It’s The End of an Era

Or: I Finally Figured Out How to Quit Zoosk

Guys. Today is an important day. A day of both joy and sorrow. A day of celebration and mourning. A day of overly dramatic, hyberbolic statements in introduction paragraphs.

Today is the day I finally completely rejected the advances of Zoosk and demanded it never talk to me again.*
*And that it return all the mixtapes I gave it.

I'll never let go, Zoosk! I'll never let go!

Those tears of sorrow are super heartfelt, I’m sure.

Now, everyone** knows Zoosk and I have had a tumultuous relationship. For one thing, the first time I tried to quit it, it repeatedly crashed until I gave up and read all the nonsense poetry people were writing to me. 
**All the people I imagine read this in the quiet comfort of my own head

And then I was hooked. The pickup lines were too impressive. Too ridiculous. Too…incredibly obviously not going to work.  Honestly, things were getting bad. I was going to end up TLC’s My Strange Addiction, confessing to strangers how I just couldn’t quit reading the bad poetry of pickup lines on the Internet.

Something had to be done.

(It’s also possible that I’m just maybe seeing a real live guy. Maybe.
…Shut up. It IS possible!)

So, on this solemn occasion, I bring you (for the final time)…

(Better defined as “Zoosk Poetry.” The dulcet words of potential woo-ers in the Land of Zoosk.)

“Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.”
(No. I don’t have a map. Man up and stop to ask for directions. Duh.)

“I hope you know CPR, because you take my breath away.”
(Nope. I took it, therefore it’s mine. I’m not giving it back.)

“What does it feel like to be the best looking person in this room?”
(Oh man. We’re getting super metaphysical here. In “this” room? Like, the one-on-one chat “room” you’re trying to start with me? Or the room of Zoosk? Clarify here, so I can know how flattered to be.)

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”
(Oh, we’re starting off with movie quotes? Then how about this one: “I thought you’d be taller.”)

“Why aren’t you in jail? It’s illegal to look that good.”
(You don’t know that I’m not. Stop making assumptions.)

“Describe in one sentence the kind of person you’re looking for.”
(“Not a serial killer.” Wait! That’s a fragment. Let me try again. “The kind of man who does not end sentences with prepositions.”)

“Why is a good looking person like you still single?”
(….This is not a legitimate question. Try again.)

“I know you lost your phone number, so here’s mine. <phone number included.>”
(…Know what? That’s thinking outside the box. It’s also a way to end up getting drunk texts from strangers at 3 in the morning.)

“When I saw you, I fainted and hit my head. I need your name and number for insurance reasons.”
(Oh, holy crap! Of course! I’m SO sor-wait a minute. This is a trick!)

And, the best of all of them:

“You r pretty enough.”
(…Wait. Wait wait. Pretty enough? Enough for what? What system of measurement are we using here, and what’s the competition? I need answers!)

And so an era of dating website mockery ends. At last, I shall no longer stay up until 2:30 in the morning on a work night, flipping through messages to note down the very best ones for blogging purposes. My pre-geriatric bedtime shall be restored!

I know. This leaves us all very sad.**** So I shall leave you with a thought experiment to take your mind off things:
****Also there have been exactly zero actual doodles in this post.

I present to you Schrödinger’s Cake.

Cake is better to experiment on than cats

There may be cake inside. There may be no cake inside. There both is and is not cake…Until you look inside.

Guys. The cake might be a lie. But it also might not be. There could be cake in there.

The cake is a lie the cake is a lie

It’s not really a lie if I knew it was once a truth…

I Do Not Understand People Who Flirt At the Gym

Since I happen to think that cake and marshmallows are two of the essential food groups, it’s pretty important that I hit the gym on a regular basis.*
*When I feel like it and am not busy eating cake and marshmallows.

Nutrients are for the weak

This is why I go to the gym.

Which means that when I go to the gym, I’m going to burn as many calories as humanly possible**. I’m not going to flirt. I’m not even going to make eye contact with people, just in case they might later recognize me in public after having seen me at the gym.
**So I can eat cake for dinner.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I have cute workout clothes. They make me feel perky and healthy and dedicated to running.
A miracle, because I hate running. I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns.

Workout pants are almost as cute as yoga pants

Facial enthusiasm in this image is provided for demonstration purposes only, and in no way accurately reflects my face on the way to go work out.

And everything goes well for a little while. Running feels freeing and joyous, and I periodically think I must look very charming and possible flirt-with-able.

But this is still better than my attempt at drawing an elliptical

Clearly I have no idea how to draw a treadmill.

But then things take a turn.

I should have drawn an elliptical

Seriously. That doesn’t look at ALL like a treadmill.

And then things start to get sweaty…

This is probably because I hate treadmills.

I have drawn the biggest treadmill in all the land.

And by the time I’ve successfully finished my run, I look inches away from death.

Seriously. This is an awkward treadmill

Do your treadmills not beep to signify the end of your torture? It’s like angels are singing.

And guys, I am not the only one. The gym is full of people who look like they might have a stroke at any moment, smell like a melting foot, and are huffing and wheezing like asthmatic bears.


YES! I didn’t have to draw a treadmill for this one!

This is not conducive to flirting.

And yet, every time I go work out, I see women batting their eyelashes at weight-lifting men, and men flexing extra for women strolling on the ellipticals****. This is not what the gym is for, people.
****And men flexing extra for other men while lifting weights. That happens, too. None of you are off the hook here.

It’s for looking like you might die so you can have wine and cake for dinner.