Help! I’m single : An open letter to Bruno Mars.

Dear Mr. Mars,

First and foremost, I would like to say how unbelievably talented you are. I don’t know how you do it but you are just bursting with an essence that should make all men question their sexuality as well as purpose on earth, and bring all (hetero… Nah fuck it, all of them) women to a place in life where they experience shortness of breath.

If I were forced…

…I mean really forced to pinpoint the center of your certain je ne sei qua, like gun to my head from some mad man that very clearly has his priorities in life screwed up being like, “I am absolutely going to shoot you in the face unless you tell me exactly where Bruno Mars’ excellence derives from. I am not even fucking joking, pal!”, I would probably have to say it’s your voice.

Then I would probably have to call the police.

But let me be real for a second, as a heterosexual male, I’m gonna be dead honest and say solely based on your voice alone, I’d probably let you take me on several dates and treat me like the most special person in your life, ultimately resulting in a quick and hasty celebrity marriage and an untimely and quick divorce, lit up and fueled by gossip sites and other loud-mouth celebs.

We all know Usher is a fucking gossip queen.

He’s jealous of what we have. Shhh baby. Don’t speak, we’ll be fine.

Obviously telling you how great your voice is can’t be the reason I’m writing you, I mean is it ever? Illicit image blackmail? Long lost child seeking support off your millions? No B, alas I too seek something from you, but nothing as crass or insensitive.

I just seek your advice!

You see I’ve been bumping ‘Hooligans’ and ‘Unorthodox Jukebox’ a lot lately and I have begun taking notes and asking a lot of questions based off your songs. I mean it really seems like you have your shit together after that little white powder incident, so what better time than now, the new year to seek your advice?

Look, I’m practical which is why I’m writing and not showing up at the front gate to your exceptionally beautiful home. (Though while were on the subject, the painting you chose for above your bed is a bit tacky, I mean I could barely see it from the tree outside, but if you say it goes with the rest of the room, then I guess it must)

So with your surplus of sex-appeal it would be greatly appreciated if you can answer some of the following questions and confirm what I have learned from an in depth analysis of advice you’ve clearly laced into your pop hits for me to help land my dream girl…

…or at least a one night stand that doesn’t resemble Charlize Theron’s portrayal of Aileen Wuornos.

I gotta get back on my a game here:

Treasure:

I got a little out of my league taking notes on this one. First you tell this one of a kind babe that she’s treasure, which I assume is good because that means she’s a gem, or a plethora of currency?

But then I get confused, because you ask her to make your dreams come true by letting you treasure her…which seems to imply that you don’t actually know this woman personally, and if you do she very clearly isn’t letting you dote on her like you and I both know she is supposed to be doing. Should I be approaching women I’ve never met before and telling them how valuable they are to me? Is this the key?

It’s clever…using the word treasure twice, to both express a verb you would like to implement into a person to person relationship, as well as to use it as a noun to express flattery toward a woman. Perhaps, we can switch the noun to another more specific valuable to avoid sounding overbearing and redundant. I came up with these ideas:

•a Franklin
•savings bonds
•Sacajawea dollar
•grandmas crystal teardrop lamps
•Apple stock

Marry You:

This one was way easy for me to comprehend. I’ve been planning my wedding since I was like 15, B. So I totally get the whole ‘Lets rush into this full steam ahead with no care or thought’ feeling you speak of.

First though, you say you’re looking for something dumb to do on this beautiful night. Is this the secret to happiness with a woman Bruno? It makes sense…because when I use key words like ‘love’ or ‘forever’ or ‘I’ve thought about it for a while and I could see myself with you’, girls get all antsy and it usually doesn’t work out.

All the gays make such a stink about how the sanctity of marriage is a joke and it’s not even remotely fair that they aren’t granted the same rights as hetero-couples…but fuck them right? Marriage is something to do in our downtime!

Just to clarify, when I am pursuading this girl to refrain from saying:

‘No, no, no-no-no’

I should emphasize that she just say:

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah’

And also ply her with shots of tequila?
This sounds fishy but whatever gets me to the altar, B.

P.s. Should I be serving ‘Dancing Juice’ at the wedding or inviting a lot of ‘Dancing Jews’? I just want the special day to be perfect and your enunciation is a smidge muddled in the chorus.

It will rain:

Tell women that their absence brings about the shittiest of weather…

…ahem…

‘When you’re busy and don’t involve me in your plans, you cause things like hurricanes and rack up exponential damages in monetary terms.’

Check.

Locked out of Heaven:

This one didn’t really help me much. I’m not a very religious person to begin with so I don’t really know what being locked out of heaven feels like, but I’m guessing not good.

If so why would you tell a woman she makes you feel that way? Unless this is one of those reverse psychology things? Is this song essentially the key to dealing with how to interact with females?

I mean as a guy you do tend to see women walking around with guys that say the meanest shit to them and treat them kinda poorly, but somehow they get to spend their time together as a couple. I guess you just kind of assume that there are women out there that are looking for nice guys. But there really aren’t? Are there?

‘Be a dick.’

Check.

Young Girls:

Waste a lot of time on underage women that will ultimately wear you down and kill you.

Got it. Check. We are killing this, B.

Runaway Baby:

Preface any and all hang outs with new women by insisting they get as far the fuck away from me as possible and if they don’t, make more demands of what they should be saying in response to you yet again.

Jesus, I have been approaching love all wrong.

I am glad were going over this, B.

Just The Way You Are:

You threw me again on this one, B. You keep telling this girl all these thing that should be flattering, but she won’t listen or doesn’t believe you?

It sounds like you’re saying to be really nice to women even though the end result is going to be comparable to popping a Viagra and running belt-buckle first into a brick wall.

Unless…

…since women don’t believe us…

…is the message to…

Lie to women?

Oh, thank god we are going over this, I really would be in trouble out there on my own.

Also, focus a lot on the girl’s face? The body not so much?

Check.

Grenade:

B. You lost me.

All this talk of lying, alpha male tactics and a demanding no-shit-taking attitude, and then you tell me I’m supposed to risk death for women that treat me like nothing I have or do is good enough?

That sounds more like what I already do to entice women…and that hasn’t worked…

…and like pain and physically violent situations are really unappealing to me, so like, blowing my arms off or fending off a knife wielding attacker with my bare hands are things I think I truly may not want in my life.

Awkward artie photo 1431hd2.gifI did come up with a few alternatives that I would be willing to (although I’m still not fond of) compromise on and implement in my expression of devotion to a woman:

•I’d hit a speed bag pretty aggressively for you

•I’d really let the waiter have it verbally for not bringing more cheddar bay biscuits for you

•I’d suffer a substantial paper cut, but not from anything thicker than Manila folders, for you

•I’d let a sizably smaller man than me punch me in the shoulder ONCE for you

•I’d absolutely take a bullet, but only under the circumstances that it’s a clean through-and-through located near no vital organs and the situation leads to a lawsuit allowing me to live comfortably through the rest of my days on earth, for you

As long as none of those stand out as not good enough to you B, I don’t think we have to spend anymore time with this song.

Gorilla:

I saved the most important one for last. Since this song is about making the sex, I figured all the wooing should be dealt with ahead of this.

You know, I always wondered why my bedroom game wasn’t up to par with all my other guy friends. Like…as you know, us males actively spend our sleep-overs discussing our tactics and technique and never for one minute did I gather that I may have been doing something wrong.

Just please confirm if you will, that the three steps below are how the sex actually works? I’m not doubting you, B, you know exactly what you’re doing.

First: preface the sex by drinking a lot and do cocaine?

Second: be super aggressive, loud, cause a scene, have the police show up, have a…SWAT team show up?

Oh hell no Pushing Daisies photo ohhellnopd.gif

Third (and most important): make sure we are “fucking like gorillas”?

Check, checkity, check-check.

Awesome! I’m really glad I got this all down, I think I’m really on the way to seeing a change in my dating life. Thanks again for throwing all those sub-textual pieces of advice in your songs for me and only me. I just knew we were meant to be friends.

I look forward to your response and confirmation to all my questions, but in the meantime, I think I’m gonna go try a few of these new tactics out!

Cheers!

Love,

Alex

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Throwback Edition: Excuse me, do you have this in a size impossible?

Dear Paris Hilton or anyone who starts a fashion line,

I dress like an asshole. I said it.

Now feel free to judge, although who are you now, really?

I was brought up on a budgeted shopping style and if my mother taught me anything, it is that everything goes down in price eventually. She calls it “bargain shopping”. Some refer to it as “being fiscally sensible”.

So it is no wonder that when I enter a store with the sole purpose to pick up garments, I legitimately b-line for the clearance rack faster than a Kardashian’s farce of wedded bliss.

I will admit, that in highschool, amongst the superior Abercrombie and Hollister models that walked the halls, with their frayed strapped flip flops, AE logoed ball caps, and seagull encrusted zip-zip hoodies, I adorned the most comfortable shoes I could slip on without using the laces at all, jeans that ranged, from falling off my ass, to putting my testicles in an ever-lasting chokehold with their tag team partner my thigh, all to be topped of with a t-shirt, usually of the graphic orientation.

I know. Teenagers, am I right? And like it wasn’t that I didn’t WANT to wear the clothes that the large chains had to offer, it was just that I usually waited until they appeared on the marked down rack in the local Marshalls.

“It’s just a phase, he’ll grow out of it.”

Absolutely. And no sooner did that happen, did I graduate from college and, you know, never have to see people that would care again. But did it make a difference? Of course not!

Let’s check out my old styling pick up lines:

“Hey Ladies, who wants to date this attractive man, donning a pair of DVS skate shoes covered in muck from working late nights at Cold Stone?”

“Bet you never saw a smurf-parody of The Sopranos on a t-shirt before, generally more attractive woman than me.”

“Really though miss, are these pants that look like they could be my mother’s really not doing anything for you?”

Thank the lord I was not able to walk into bars/clubs/opiate dens back then. I would have been chewed up and spit out, trying to product place my face into a girls memory, no matter how sloppy of a mess she was finishing off her 8th appletini.

Then came that wonderfully awkward point in life when I realized, while trying to actually start shopping for myself when it came to clothing that wasn’t a standard jean or t shirt, that my body is just ever so delightfully the shape of a pear sitting in an ice-cream cone.

Pants? Forget about it. What you mean you can’t find a size 42 waist with a 32 inseam? You mean, I will never be able to wear anything they even sell at the chain named stores because they only go up to 38 waists and their button ups are slim fit? Are you really trying to tell me that some men have large chests, and are just screwed if they happen to have a small body for the large width, they were ever so disgracefully granted in their genes?

A big-and-tall section, will not, and never has been a savior to me.

Im not sure what it was exactly that sparked the change in body shape but I got there eventually, to the point where I could actually fit into the clothing I WANTED. I didn’t have to spend fifteen minutes choking back tears in a dressing room anymore after realizing that none of the eight pairs of pants I brought in with me were going to fit.

I still have not adjusted to the what to wear when, what patterns should not be worn with which patterns, and how stripes work, but I am a work in progress as far as my style is going. Find me without a mismatched pair of neon colored socks, and it probably means I’m at a dressy event-wedding, interview, etc. I have officially managed to blend into the adult world now. Shirts tucked in, belts on, dressy shoes kept clean and shined. Pick me out of a crowd in their cubicles, you could not, unless you know me obviously.

Still to date I haven’t managed dressing appropriately for the cold weather. So that is why I delved into this diatribe against my dressing decisions, because I am officially sick. Laid up, in bed, with a head full of more pressure than a math major’s expectations for her son in school.

(sorry mom, I’m trying)

With Love,

Alex

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