The Broccoli Of Dating

I found this tragically-funny, collaborative post at the Man Blog, between a single man and a single woman. Both have been historically down on their luck in terms of their love lives and have called themselves, for at least one day, The Broccoli of Dating. They make several points that, I believe, a lot of us can relate to. Anyway, here is the beginning snippet (in case you're wondering, Ade is the man and Kring is the woman):

KRING: I’ve been single for the past 22 years and I think I’ve somehow flaunted that fact like a tiara on my head. To me, NBSB = high standards. Not. In reality, I’ve cried a little too much thinking that maybe, just maybe, I’m not good enough. You see, guys only started asking me out last year. Hell, I had my first real kiss just before the 2007 elections and I have never received a love letter in my life. Not even anything that says “I crush you. Pautang naman ng pamasahe…” (I have a crush on you. Can I borrow fare money?)

ADE: I actually did that to someone. Y’see, I was broke way back in college and I needed money REAL badly. So I like looked for the ugliest fattest, richest girl I could find. So I wrote the mushiest love letter I could think of and then five paragraphs on I asked for a hundred bucks so I could afford to eat lunch. And then she probably fell in love with me then and there. Yeah, I got my lunch money but I spent the next three years of college with a fat girl hiding in the bushes everywhere I go. Also, it was scary- wait aren’t we writing about the Broccoli of Dating? Yeah, so I just got my 20th Valentine’s Day date rejection. And my fifth restraining order.

KRING: That’s the problem with you, guys! You take advantage of us girls who just want to be loved. I mean, I’m guilty of that, being the googly-eyed hopeless romantic that I am. I was the girl who’d walk in the rain, hoping that someone would care enough to share an umbrella with her. The girl who’d hang out by her lonesome on a rooftop, smiling and feeling the wind while listening to a Koreanovela soundtrack. The girl who’d write her phone number on bus seats, waiting for her knight in shining armor to become her “txtm8″. All because I was and still am nobody’s girl.

ADE: Yeah, but are you creepy? Exactly. But you see, I’m what you’d call the Gay Best Friend Only Straight. You honestly don’t know how many intimate stories I’ve heard from various (hot) women who apparently think I’m “safe”. It sucks, knowing that they’re dating an asshole and I’m here to listen to their stories, and totally willing to take care of them better. And guess what? They don’t see that! Why? Is it because I have boobs?

KRING: Well, to be politically correct, they’re manboobs, dear. Manboobs. And what are you talking about? I may not be the gay best friend but guys don’t think I’m female either! Fine. I’m bordering on alcoholic, I curse like a sailor, I crack more jokes than your uncle and I laugh like that obnoxious jeepney honk you often hear at Cubao or Marikina but I still have womanly sensibilities! I’m just a girl, standing in front of a guy, asking him to lo- wait. That’s Julia Roberts. I’m not your typical girl but who likes boring people anyway?

ADE: But I’m boring. However, I’m no douchebag. I don’t have the latest cars, I don’t break skulls in a dark alleyway, I don’t impregnate fifteen different women at once. In fact, I just like to cry at sunsets while I write poetry and paint the scenery and- wait, I think I finally figured out why I don’t nail the women. Suicide break brb.