Category Archives: relationships

Stop being oblivious.

almie rose blondes make better t-shirts

Awesome tee courtesy of Blondes Make Better T-Shirts. I’m so happy they gave this to me, because I saw it and thought, “NEED.” It’s basically just a big comfy shirt that says “M. M — MEDIUM” on it and then beneath that is a description of what the M doesn’t stand for, like “monkey.” And they’re a green company! And they have hilarious instructional labels sewn in them. And they’re made out of that material that makes tees fell all vintagey and soft. AND they’re offering a SPECIAL DISCOUNT to Apocalypstick readers: 20% for the entire month of Novemeber! (enter apocalypstick at checkout). Yay!

One of the questions I’m asked all the time, aside from, “Are you drunk?” is, “How do I tell if someone likes me? Like, likes me?”

My answer to this is, “If you have to ask, they don’t like like you.” That’s number one. I know this may hurt, but if someone really liked you, you would know. And if a month passed by and they didn’t make a move, it’s not going to happen.

But some people are diabolically shy, and make this a little harder to figure out. And on the other side are the people who are diabolically clueless who don’t realize if someone is blatantly hitting on you.

Here are some hints if someone is into you (or not):

— They go out of their way to make you happy. This could mean hanging out with you, helping you out with something, whatever. Going out of their way means maybe they have to drive a long distance or change up their plans, but they do it because they like you, and want to see you.

— They don’t call you repeatedly after 2 AM and ask you to come over. All this means is that they like having sex with you. They don’t like you. They don’t hate you, they just don’t want to take it beyond sex.

— You can be a total bitch to them (either on purpose or because of a rough day, hopefully it’s not on purpose) and they forgive you. Not only do they forgive you but they continue to hang out with you.

— They actually listen when you talk to them. You can tell that they were listening because later, even weeks after your conversation, they’ll reference something you spoke about, like, “Hey how is your grandma by the way?” or, “I saw this thing that you just have to see, it reminded me of you.” This usually segues into the private joke stage.

— They flirt with you. I mean really, that’s the most obvious clue. The above signs are some ways people flirt. Another way they flirt is to laugh at your inane jokes. Try telling a joke or a story and see who is actually looking at you the most. Who is really listening. If it’s them, that’s a good sign. (Remember “you’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you”?)

— They make a move. This is the bottom line. If this doesn’t happen it means you’re good friends, or they’re too fucked up to handle anything beyond friendship. It doesn’t mean they don’t like like you, but if nothing’s happened by now, nothing will for a long time, if ever.

These are the signs. Stop being oblivious and pay attention. If you are the recipient of these signs, wise up.

What do you think? What did I leave out?

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FUCK YOU, KOREA MAN.

This post was written last Friday around 10:30 PM.

bob dylanHave you felt that moment when you look up someone you had a crush on and they have a girlfriend and live in fucking KOREA I AM SO FUCKING LONELY? What the hell and why do I ruin everything? This was in college and I had my moment and I didn’t resist the shining adventure and we had sex in my bathroom while my friend was sleeping on the couch, it was a studio apartment, I’m not really sure what you want from me, and it was New York (!) and I was young and blonde, I mean, that’s just going to happen. He wanted me, I wanted him, and then, the way things happen in New York City when you’re on your own for the first time, he became a bisexual drug addict and left school.

AND, BECAUSE HE DELETED HIS FACEBOOK ACCOUNT, I NEVER HEARD OF HIM AGAIN. Until now. Until this sad moment, when I stuffed my face with meat and cheese and chocolate and then almost did Wii fit but stopped to look up this ASSHAT on Google and now I’m sitting here in a push-up bra and sweatpants BECAUSE THAT’S HOW I WORK OUT, FUCK YOU, and I discover that he still exists, has a girlfriend, and lives in Korea. This is the same boy who once adored me. The same boy who once came into class, excited, and said, “Last night was crazy. I slept in an arm chair man,” the same boy who couldn’t afford to buy a GAP shirt so instead he went the a thrift store across the street and bought a GAP shirt from there.

FUCK YOU, DUDE. FUCK YOU FOR MOVING ON WITH YOUR LIFE AND BEING HAPPY AND MOVING TO KOREA. Even though I only remembered your existence about 20 minutes ago. How could you do this to me? How could I let you do this to me? What is this? Why am I so sad and lonely and pathetic and undesirable to those I desire? DAMN IT. WHY DO YOU LIVE IN KOREA???

HERE’S A PICTURE OF MAYOR STUBBS, FUCK YOU.

cat mayor

AND FUCK THIS, I’M GOING TO A PARTY.

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Swept.

joseph szabo

Photo by Joseph Szabo.

I want someone to sweep me off my feet, the way Romney sweeps all questions about his tax returns under the rug. Fuck it, I am a romantic at heart. I’ve tried to tell myself that I’m not. Today, I am coming forth and admitting my truth: I like romance, I like to be romanced, and I love the fuck out of candles. Someone adore me. Really, truly adore me. Because we all deserve that. We should all have that experience, of being Tears For Fears-style head over heels and have it being reciprocated. That’s the key, you don’t want to be the creep who is in like with someone who has no interest. Yeah, that sucks, but you have to find a way to accept the situation and walk away. The sooner you learn how to do this, the better. I found that the only way to get over someone is to find someone else to get under. I don’t mean that in a sexual way, but if you want to interpret it as that, go ahead, why not.

I’m sick of all this hipster cynicism. I like looking at photos of people who are in love. As long as they’re not ugly, I mean, let’s not get carried away. I like when people do adorable stupid shit like surprise their loved one with a Doctor Who painting or whatever the fuck the kids like these days. I like looking at photos of weddings and I like reading the stories of how when the bride and groom first saw each other, they couldn’t speak, because they were so overwhelmed by their feelings of complete love and joy. I’m really sick of the whole attitude of, “Fuck it, we’re all going to die one day, nothing lasts forever, and everything has an expiration date.” Is that really how you want to live your life? Wouldn’t you rather be happy?

Someone back me up on this. Or argue with me, that’s fine too.

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How to land a musician boyfriend.

This is going to be part one of a saga. Here is what I have so far:

1. Be a model.

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The wedding trap.

pattie boyd and george harrison

Oh look we're all happy and shit now but then I'm going to leave my amazing husband for his shitty friend Eric Clapton which is the stupidest decision because who leaves George Harrison but damn do I love your wedding outfits.

It’s happening, comrades. My friends are getting engaged. Dear diary. As of this point in my life, I’ve had friends of friends get engaged, and friends of yore get engaged, but one of my best friends, my friend since kindergarten (that’s like, 20 years) is engaged, and that’s real. That’s a direct friend. That’s not like, oh, Lula Mae from Facebook that I had two classes with in college and saw her last year at a Brooklyn party and we spoke for twenty minutes, no. This is real. This is life.

I’ve blogged about marriage before. Here I am going mad over Will & Kate’s wedding. Here I am going on about how I want a wedding but not a marriage. And here’s a controversial post where I explain why I think you’re a jerk if you don’t give your guests a +1 to your wedding. You don’t need to read those first but if you want to, they open in a new window for your enjoyment, so have at it. Oh, one more. In this post, I explain why the marriage system should be like renting a car. There.

I am so thrilled for my friend. I am deliriously excited for her. I, of the Pinterest board “Wedding Insanity.” Because I really, really do love weddings. And I love people who are in love and want to get married. I just fear it for myself. It’s a trap. And the trap is the party. The dress. The food. The attention. That party is to me what mousetraps are to mice. But there’s no cheese before my sudden end. Only marriage. That frightens me.

Things change after marriage, they do. Having not been married, I do not know exactly what changes, but I’ve heard the experiences from those wiser than I, and I have some common sense, so my idea is that after marriage, you’ve gone from Oz back to Kansas. You’re muted. You’re so happy to be home with your Auntie Em and Uncle Henry, but the days of munchkin lands and yellow brick roads and trippy poppy fields are behind you now. Your new life is in that farm, with a family. Even if you don’t have children, you’re still a unit.

Children. I do not want children. That is a different post.

I want to be in love. I want someone to be in love with me. I believe it was Oscar Wilde who said, “Do not fall in love with a man who doesn’t make you feel like the most awesome, incredible, baddest bitch on the block.” Those of course weren’t his exact words, but the sentiment was the same. If I had that, and if I had money (because I think it’s just stupid to get married if you’re poor, but that’s another post), then I could do it, I could go to Kansas.

But for now I’ll stay in Oz and screw around with brainless scarecrows and heartless tin men and cowardly lions while wearing fabulous shoes instead.

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I hate being single.


In case you haven’t seen it yet, here’s my video on how I’m coping.
 

I hate being single. I just hate it. I understand why people don’t understand why I hate it. I suppose that single = freedom. What it means to me is, “Fuck, now I have to do this shit all over again? Now when I’m at a party or a bar I have to obsessively wonder if that cute guy is single or not? And, if he is single, if I should say hi? Or maybe we have mutual friends on Facebook? And what if that other guy I sort of like doesn’t text me back, or what if he does and the text is misleading? Or what if I put the ball in his court? And who is going to go with me to Sylvia’s party with me next Friday?” Fuck. This. Shit.

So I’m not doing it anymore. I am not going to care. If you don’t text me that’s because you’re an idiot, and you have that right, but I’ll just move on. I really don’t give a sack anymore. I don’t have the energy. I’m out, Jerry!

Note: this is not me being self-pitying or hinting at anything. In other words, do not ask me out. I’m not saying that I’m awesome and that leagues of extraordinary gentleman are clamoring to ask me out. I’m saying, I really, really don’t feel like doing this, okay? Don’t ask me out. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to date. To try to get to know someone again. To try to care. That sounds cold, but I don’t mean it that way. It’s more of an observation as though I were observing myself. “Wow Almie, it sure is time consuming trying to get out of singletown.”

If I wanted a boyfriend right now, I could probably get one right now. But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be with someone just because I’m not currently with anyone. Like if I’m looking for a nice winter coat I’m not going to grab a parka from Wet Seal. That shit’s going to fall apart in five weeks. Just like a relationship.

If you liked this post, check out What we don’t tell, RED FLAGS, and WOST DATES EVER.

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Moving Home

cute couple

Today I bring you a guest post from a lovely blogger I met via the Bloggers In Sin City conference. Her name is Jenna Britton and she’s generally awesome. Enjoy!:

I moved home to Los Angeles from San Francisco in May 2009 and it felt a bit like failure.

I was still smarting from the pain of a nasty and recent breakup just months earlier, and days upon moving home I found out that my former love had already married (yes, MARRIED) someone else.

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