Mike and Jamie: A Valentine's Day Lament

This post is about two people that I find so annoying that the very thought of them makes me want to pay someone a large sum of money to beat my head in with the nearest blunt object. Mike and Jamie (who happen to share the study cubicle right next to mine) are best friends, just short of having matching tattoos and BFF bracelets. But what makes me feel compelled to perform bodily harm on myself each time I hear their names is the fact that Jamie is positively in love with Mike. I realise I'm not making any sense so let me put things into perspective. Here is the crucial tid-bit you need to know about Jamie: She's HOT!! And I don't mean, oops, I burnt my finger on the toaster, hot. I mean janitor in chemistry lab mistakes bucket of nitroglycerine for industrial cleaner and then, once he's finished mopping the floor, proceeds to light his cigarette, hot!

Anyway, like I said, Jamie is totally head over heals in love with Mike. In fact, she is regularly dropping hints that she would like to take things to the next level. For example, last week I was sitting in my cubicle minding my own business when I accidentally pressed my ears against the wall and overhead the following conversation in the adjacent cubicle:

JAMIE: Hey Mike. {giggles} You wouldn’t believe the silly prediction my horoscope made this morning. {more giggles} It said that I shouldn’t be afraid to cast aside my sexual inhibitions because the friend that currently fulfils my mental needs may be the ultimate fulfilment of my bodily needs as well! Can you believe that?

MIKE: {In a somewhat distracted tone} Actually, there has never been any conclusive scientific evidence in support of astrology.

This is where I pause to hand all my male readers a box of tissue. I swear, I could kill this guy repeatedly until he dies to death! The poor bloke doesn't seem to have a clue! After being forced to listen to the above conversational equivalent to a crime against humanity (I'm sure there must be a Geneva convention against this sort of thing), I have drawn the conclusion that Mike is either gay, mentally deficient, or Canadian.

Anyway, this got me thinking: why does love always seem to come to those who don't know what to do with it? Meanwhile, those actively searching for love, at best, only end up with a broken heart or an uncomfortable skin rash on some embarrassing part of their anatomy. The world just isn't fair! In the words of someone wiser than I: “It's worse than dog eats dog...it's dog doesn't return other dog's phone calls!”

Hey, I'm not unreasonable. All I want is a woman with the body of a supermodel, the mind of a Mensa member, and whose favourite hobbies include cooking, cleaning and coitus. Oh yeah, and who also happens to have an insane amount of money and would be happy to pay off all my student loans. Now is that really too much to ask? Despite such modest demands, I nevertheless find myself enduring yet another loveless Valentine’s day, while Canadians everywhere squander the love fate has so lavished upon them. (Sigh.) I so wish I was that guy from those Tag body spray commercials.

Happy Valentine's Day everybody (except if you’re Canadian, in which case: bite me!)

Why God Hates Me

My Reply to L>T's Tag

My Christian friends assure me that God loves me. I really want to believe them, but then I look in the mirror. Sigh. So here are the top five reasons I think God hates me.

Number 5: Because I'm black. So I've tried to put the whole “curse of Ham” thing behind me. But now, God has resorted to stealing my socks from the dryer. I didn't think anything of it, until I learned that my white flat-mate still has all of his. Now I'm furious!

Update: Since then God has assured me that He thinks “I’m articulate, bright and clean…heck, I'm like a walking storybook!” I feel much better now.

Number 4: Because my milkshake is better than His. So God and I were at this club and in walks this sonsie sista with the kind of hind quarters that rap videos are made of. (You know the big guy loves the ladies with a little junk in da trunk!) I'll spear you the details of what transpired next, but suffice it to say that at the end of the night I got the girl's phone number and God didn't. In your face Almighty!

Update: I later discovered that the phone number was a fake. But I'm assuming God had something to do with it, the all-powerful bastard!

Number 3: Because I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut. So a number of us were over at God's house watching the game. Jesus had been doing his whole water-to-wine thing all evening, so everyone was pretty liquored up. Inhibitions were low and we were all taking turns recounting some of our past “adventures”. Krishna had just finished talking about the time he hooked up with that sweet little number during a trip to South America, circa 1200 BC. It was God's turn, and the deity was attempting to hold out on us. “Come on Yahweh, give us the dirt!” Moses prodded. “Yeah Big Man, got any virgins pregnant lately?” I added, only then noticing that Mrs God had just walked into the room. She didn't say a word, but from the look on her face it was clear that later that night there would be hell to pay…literally! (She never did forgive him for the whole Mary affair.)

Number 2: Because I didn't let Him copy off my paper during our Freshman year Chemistry finals. Jehovah was like, “man, I totally didn't study for this exam, let me see your answers.” And I was all, “Dude, You're omniscient...and You created everything!” And He was like, “yeah, but last night my room-mate scored the best pot ever and...yo, can I have those chips?”

Update: Really great pot also explains the existence of the duck-billed platypus and the Aurora Borealis.

Number 1: Because of all those times I doubted Him. I believe it first began when we were still in high school. Back then God was still going through his Old Testament phase and was notoriously insecure. One morning He entered the cafeteria, walked over to my table and announced proudly, “Last night I made this new galaxy and it’s the best one I’ve made yet. Tell me honestly Nerd, if I keep getting better at creating planets and stuff, do you think I’ll eventually get my own talk show and become as famous as Oprah?” Always the sceptic, I responded: “well, maybe You shouldn’t get Your hopes up too high Lord.” At which point, God overturned His tray and shouted, “You never believe in me…I hate you!” He then ran out of the cafeteria in tears.

Update: Fifteen years later, and the Most High still hasn’t gotten his own talk show. No Wonder God hates me!

I Tag Mizfit, Lizza and Mist1. (Update: See Mist1's reply to this tag in the comments.)