Fuck Jill

and eric gets to do the “i told you so” dance

Ooh! Look! A present for me!

What is it?

“Buena Vista Social Club”

There must be some mistake. That’s obviously for me.

No. It’s for me. See? It says so right here.

But it’s really for me.

He doesn’t even know you, Eric. It’s for me.

But you’re gonna hate it.

You don’t know.

I know.

You don’t.

You might as well just give it to me, because you’re gonna hate it.

It’s my gift, dammit. I’m keeping it.

Whatever. You’ll give it to me tomorrow.

Don’t be so smug. I’m taking it to work tomorrow.

Tomorrow night, then. Whenever you hear it first.

Think you know so much.

The next day.




What’s that you’re listening to in the background?

You know what the problem is with the Buena Vista Social Club?

(stifling laugh)
What’s that, baby?

It sounds like I’m in line at Fiesta Texas.


All waiting for my turn on the Dungeon Drop.

I told you you’d hate it.

And it’s not like the good time that you have waiting in line, either. It’s like that time when all you can hear is the music because it’s all hot and shit. And everyone you’re with is so hot that they’ve stopped talking to each other because that takes too much energy, so you’re all just leaning on the rails waiting for your three seconds of ride and you’re shirt is sticking to you and you’re cranky and there’s lemon ice all sticky on your hands and shit.

Baby. Why did he send you Buena Vista Social Club, anyway?

I think it was on my wish list.

Had you heard them before?


So, why did you put it on your wish list, then?

It’s a cool name.

Oh, baby.

Omar said they were good.

You wanted it because it was a good name?

Omar tricked me.

Most critically acclaimed album of the year and you’re equating it to amusement park Tejano.

I’m all getting kicked in the shins by kids waiting for the Sky Screamer.

Yeah. Go back to your Britney Spears album and leave the real music to the rest of us, okay?

Maybe I will.

So, can I have it now?

Not until you replace the Macy Gray CD that you lost.

I owe you a CD, okay? What would you like?

“Hooray for Boobies.”

Of course you do.

I got a letter in the mail the other day. Either someone thinks they are very funny, or I ended up on just the wrong mailing list. Like, way wrong.

It’s in all italics, so I’ll do the same.

Dear Christian Single Adult,

There’s your first clue.

I joined CSA and have been a member for three months. Since I joined, I have dated many Christian men.

Weren’t they on our “Don’t Date These People” forum?

CSA is committed to introducing Christians in a safe environment.

I’m leaving that one alone.

One of the reasons CSA is so successful is because they screen all applicants. Many are not accepted.

Says the Christian…

However, if you are accepted, your world makes a wonderful turn. You have extravagant parties to attend, attractive and intelligent people to meet, and a caring staff to assist you.

Is this a singles scene or a beauty pageant? I’m confused.

I applied and I’m glad I did. Why don’t you try it?

If you truly want to meet more Christian single adults, you need to explore new avenues of meeting people.

“But only in the places we provide with the people we hand-picked for you to meet.”

Returning this brief profile may be the single most important thing you do.

Then there’s this thing in all caps all across the bottom:




But it’s not over. There’s another letter from the same “friend” on the other side…

Take Charge of Your Dating Life!

Dear Christian Single Adult,
People would say to me, “I’ll bet you have a date every weekend.” Well, the truth was, I had one, maybe two, dates a month, and they were usually duds. Most of my weekends were spent on my sofa watching videos. Alone!

My friend got engaged at Christian Single Adults. That was a wakeup call to me. I immediately joined. What a difference! Now I really do have a date every weekend!”


P.S. Now, Iim in charge. I date Who I want, When I want!

I hate Jill. Here she is telling me that sitting on my couch on weekends watching videos is lame. She’s lame. Then she tells me that because her friend got all engaged by joining a single’s group that she had to run right out and do it and so should I because as a woman it’s deplorable that I’m not married.

Then she’s acting like such a ho. Really. Dating “Who” she wants “When” she wants, as if before she would just sit around and hope that someone would call, and no matter who called she had no choice but to go on a date with him because he called and she’s just a silly woman who has to do what a man says.

Jill sucks.

There’s the quiz, y’all. I bet you wanna know what they want to know, too.

Your Religion:
Practice: Regularly | Moderately | Infrequently
Education: High School | Some College | College Graduate | Post Graduate
Your Race: Caucasian | Hispanic | African American | Asian | Other____
Marital Status: Single-Never Married | Divorced | Divorce in Progress | Widowed
Relationship Goals: Dating/Fun | Steady Relationship | Marriage | Marriage and Children
Tobacco Use: Yes | No
Alcohol Use: Socially | Rarely | Never

Female Male
Home Phone:
Work Phone:
Cell Phone:
Job Title:
Work Hours:
Briefly, what would you like CSA to do for you?

How humiliating.

It’s bad enough you’ve got to list how much you drink, smoke, work and weigh, you’ve got to describe what kind of relationship you’re looking for from this service, and what you hope to “get out” of this place.

Fuck Jill.

I hate how these places prey on the single girl. I hate getting all pissy when I read Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason because every single relationship is picked to death by her and her friends and they just ruin everything for each other. They act like men are these foreign objects that must be studied before approached. And selecting a man like you’re picking out a Saturn is only going to get you disappointed in the end.

Is it that difficult to find someone? Are we just going around “trapping” and “tricking” each other?

It’s these books and magazines and mailings that make us question each other. In fact, when you said, “I’m not that hungry,” to me the other night, I probably would have been just fine with it, if Cosmo hadn’t told me that those words mean that you’re thinking that I’m thinking that you’re thinking I’m thinking that I’m fat and so I’m thinking about telling my friends that you’re thinking I’m fat, so you’re passive-aggressively suggesting that I diet by fasting yourself and forcing me to fast and diet because if you’re not eating then I’m not going to eat because I’ll feel like a big fat fatty if I’m all eating in front of you while you’re all not eating, so just come right out and tell me that you think I’m fat, okay?

Fuck Jill.

I don’t need a man for validation. And a man doesn’t need me to prove that he’s a “good catch.” We choose to be together because we make each other happy, not out of some societal pressure to prove you’re worthy of affection from another human being. And I don’t need Jill to tell me that sitting on a couch watching videos on a Saturday night is pitiful, because I’ll tell you what, Jill, I am in a relationship and there are plenty of Saturdays where I end up sitting on a couch watching videos because that’s what I chose to do that night.

“Choice, man. Conscious choice. I’m choosin’ it.”

But really, if he’s out one night I might go out. I might not. I might stay in and go through the archives of some journal or I might put stars on my toenails or dance around or just go out and get ripped. I might do it even if he’s in.

Two different lives, Jill. You’re life isn’t empty and meaningless when you’re single.

And your engaged friend sounds pathetic. Joining a group to snag a husband. Like lions.

I hate Jill. And I hate the Jills of the world that judge me for being single, or judge me for not wanting babies, or who tsk at me like they just know what’s best for me when I hold their babies out to them with a look of distaste and my elbows hyperextended, shouting, “Take it take it take it!” I hate the Jills who tell me that they know I’ll just end up married and with tons of babies, as if any amount of work I’m doing now is just filler for the moment that I “finally settle down and raise a family.”

I hate the Male Jill that I once dated who told me that all of this college stuff I was doing was to kill time while he finished his degree and then I can just sit at home and raise HIS family while he went out to work, and that if I wanted to keep any of this “acting stuff” as a “HOBBY,” then he’d think that would be “CUTE.”

I have ovaries. It doesn’t mean that they have to be in overdrive.

And, yeah, that toy I’m buying is for me, okay? I like the Powerpuff Girls. I’m going to put one of those temporary tattoos on right now, thank you very much. It’s not for a niece or a nephew or my daughter. And I don’t want to touch your baby all of the time, so quit asking. I just know I’m gonna be the one to drop your kid on the head and keep him from getting into a good kindergarden, and I don’t need that kind of pressure, okay?

And you wanna know how I know I’m not supposed to be having kids anytime soon? Because whenever I see a pregnant woman, instead of thinking, “What a wonderful thing. I’m so jealous. It must be great to be creating new life,” I’m thinking: That woman has sex. That woman has some man have sex with her. She’s getting the nookie. The nasty. She’s a dirty naughty girl getting jiggy with it. She has sex. I wonder if her belly button gets stuck on things now that it’s all pushing out.”

I am in no condition to try motherhood. I’d just walk around for nine months worrying that everyone thinks I’m a big sex monger.

So, Jills, back off. I’m doing my thing. You do yours. I’m not judging your SUV lifestyle, don’t judge my pigtails.

And then we can all just get along and be women.

But I’m not holding your kid. Really. I don’t even think they smell that good.

They do have cute toes, though. I’ll give ’em that much.

Webhead: Why the smoker’s patio rules your company.

Leave a Reply

Comments (