Relationship Advice From A Mean Old Man

I learned from the best of them.  

Sometimes you have to take what life gives you; and other times you have to use your unique skill set to open doors for you.  I have found a way, through a carefully crafted cult of deprecation personality, to make myself completely unreliable for relationship advice.

Which is quite odd, because I have amassed a plethora of experiences (mostly bad) that I could easily educate the masses with.  Yet I'm not complaining.

Because let's be frank: relationship people are needy, and I don't have the time to cure their deficiencies and read my 1700 twitter author friends' fascinating narcissistic tweets (my new tongue twister).  Honestly, I care more about my friends than these twitter egotists, but my friends' problems are not solvable, so why bother even trying?  

People in crappy relationships have to figure it out themselves. Because they never listen. Ever.

Back in the day, friends used to ask me things like: "Why does she hit me?" To which I would reply: Because you have no balls, and she has microwaved what little masculinity you have left into a piece of radioactive boyishness. "Do you think she's cheating on me?" Well, that's really observant of you, considering she is the female Wilt Chamberlain. "How come she never says "I love you" when people are around?" Because you're an embarrassment to America, not just your family and friends.  

I'm kidding, of course, I was much harsher than that. It doesn't matter if you or I sugarcoat our opinions, telegraph them, or stage an intervention with Dr. Drew Pinksy...people in bad relationships only want us to endorse their sad significant other, rather than offer any honest detractions.

I'd tell this man anything...
even my pin numbers.  

One of my best friends has been married for a while now, which is really convenient for me, because he was the last person who attempted to pick my brain on affairs of the heart.

He's the kind of guy who loves relationships.  LOVES THEM. He enjoys the chase, the warm fuzzies, that early lustful passion, the awkward transition to committed stage, the 'we can work this out' moments, the public fights, the meltdowns, the 'we got back together' (after I've awkwardly expressed my negative feelings for his choice), and finally, the "dude, can we hang out...'cause she just broke up with me," phase.

Magnetic poetry...the adult version of
kindergarden fingerpainting "masterpieces." 

I like to believe in some privacy when it comes to the in-workings of a relationship, but he has no such stipulations. Metaphorically, he was the kind of guy who would drive a garbage truck over to my house, flip the switch, slop the gross contents of his baggage on my front lawn and ask me to help fish through the sludge to find the tiniest morsel of hope.  "There's nothing here, ___________, just some regurgitated oyster flesh...it's over dude..."  "Oh, she loved oysters...help me find my poem...she wrote me a poem, once..."  "____________, I hate to say it, but poetry sucks.  F--poetry.  Her poetry sucks. Just like her personality..."  

Okay. I was never really this brutally honest. I really do want to help my friends to find happiness in their relationships, it's just so much easier to smell someone else's BO from across the room. I never liked hearing other people's honest opinions about my youthful flings; maybe that's part of every teenage developmental stage: the I'm illogically ignoring your logical lessons phase.  Maybe it should be added to Freud's bizarre psychosexual stages.

I've realized, however, in this new touchy anti-social world that we live in, that my 'say it like it is' counseling is not interpersonally appropriate, it is perfect for the internet. So I'm offering free relationship advice in 140 characters on twitter (@plumbeddown), because nobody takes anybody serious on twitter. #breakupNOW #Idonttiptoethroughthetulips