There's still wax in your ears... and it smells.

So I sat in bed typing this out on my iphone all night. I am really trying hard to understand how this “thing” called the male brain works. Are we really still explaining the meaning of ‘NO’? Maybe that word doesn’t work anymore. Maybe it’s been opposite day forever in every guy’s brain. Maybe we need to start communicating with hand gestures and grunts. I wonder how these guys function at their jobs?

Guy: Can I take today off?
Boss: No.
Guy: Okay, see you tomorrow!

I mean, I can’t imagine why this selective hearing only applies to conversations with girls. And don’t give me that men and women communicate differently nonsense, because last time I checked... even 2 yr old toddlers knew what the word ‘NO’ meant.

There’s this one gentleman I call Mr. 7:20 that visits me very early in the morning when I work the coffee bar. This guy has asked me out TWICE, apologized for asking me out, asked me out again, and then even after I told him that he makes me feel UNCOMFORTABLE!!!!! He has the nerve to continue to show up and give me creepy compliments like.. ‘my favorite part of the day is when I come to see you’… Really? How sad your life must be. I’m not nice to you. I tell you that you make me feel uncomfortable. We don’t make eye contact. I’ve turned you down 3 friggin’ times. And I’m STILL the best part of your day? He seriously must think I’m the hottest chick in the dang world. Cause there’s no way my personality is winning this cat over.

I mean. What is it gonna take for guys to figure out that there is NO (there I go using that word again) chance that we will ever want to date you. Even if you paid me in macaroni-and-cheese-bubble-baths. I would still tell you to hit the road running. What else do we gotta do? Change our phone numbers? Ya’ll WONDER why I change my hair so often. I’m trying to disguise myself from the creepies. And what’s even worse? ALLLLLL of the creepies still find me, black, brown, short, long, blonde, bangs, no bangs, whatever, they still track me down and comment on how much better I looked as a blonde, or thank me for finally becoming the prettiest I can be.

I like you as much as I like eating rotten cabbage. I don’t even wish to touch pinkies with you, or even make eye contact with you, so I’m really not interested in what hair style you prefer to stalk me in.