I'm not bitter. I'm happy for all those happy couples out there, good on ya, way to go, glad you found your soul mate. My understanding, however, seems to be that when you're blinded by love, by some process of multiplication, you slowly become blinded to every other fucking thing that surrounds you. It's not your fault - you're in love. Nothing else matters. I get it. However, to ensure that you keep that fuzzy feeling, you'll have to ensure that you're not pissing off the people around you. Because I'm pretty sure that love doesn't protect my fingers from gouging out your puppy-dog eyes. Here are 5 basic guidelines:
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1. Making out is great. I agree. You can even do it in public - fine. It's the year 2006, grope Shmoopie all you want. But please, be considerate about where you're foreplaying. On the beach, fine. Movie theatre, I can deal with that. On the bus/skytrain during morning rushhour? Come ON. No one wants to see you making out EVER but this sentiment is doubled before 9am, before coffee, and while sardined on public transit. I can hear your saliva being exchanged, and no, that's not Shmoopie's ass, that's mine. The worst part is that there's nowhere I can go for at least 10 more stops. I feel like I'm imprisoned on a high school field trip bus. Do us all a favour and have a nice morning fuck BEFORE you leave the house.
2. Speaking of "Shmoopie," pet names are fun - they're cute, they're endearing...but to you and only you. We don't think your pet names are cute. In fact, it makes me want to pull a Mary Kate Olson. You have real names - please use them. I want to keep my lunch down and that's not going to happen if I'm forced to sit through the ABCs of every nickname you have for each other, articulated in Paris-Hilton-esque baby talk. You're adults. Use your words.
3. I know that you love your boyfriend. You know HOW I know that? Because you've told me that. Five times. In the last two minutes. I also know how great he is in bed, how sweet he is to you, how/when/where he asked you out, what his dog's name is, where he works, what his grade 3 teacher's name was, what his favourite flavour of ice cream is, and where he buys his fucking underwear. I know he's on your mind, but please talk about something else. And while it's impressive that you have the ability and creativity to incorporate Shmoopie into ANY topic of conversation, it's annoying and no one cares.
4. You're in love, everything is perfect, you found your match. Yee-fucking-ha for you both. Seriously, I'm happy for you. HOWEVER, this does NOT mean that you are now love experts. If you want to get your Ph.D. in the Psychology of Love from an accredited institution, then I might listen to you without smirking or throwing something at your head. But until then, shut the fuck up. I know that I'm single and I'm fine with that. I don't want your tips, advice or patronizing pity. Similarly, being in love does not make you a matchmaker. I don't want to meet your cousin Jim or your coworker Donnie or the guy who picks up the cans from outside your apartment building. If I actually thought that you were trying to make a good match, I'd consider, but I get the feeling that you're the Jehovas Witnesses of Love. Love is not a club or a religion or a cult that you can recruit members into. It happens, and it'll happen to me one day, but it's not going to be with some random guy. "Desparate" is NOT a synonym for "Single" last time I checked. I'm fine, really. I don't need your help.
5. My latest relationship ends. Another failed attempt at love. I'm sad, it sucks, but life goes on. The last thing I want is to be around sappy couples. No offence. I want to hang with my friends. Why, then, do you a) bring along your significant other to remind everyone of your happy-in-love-ways or b) come alone but only talk about how happy you are, when the wedding is, what you're going to name your future children. Did you not get the memo? This is a breakup gathering. For support. It's not all about you. Again, happy for you. Really, truly am. I love you. I love your future spouse. But I don't want to hear about it right now. There's a time and a place for sharing with your friends how happy you are in love, but not when your friend's just been duped by cupid. Why don't you just kick me in the stomach really hard. Seriously. I'm going to puke anyway when you bring out the baby-talk.
If you follow these, I guarantee that your friends and family will give you nicer wedding gifts and that strangers won't attempt homicide on either of you.