set you up with..." You later find out that the single people they were referring to are single for a reason (you know; crazy, fugly, criminal record, obsessed with Yanni, etc.) What would be a good response to the "are you seeing anyone question" that will make it clear that I am not desperate enough to want to date their high-school dropout, flea-infected, eleven-fingered younger brother when the only thing we have in common is that we're single??

~Not desperate


Dear Wisteria Lane,
I loathe that question! People in relationships are WAY too comfortable throwing it around. It's basically like asking, "Are you as happy as I am?" The ONLY time that question is appropriate is if you are chatting with someone you are interested in dating. Period. Other than that, it is just not acceptable.
So, my happily single friend, here's how to avoid any pitying looks (from condescending couples) AND blind dates with the bottom of the barrel. Always answer, "Are you seeing anyone?" with "Oh...I'm sorry, you're not really my type." UNLESS, of course, they're using the question appropriately. Then it's your call, pumpkin.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Happy Holidays!

Dear Sex Panther...

Dear Bitter Amanda,

Have you ever been single for so long that your standards drop dangerously low? Like "He's old enough to be my father. I'd do him." Or "Who cares if he's married and has a bad combover? Maybe his wife is into threesomes." Or "he smells like a used diaper filled with Indian food. Hey, I like Indian food!". I know that my standards have gone way down... is there anyway to stop my expectations from plummeting to the "hey! at least he's got a pulse!" level?

~Desperately horny.


Dear Sex Panther,
I have been single for so long there's talk of starting some sort of charity out of it. I believe my statue will be in a public space soon. You might see this face on stamps. But never, I repeat NEVER, have my standards dropped.
You can't let your expectations drop dramatically...a (sort of) squeaky clean pop starlet we all know did that once, and look at her now. She married KEVIN FEDERLINE, the most unholy mess of a man I can think of, really. (Strike that, I am only calling him a boy.) Not to mention, jumping the first male to say hello to you is going to set off a chain reaction that will only lead to the demise of the modern gentleman, despite the fact that I think he is a myth. (For more on this topic, check this out.) So if not for yourself, think of the other desperate, single women around the world! AND THINK OF KEVIN FEDERLINE. You don't want that!
I assume you're taking care of yourself, in the meantime? If you aren't, you should.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Hater...

Since dear friends of mine know they can rely on my advice 24/7, I received another emergency text message.


I hate people in relationships. Why do you have to be an ass when you're dating?


Dear Hater,
Don't hate the player, hate the game. Actually...that's crap. Hate all of it. I hear ya. You're starting to realize what I have been preaching for years. People in relationships think that the damn world revolves around them, while all the singles are only here to serve dinner when they're out on dates or sell movie tickets in sets of two. Let me tell you something, couples! This is not Noah's freaking ark. Just because you found your matching animal (for now, anyway--yeah, I said it) doesn't mean that you are better than the solitary animals. It just means that you have someone to complain to who is basically obligated to listen, even if you tell boring work stories each and every day. That's it! It doesn't make you special. Remember that, Hater. And, if it doesn't ease your pain, try one of my methods. When you see a couple doing anything revolting, yell the word syphilis. It completely ruins the mood.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Witness...

I received this text message the other day. And no, you cannot have my number.


Bitter, I am sitting next to a whining ho and a boyfriend who is too good for her. Ack!


Dear Witness,
Oh no. Don't you hate those girls?? Girls, here's a word of advice for all of you. Never be that girl! If other people think your boyfriend is too good for you...that is some bad, bad news. Because he's male! How can a MAN be too good for someone? They laugh at farts until they are too old to remember what a fart is.
Ladies, keep that in mind.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Cupcake...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
Well, unless you live under a rock or something, you know what Saturday is.
Yes. It is "Bitter-Sweetest Day."
Since I wrote you earlier, my boyfriend broke up with me, so I am now destined to spend "Bitter-Sweetest Day" alone again, naturally. To make matters worse, with my birthday coming up on November 1st, I just got my personalized license plate with "LUVJEFF" on it. I know, I know, stupid move, right? So, now I'm stuck with that for a while. I don't know what I was thinking! I guess I figured we'd be together and get married like we planned to do. I feel so stupid, I don't know what to do?
I came up with this idea though, and want to see what you think, OK?
I made reservations for two on Saturday night at the Ritz, but only I will show up all decked out in my new really short red dress and all. Some people think that a redhead like me can't get away with wearing red, but I'm here to prove them wrong, sister! I already ordered "Bitter-sweetest Day" flowers for myself, to be delivered Saturday morning, since I ALWAYS get flowers on the real you-know-what day. At the Ritz, I'll pretend to be waiting for my boyfriend to show up, occasionaly flashing furtive glances at my watch, and acting all huffy and upset and stuff. But of course no one ever will show up. So, I'll be left there, all alone, all dressed up, nearly in tears. With any luck, I can get a good looking waiter or maitre d' to notice my predicament and maybe get enough sympathy points to get a free meal or dessert, or maybe ... even a date! What do you think?
How are you celebrating "Bittersweetest Day", Amanda. (I won't even try to call you "you-know-what" - I bet you're glad, huh?)
Anyhoo, give me your thoughts, or maybe we could meet up and be bitter together?
Happy Bittersweetest Day,
Cindy Lynn


Dear Cupcake,
Ah yes. Sweetest Day. The most truly loathsome holiday there is. Yes, even worse than Valentine's Day. At least Valentine's Day has some historic roots. Sweetest Day was fabricated entirely by the candy industry, and serves no real purpose. It's just stupid. Apparently, giving couples one day to flaunt their happiness in the faces of others just wasn't enough! (It is at this point that I suspect anyone in a relationship is telling me a couple things. One, that Valentine's Day isn't just for couples! It's for love! Yeah, shut up. That's a lie and we alllllll know it. Two, that just last month, it was National Singles Week! You got a whole week! So what's wrong with two little days? I didn't ASK for a week, you know. I didn't want it. I suspect that week was created to placate the singles; something to bring up around Sweetest Day and Valentine's Day. I see through that, you know.)
Wow, Cupcake, bad luck with the license plate. To fix that...you might have to, I don't know, develop a celebrity obsession. Off the top of my head, you could get into Jeff Goldblum, Jeff Foxworthy, or Jeffrey from Project Runway. (Yeah, pickings are slim, but we have to work with what you've got.) I figure any way you can get the attention off your stupid ex is a good way to go.
Against my better judgement, I'm going to go ahead and give you the green light on your dinner date. Try to ruin as many other dates with your loud crying as possible! I think you might be onto something with your free dessert plan.
Since you asked, I will be ignoring Sweetest Day to the best of my considerable abilities.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Van Morrison...

Hi Bitter Amanda.
I've been reading your blog for a couple of weeks and finally decided to chime in.
I watched American Pie III (the one where Band Camp Girl marries "Petey") the other day with a friend of mine and it all hit me when they struck up "Into the Mystic" for the wedding dance. Not only is it one of my favorite songs, it is also on the Moondance album (along with the song of the same name, of course) which is what actually rustled up the memories. Being the Full Harvest Moon of October, as in the song Moondance, I again was made painfully aware that another f-ing year had come and gone without a Moondance - some silly romantic notion of mine that has yet again been dashed mercilessly against the rocky coastline of my earthly existence. Then, that Olive's "Moonlight Chess" deal pushed me over the edge. And I thought I was whacky. Yowzers!
Back to the point. So I'm a guy who always dreamed of a Moondance 'neath the cover of October skies with that special someone. Sounds like a simple enough desire that shouldn't be too GD difficult to fulfill. It is niether weird, nor demented, I believe. Perhaps a bit sappy, but I can live with that.
A few years ago, my computer password was actually "moondance." I had this for at least two years, probably more. There happened to be a lass that I worked with, lets call her Julie for no particular reason, that needed to log into my computer while I was out of town. I had to give her my password by phone, and did so, not being embarrassed as I would be for what it is today. Whether it was or was not true, she proclaimed, "Moondance! Why that is my favorite song." That incident lit the fuse for a short, yet magical, relationship that saw Julie being the catalyst for me filing for divorce. Truly, without Julie showing me what a good relationship could be like, I probably would not have had the guts to cut the ties as swiftly and surely as I did with the then wife.
Naturally, I romanticized about our October (any month would have done) Moondance, which never came. Turns out, Julie was just kind of looking for someone to keep her company while her boyfriend was out of town on business. Also turns out, she reeked of mothballs and insisted on bedtime stories and sleeping with an assortment of very old stuffed animals. I did manage to convince her that squadrons of moths were not planning Pearl Harbor jobs on her ratty sweaters, but the stuffed animal thing could still be going on, for all I know. I imagined that somehow I had drawn her to me through the repetition of and my emotional connection to Moondance! Far fetched? Try this one on for size. I met my future ex in high school. A year before I ever met her or ever even saw her, all I knew was her name. And I was so enthralled by that name that I found myself repeating it over and over and over, trying to figure out who was the enigma behind that haunting name. The next year, she wound up in my homeroom and we were soon dating. We didn't give it up until Julie, not to mention my ex's boyfriend, showed up, years later.
Watch what you ask for! Behold! The power of prayer!
I'm definitely no stranger to the bitter biz. I've gotten to the point of actually hoping for those glorious Detroit Daze when that cold, thick, dank air, that smells like my first chemistry experiment run amok, slides up my nostrils and takes umbrage there. Then, I can truly bask in my abject bitterness and invite it in for a nice hot cup of tea and a plum-blueberry cobbler. Perhaps listen to Dylan's "Time Out of Mind" just to drive the point home, with a melodical, methodological force - them's good times, let me tell you.
I don't know if I can ever give up my ole pal, Bitterness. Now, I don't know if I want to. Bitterness to me is like one of those clingy, needy, old friends that constantly calls asking, "So, how's your day? What's new? How's it going?" and yet has absolutely NOTHING in common with you nor nothing to say, EVER. But they just hang on and on and on and you don't know how to shake 'em.
Strange maybe, but oh, so true!
I may have finally hit rock bottom: I experience real pangs of jealiosity when I see that my lesbian neighbor's girlfriend had spent the night, as evidenced by her SUV in the driveway. I have an attractive, single woman, my age, living a mere two doors away ... only one small catch ... and there always is.
So, in summary, another year, another Harvest Moon gone by, and yet another unfulfilled Moondance.
Yours truly, in Sheer and Utter Bitterness,
Despondent in Dearborn

P.S. Which is worse:
Sheer & Utter Bitterness or Abject Bitterness.
Discuss.



Dear Van Morrison,
I had to read your letter three times before I was able to confirm my initial suspicions. There was no question. So I guess you just wanted my thoughts on the subject. Lucky for all of us, I have opinions aplenty.
A bit sappy? You think you're being a BIT sappy? Whatever you have to tell yourself to feel good about it, I guess. As long as you can live with sounding like a 14 year old girl on the eve of her first Fall Formal dance with the pubescent boy of her dreams.
So "Julie" (forgive my heavy use of airquotes here) screwed you over. Sucks. On the bright side, it sounds like she's got a serious case of crazy, which I'd say you're better off without.
I'm going to do everyone a favor and skip over the parts of your letter in which you obsess over a name and wish for the disgusting scent of Bitter to reside in your nasal cavities. Because I thought they were weird.
Bottom line, Sparky: grow a pair. Get over the ladies who got over you, be a man, and go find some sappy woman to fulfill your sugary-sweet fairy tale. (Gross much?) Looks like the Wild Rover himself is touring as we speak--that might be your best bet.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Tri-Lam...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
Just like all you "hip" girls want to have fun, I'm here to say that all the nerdy guys in Advanced Calculus and the Chess Club just want to have fun 2!
But all we get is abuse. Snubbed like a bottom caste Cashew picker in the Punjab. Ridiculed because of our heavily taped, Coke-bottle glasses, which are truly symbolic of our nerdly, innate ability to peer deeply into the mysteries of the universe. But why don't hot girls find us interesting? What's more interesting than the mysteries of the Universe?
There is plenty of humor in the Advanced Sciences, but no hot girls smart enough to get it. Like, Albert Einstein walks into a bar, bellies up, and what does he say to the bartender? I have NEVER had a cool girl laugh when I tell her the punchline: "Ein stein, bitte!" Meaning, one glass of beer, please – in German. How is that NOT humorous?
Or like, "How do you make a relativistic physicist blush?" Punchline: "Why, run away from him very quickly, of course!" Duh! Doppler Red shift! Get it? I didn't think so. No one does.
But I did manage to have kind of a date with some sort of pagan girl - a porcelain skinned princess with long black hair, and lipstick to match. Quite striking really. We started to hit it off at a local cafe, talking about the stars and planets and, well, the mysteries of the Universe. I was enthralled! At long last, I thought, a female on my own wavelength, resonating with me at a deep, inner place. Then she began speaking of Uranus being in conjunction with the moon and I thought now I'd hit the jackpot! Attractive and intelligent - a pre-med major! Then I realized that she was talking of astrology, while I thought anatomy! Well that ended it for me. Probably just another tufty-pitted pagan anyway, no doubt.
My friend Chad and I thought to crash a Young Republicans meeting, disguised as economists. We figured that we could put our superior mathematical skills to good use, since economics is rather suburban in comparison to our Point Set Topology majors. We began mingling and were given some rather durl and dauer looks when we tried to pass as economists. Evidently, due to our lack of worldliness in the socio-politcal culture of U of M, we failed to realize that here, economist is equivalent to communist! Thus, our white shirts and neckties were a dead giveaway of our disguise. We were advised by a high heeled, and opinionated, business major that, as economists at this venerable University, we should be in fatigues handing out SPARK magazines on the Diag. The communist girls are just as bad as the pagans with the pits and stuff, so there is another whole class of female that is off my list. What's up with this tufty business around here anyway? Get a dang weed-whacker and get it over with already, gosh almighty!
So again, humiliated by the fair sex in yet another failed attempt to fit in with NORMAL, cool girls who do shave their armpits. Recently, my friend Chad and I calculated that the mapping between the imaginary integers and the number of imaginary girlfriends a nerd will have in a four year college career is homeomorphic, both one-to-one and onto, in laymans terms. Meaning simply that we are SOL where the babes are concerned. But that is just more BORING point set topology. I bet you didn't even notice the correlation of this with my email address, did you? I am a complex person with both real and imaginary parts that all need to meet up with a like-mined female and be whisked off to infinity on the asymptote of Love!
So alas, Bitter-A, I write to you as a most embittered nerd: what's a nerd to do to get a cool girl to date him – or at least not ridicule and humiliate him?
In real and imaginary bitterness,
Charles


Dear Tri-Lam,
If you don't know what I'm talking about, a) shame on you! And b) google that immediately.
I can see that you've had some bad experiences with women. On behalf of all of us, I'd like to apologize, even though you were a bit of a condescending asshole in your letter. (Don't assume a lady knows nothing of science jokes!)
You told me that your interests were boring--you can't really believe that, can you? Otherwise, you'd find new ones. Stop thinking that you're a loser! People react to the image you project--if you walk around like you're a happening dude, ladies will see that. If you walk around like a hot girl would never lower herself to talk to you, guess what? They won't. Be confident!
Also, you don't have to have the same interests to get along with someone--so what if she's more into astrology than calculus? Maybe she likes that you're a math guy. Maybe she has some cool things to say. Don't write someone off just because you don't share the same major.
There are lots of awesome ladies out there looking for a nice guy--so stop spending your Friday nights mapping out girlfriend equations with Chad and go meet some actual girls!
Best of luck, Einstein.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Mommy...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
I'm writing to you because I know my wife is a big fan of your column. I don't really know how to explain this, but my she keeps putting pictures of STDs EVERYWHERE. Today, I went to use the computer and chlamydia was staring me in the face. More importantly, she keeps pictures of stds in her wallet where the pictures of our kids should be. You know, the pocket sized ones? It's affecting our kids. They can't reach in their lunchboxes without pulling out herpes. The teachers are worried, and so am I. Our little baby said her first words the other day- they were "infectious disease." Worse, it's affecting me. Help me, Bitter Amanda. If she doesn't stop, not only will our kids become bitter, but I'll become bitter too! Now I'm scared of having sex. What if I get genital warts? I'm afraid that if I can never have sex again, I'm headed down a path of dark, cold bitterness. Help. I don't want to trade my red heart for a scary black!
-The other mommy.


Dear Mommy,
Your baby's first words were "infectious disease"?? That's amazing! Quite the little smarty-pants you have there!
I remember your wife's letter to me. (Check it out here.) That ought to explain the pictures of STDs. But I fear that in her quest to keep your children safe, she may have been a bit overzealous and gone overboard. It happens. You should talk to her about toning it down a little. (Especially that wallet thing. Weird.)
Now about you. Are you having an affair? Sleeping around? Is your wife?
No?
Well then, calm the hell down! Unless your wife has genital warts, having sex with her won't lead to them. You're a grown adult and you should know this stuff! Damn.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Enjoying...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
I was shocked and appalled recently when I opened an envelope addressed to 'Current Single Resident' that was sent to my home. Inside was a survey you were asked to fill out if you were 'not happy with your current [single] situation.' If you answer yes to a series of ridiculous questions, you are asked to contact this organization who has the registered trademark The Relationship Experts. They offer to introduce you to a stream of people to meet and fall in love with. The most horrendous part of letter was they claim to send this letter out to millions of people each month. How is a company that makes money by making single people feel inadequate, unloved, and hopeless be allowed to exist? They also end the letter by sincerely apologizing to those who are married or involved in a serious relationship for receiving the letter. They even have a website that you can register with to find that "special someone". What can be done about stopping this horrendous organization?
Sincerely,
Enjoying the Single Life

ps. Since simply describing the letter can not truly convey its horrific nature, I will try to get a hard copy of it to you.


Dear Enjoying,
First of all, I am quite happy to hear that you're lovin' the single life. If I was the type of person who felt good about saying "you go girl!" I'd do it right now. I am not, however, that type of person. I, too, am shocked and appalled by the sound of this letter! So I did a little googling. (FINALLY, my internet stalking skills are put to good use.) The company's website for finding a soulmate is very vague. Here are a couple observations, though. First of all, they claim to produce a match every 17 minutes and a marriage each day. I'm curious to know how many divorces they produce, but that kind of statistic is surprisingly unavailable. Second of all, their "In the Media" section reads much like ads for a terrible film. Generic, diplomatic statements such as "Business is booming!" and "The largest dating service out there!" Not exactly helpful.
Further googling led me to a website about revealing scams. According to several users, it's ridiculously expensive. This explains why they send out millions of letters--the more you send, the greater the odds of someone signing up.
Ok then, now that I've filled readers in on what I learned, onto your question! My guess about this company is that they'll self-destruct. As most evil things do, in time. Until then, you could start a smear campaign online--make a facebook group! Those are popular with the kids these days, I hear. Or, just remind yourself that you're better than them and their time is running out. Also, I would love a hard copy of that!
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Fabio...

*universally accepted male nod acknowledging presence*
Hey, Bitter Amanda, here's a dilemma.
So, I'm a tall, handsome sociable kind of fellow (think Fabio with bigger shoes) and everywhere I go, I seem to be bombarded with female problems. Recently, I moved to a remote location in the hopes of changing my life and the entire course of future events for the world...but, as usual, the women have found me. I try to keep them separate, but once I take on over 10 at a time, complications arise. How can a super-suave big-deal like me survive in a world with such femalian desires to be sated!?
Sincerely Everyone's,
Mobbed in Paradise


Dear Fabio,
Unbelievable. You are the reason women have to buy books like He's Just Not That Into You. YOU! I hope you're ok living with that kind of knowledge. It is so typical that you would believe you can "change the entire course of future events for the world." Because, you know, the world revolves around you, right?
But I digress. You wanted advice. So here's what I think you should do, big guy. STOP DATING TEN WOMEN AT ONCE. Contrary to what you may believe, you are not the only man around, and I'm sure these women can do better than you. You don't have to make a martyr out of yourself and date the entire female population. There are other men around, and I'm sure they'll be more than happy to give you a hand. Try outsourcing, mmmkay?
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

PS- For future reference, women don't generally like to be part of a harem. Pick one woman! And when you're not with her, keep it in your pants! See how that goes for you. (Assface.) *ba

Dear Only Child...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
You don't know, but my name is Cindy Lynn from Taylor (Don't go stereo-typing me puh-leese!) and I heard about your blog from a friend of a friend of a friend and just wanted to share some thoughts. You know, Madonna says in her Confessions on a Dance Floor: "If its bitter at the start, then its sweeter in the end." She just captures so many universal truths in her songs, doesn't she? So, here is my story: I have always tried to be a positive optimist - a postimist if U like! (giggle, giggle). Pretty perky most of the time and looking for the sunny side of things, even when they're kind of really crappy. So I've been doing this like most of my young life now, but its starting to wear a little thin where me and my beau are concerned. (See , even gals from Taylor-tucky know a little parlay-vous!) Me and my sweetie have been dating since early on in high school and now that we're in college its time to think of wedding bells. Or so I have dreamed and planned. But now I'm not so sure. When we were first dating, things were peachy! He was always really attentive and we were just really in Love - like Soulmates, really. He'd always walk me to my classes and we'd smooch a little before the bell. It was great. He's a real looker too - great bunz! But the last year or so he started to change. Like on Valentine's Day. We met for a cozy lunch and I surprised him with this sweet red cardigan sweater so he and I could wear our Valentine colors together. Kind of another way of connecting with each other. I had a red skirt and jacket with a white blouse and we just looked so good together! So when we sat down at this little booth, he sat ACROSS from me! Not NEXT to me where we could hold hands and have an immanent conversation about us and our future. And all he cared about was getting his skillet breakfast in a hurry so he could get back to work!I know he still Loves me, but I want him to be In Love with me, like I still am with him!So for me it was sweet at the start and if things keep going like they are, I will be bitter in the end. But see, you are just the opposite, so if you hang in there, sister, the bitterness CAN turn to sweetness. I'm afraid I have no place to go but to the bitter side.
"Somehow, betwixt and between the two of us, doth lie the answers we bothe seeketh."
(I think that was from Romeo and Juliet - Taylor chicks dig Shakespeare, too!)
Anyway, I feel like we're really like sisters, so can I call you Mandy?
Please let me hear your advise! U R so wise!
Love,
Cindy Lynn


Dear Only Child,
I'm only assuming, of course. Either you're an only child or you have seriously unsatisfying relationships with any siblings you do have. No, you may not call me Mandy. Unless you are upwards of 70 years old or still in single digits. (Both of which I doubt.)
Now, onto other matters. I've been racking my brain on this one. (It should be noted, also, that I never want to hear about your sweetie or his behind again. Gag.)
So things were good. You found your Prince Charming. That's awesome. I hate being the bearer of bad news, but someone has to tell you, cupcake. Men are different! They don't hear the wedding bells like women do! Sometimes, Valentine's Day is just another day - and sometimes they want to sit alone on one side of the booth. Bottom line: if you want more and he just wants his skillet breakfast, something isn't working. I can't do the proposing, so you should talk to him. So basically, you've got to either fix it with him or find someone better! (Good luck - there are A LOT of toads.)
"I must be cruel only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind."
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda

Dear Brownie...

Dear Bitter Amanda,
I really want to find the stupid factory and burn it down. You know, the one where boys are made. I really want to do my part in saving the world from further pain and bitterness. What should I do? And where can I find this stupid goddamn factory?
always a fan,
Brownie Gone Bad


Dear Brownie,
Ahh, yes. The infamous Stupid Factory. The Death Star for Y chromosomes, if you will. The epicenter of their evil empire. Here's the thing about the Death Star: they rebuilt it. Even blowing it up didn't work! They'll still be around even if they have no home base. And much like the HQ of any decent evil operation, the location is a mystery. There's probably a secret handshake involved.
If you got rid of the Stupid Factory, how would you feel? Would you miss boys? Would you be able to live with the guilt? You have to search your soul for the answers here--I think you'll find that you don't really want boys gone. You just want someone nice and caring who will change your mind about men.

Wow, I almost couldn't get through all that without laughing! HAHA search your soul. Good one. Really, because of legal whatnot, I can't encourage arson. Sorry.
Solitarily yours,
Bitter Amanda