When I get home from a long day of not doing work the last thing I want to do is listen to you bitch about the same guy you’ve been hooking up with for the past year. Sorry he didn’t call you this week, but I seriously DGAF.
Nothing is more nauseating than sitting around trying to gently tell you that you are a delusional dater and need to STFU about this guy. You can only be droned out for 10 minutes at most – after that all I want to do is leave the room, maybe fake a heart attack to get you to find a new hobby.
To the pissed off and heartbroken losers who try to tell me that I’m being a bad friend: get a therapist. My job is not to pretend to care about your pathetic/nonexistent love life. The only role I play is to tell you to get your shit together, put on the tightest dress you own, and come out with me to get blackout and have a good fucking time.
I really don’t understand why you think I’m like the Dalai Llama or some shit and have all the answers to your pathetic guy drama. I have zero idea what this guy is thinking, but maybe if he hasn’t texted you back in a while then he’s just not that into your clingy ass. I don’t think that conclusion required you to spend our entire dinner reservation crying and asking me what you should do. You could have at least paid for my dinner.
Show some confidence and get your shit together. TBH, I have no idea what guys are thinking half the time (I assume it’s just a cycle like this: weed, beer, hot chicks, wings, repeat), so stop asking me.
Bottom line: if you’re asking for advice, he’s not that into you. Accept it now and save 5 years of my life of listening to you dissect every dumb thing this bro did. If you’re really desperate, bring over tequila and make sure I take at least four shots before you open your mouth.
Your Bestie Whose Name Isn’t Dr. Phil