[Cough cough]… Ahem…

Respond to my goddamn email!

What the hell do I have to do to get you to respond!

I sent you an email, not the goddamn plague!

I frikkin’ hate you (I love you). You want to ignore me?! Fine. You have shitty “netiquette” anyway…

We could have been so happy together, but no, you had to go and wreck it. Well, I hope you’re happy now… and I hope you keep living in the same well-lit, multi-windowed apartment that happens to be easily viewable from my hiding spot in the bushes outside your apartment.

I hope you are happy now. And are naked and by a window.

Now if you will excuse me, the sun just set. I need to see if these new binoculars I bought for… school… work at night.

[Exit stage left].

What can I say, I am a needy, whiny biatch.

I sent [insert girl's name here] an email two days ago, and I haven’t heard anything back. I know, I know; it’s only been two days… plus it’s the holidays — people don’t check their email as much as they normally would.

But I keep oscillating between gut-wrenching self-doubt — thinking I wrote something offensive (how’s that possible?… I only professed my undying love to her and told her I’d been videotaping her for the past 53 days… Wait, what? You’re saying that isn’t normal?… Well, at least it isn’t illegal. What’s that? It’s actually a felony, you say? Well… Mexico, it is then. “El queso está viejo y pútrido. ¿Dónde está el sanitario?”) — and heart-rending self-loathing (she probably did read my email, but instead of responding to it, she chose to blow me off… I wish she actually did blow me… off… I mean, blow my socks off… or rock my socks off… one of the two).

Truthfully, she probably didn’t read it. The email I sent to her was grotesquely long and convoluted. She probably opened it up (possibly skimmed through it) and skipped straight to the next message. I normally wouldn’t be so miffed about a non-reply, but in my last email I asked her whether she wanted to do something together later.

Call me crazy, but I kind of like knowing whether stuff like that will ever happen (last semester, this same girl told me she wanted to watch My Sassy Girl with me… but in five weeks of repeated rescheduling, it never happened). So, yeah, I’m a little annoyed. Yes, it is just a movie, and yes, it isn’t like we agreed on anything definite, but seriously, in the span of five weeks you couldn’t find a single moment to spare?

If you are doing this because you’re hoping I’ll get the message and eventually leave you alone, you are screwed. Because I’ve got to tell you, I’m as slow as a turtle when it comes to picking up on signals, but I’m as persistent as a dog in heat when the possibility of spending time alone with an attractive woman appears. I don’t pick up on signals very well; the more you try to spare my feelings by being subtle, the less likely your message will get across. Seriously, unless you tell me you don’t like me, I’ll just think you are playing hard to get. If you don’t want to hang out with me, just tell me. The same rules apply to the invitation in my last email.

Also, when you people send emails to me, for God’s sake, spell my name correctly! It is beyond irritating when I send emails to people, and in the reply, they spell my name with two ‘h’s, or with an ‘o’ instead of an ‘a’.

Why do you people insist on butchering my name?

“Oh, your name has such a unique spelling.” No, it doesn’t. It’s f*cking biblical; it’s in the Bible. There isn’t a single person with my name who spells it differently.

Also, I always write my name at the end of every email, so couldn’t these people just, I don’t know, make sure to copy my name correctly? Plus, my full name is part of my email address, so people who spell it wrong are just idiots… unobservant idiots. I actually find it really disrespectful — you don’t even have the courtesy to make sure you spell my name correctly? That’s weak. What if your name was Tim, and I insisted on calling you Tom? “Oh, hey there, Tom.”, “Actually, it’s Tim.”, “Okay, it’s been nice meeting you, Tom.”

You’d flip out too.