Something to remember

I was having a little chat with my darling Sweedish friend La Brez about boys who done us wrong (trust The Roni, it was not a short conversation...), and as I was leaving I couldn't stop thinking about something. And I had to make sure I told La Brez before I went to bed, and before the conversation had faded from her mind. So I wrote her this email. And I wanted to share it with all of you because, sure, The Roni ate nothing today but 14 pieces of Super Bubble, 7 ginger snaps and a poly-o, so those 4 glasses of wine at 10 kind of hit her the wrong way, and sure, she's been feeling a bit on the toasty side of burned lately, but this has kind of been the one thought that's brought me through my morass of undesirability, and I think it might help any of you who are feeling similarly singed by the singles scene. So here's the email, sent at 12:44am on a Friday night upon returning from the lib (and drinking 4 glasses of two-day-old pinot):

hey, i was just thinking about what we were talking about tonight, and i wanted to say one thing - all these boys come and go through our lives and our minds and unfortunately, sometimes our hearts, but in the end, the one thing you have to know is that you are you. no one can change who you are. how someone thinks of you, or doesn't think of you, as the case may be, means nothing about who you are. you're just as gorgeous and funny and fabulous as you were the day before you met the prick who dicked you over. and you're still as wonderful as you were the day before you fell in love. so when some guy does you wrong, just remember that that doesn't change you. no matter what some stupid mexican med student thinks of you, or what some socially awkward, law review bean pole thinks of you, you're still an incredible person, and we are all lucky to have you as a friend. they're the ones who didn't get the message - it has nothing to do with who you are. just remember that.

Happy hunting,
The Roni

This is starting to be a problem

Seriously people, I cannot work. Physically unable. Hard wired against it.

But the good news for you is that it means more lovely posts on the nature of everything Roni.

Two things you need to know right now:
1. Music:
(a) Go out right now and buy the new Cold War Kids cd. Seriously. It's the best thing in the entire world. Acoustical deliciousness. Buy it.
(b) If you're into this sort of thing, which The Roni is, go buy the new Ben Kweller cd. It's much better than either of the other two, in my humble Roni opinion. (Ha! The Roni? Humble? I can't even say that with a straight face.)
(c) Do any of you people like Sufjan Stevens? I recently downloaded Chicago, which I heart big time, but I don't know which other songs to buy. Any suggestions?
(d) And as always, please feel free to add more music suggestions for all the starving peons out there without the good sense to develop their own heightened musical sensibilities.
2. Karma. Do you all believe in karma? Really - I'm curious. I ask because recently the NS has been complaining to me about one of her co-clerks who leaves every day at exactly 5:58 when they're supposed to be there until 6 every day, and in reality most of them are there until 6:30 or later. Plus this db keeps showing up 20-30 minutes late in the morning, and at least an hour late once a week. And the best part is, their Judge never notices. Annoying, right? Of course if she did it too, she'd get busted. But this guy gets away with it. So will he get his eventually?
And more importantly, does relationship karma exist? To wit, is there a giant Wal-Mart in hell somewhere populated solely by all the peanut smugglers who've done The Roni and the rest of the Pink Mafia wrong? Or will they all end up bald and married to fat girls. (That means, of course, girls who are much, MUCH bigger than The Roni. Which means these girls must have HUUUUUGE asses that, like, beep when they back up. (The Roni's only flashes lights when she backs up...)) Does it come back to get you when you play the cad in matters of the heart? Or are we all just like amoebas in a big pre-dawn-of-civilization relationship smorgazborg - we float around, bouncing against one and another every once in a while, and then when the music stops, we hook up with some other random amoeba for the long haul?
I don't know why I am posing these weighty questions right now. These are just the things I think about when I am trying not to think about The Warren Court and Communism. (Hard to do, I know - I'm sure many of you stay up nights wondering what would have happened if Frankfurter hadn't had that stroke, don't you?)
But please do let The Roni know your thoughts on fate. She takes comfort knowing that someone else believes that all those dashed hopefuls will get theirs eventually...

[PS Upon spell-checking this puppy, I realized that Blogger is even dirtier than The Roni - suggestion for "peons"? "Penis." I knew there was a reason I heart Blogger so much.]

I Lied

So for the past couple of days, The Roni has been going around telling everyone in the Pink Mafia her new chinese proverb:

"Optimism is like a raincoat - you just need to put it on and march out into the rain."

Well F that.

The Roni is now currently obsessed with two things:
1. Procrastinating. 30 page paper due in exactly 7 days. Pages written? Zero. Keep your fingers crossed.
2. Manbashing. They're a bunch of douchebaggerie perpetrating 13 year olds and I'll have none of it. The Roni is officially going to start dating like a man. Which means, of course, that I will now flirt senselessly with the hottest thing I think I can get (Horatio Sanz), use him to satisfy my every carnal need, give him a 5 spot to take a cab home the next morning, and then promptly ignore him in the hallways. Jerks.

Romance in a vacuum

As I sit here with a 20+ page paper deadline looming 14 days hence and having done exactly 0 work for it, I am, of course, thinking about everything else. And what has The Roni, in all of her profound wisdom noticed? A disturbing trend in the way we woo.
It seems that, in yet another installment of Things The Roni Hates About Dating in the Modern Era, we've lost the ability to be wooed. Now, let's break that down a little. What I mean is that women just can't be wooed anymore. We, meaning ladykind, don't know how do be the woo-ees. What worries me is NOT the fact that men can't woo anymore. Maybe they can't. But I don't think the problem is that they can't woo! I think the problem is that we can't let them woo! Indeed, if ladykind were able to sit back and be wooed, maybe men would have a clue about being in the romance driver's seat. But since we are all up in the wooing business, we've obviated the need for men to do the wooing.
I think the problem is that we get too involved and too worried about things turning out how we want, that we can't be the passive recipients of any woo. We meet a boy we like, we can't stop thinking about his cute little dimples and the way he blushed when he asked for your number at that party, we can't work on, oh say a 20 page paper because we're too busy drawing little doodlie hearts with our initials in the middle, that we can't just be. We have to look up his email on LawWeb, we have to send him a witty email about taking him up on his offer to play golf together some time, we have to be the ones to pick a time to get together. We!
And maybe if we didn't take the effort, nothing would happen. Maybe it would fizzle - the thought that keeps us up at night and makes us wish we'd worn the pink strappy top that gives us hot cleave instead of the blue plain one, which, while cute, does not nearly do the justice it could to our sweet rack, or makes us mournfully regretful we'd made that terrible Anchorman reference - who knew he'd think you really meant he smelled like Big Foot's dick. But the point remains, if he wouldn't pursue us if we didn't take the effort, then is it worth trying to pursue him? Maybe by removing our wireless card and, oh, having our roommate hide our cellphones when we've had more than two glasses of pinot, we can really see what's up. We can really see romance in a vacuum. If we let him do what he wants, we can actually see what he wants.
Now, The Roni knows it's hard. Trust me, I'm the last person you'll see sitting on her hands (they're WAY too busy drawing doodlie hearts). But lately I've been looking around, and ALL I see are ladyfriends putting themselves out there. It's like the Pink Mafia is gaming the world. And great - you are lucky men out there who find yourselves the victims of Pink Mafia woo. It's probably the best you'll get. But it makes The Roni wonder, with all these fabulous chicas, why do we have to be the ones to woo?
I feel like the romance Nietzsche - did we kill wooing?