Regis, I think we should see other people
Jen Janes, Opinions Editor
Issue date: 4/22/08 Section: Perspectives
Well, Regis, our relationship has come to a crucial moment. You'll be pleased to know that I've put much time into thinking of how I should say goodbye to you. So here goes. Regis, it's not me; it's you. I just feel like you're emotionally unavailable. I'm in a transitional period right now. I love you, but I'm not in love with you. It's been real, and it's been fun, but it hasn't been real fun. My therapist says we should spend some time apart.
After thoroughly checking the above statements for originality, emotional appeal, sensitivity, and overall articulateness, I discovered that those statements are incorrect, because it is actually you, Regis, who are dumping me. Yes, while you once stole my heart, now all you steal is my time, energy, and sanity. And yet it is I who get a letter from the Dean's office telling me I've completed all my requirements and it's time to put on funeral black with a hat that could just as easily be used to serve hor d'ourves (or, if flipped the other way, a bowl of pasta), wrap what appears to be a curtain drawstring around my neck (which I do appreciate because it matches my boa - yes, I have a boa), and take home a piece of wood cleverly disguised inside a diploma cover.
Just so we have everything out in the open, let me tell you what I will not miss about you, Regis. I will not miss your ugly footwear. For the sake of all that is holy, doesn't anyone around here know how to find comfortable shoes that aren't so ugly that the very sight of them makes me so nauseous that the dizziness throws off the earth's orbit, creates a fold in the space-time continuum, and launches me five minutes into the future? Those minutes add up, you know. I calculate that I've lost several months of my lifespan from space-time continuum folds created by Regis footwear. I am no fashionista, but let me give you a few parting tips. 1) Snowboots are for wearing when it snows. 2) A standard map reveals that Colorado is landlocked. Therefore, there is no need to wear surfer shoes in Colorado. 3) Your shoes may have cost more than my monthly pay at any job I have ever had, but if everyone is wearing the same shoes you are, you don't look special. You look like a sheep. Get over yourself. 4) If your shoes have holes in them, they are not reminiscent of a crocodile. Rather, they look like ugliness would look like if it was incarnated in cheap but overpriced plastic through a monstrous birth in a Swiss cheese factory and started a pilgrimage that eventually led it to a mall kiosk blatantly selling you cheap crap. Oh, and PS, here's a little something for those of you who like to pop up your collar: for Jesus' sweet sake, pop that thing back down before I roll my eyes so violently that they break free from their membranes and fatally collide with my amygdala. If you want to stand out from the crowd, grow a personality. If you're concerned about the back of your neck getting cold, buy a scarf.
After thoroughly checking the above statements for originality, emotional appeal, sensitivity, and overall articulateness, I discovered that those statements are incorrect, because it is actually you, Regis, who are dumping me. Yes, while you once stole my heart, now all you steal is my time, energy, and sanity. And yet it is I who get a letter from the Dean's office telling me I've completed all my requirements and it's time to put on funeral black with a hat that could just as easily be used to serve hor d'ourves (or, if flipped the other way, a bowl of pasta), wrap what appears to be a curtain drawstring around my neck (which I do appreciate because it matches my boa - yes, I have a boa), and take home a piece of wood cleverly disguised inside a diploma cover.
Just so we have everything out in the open, let me tell you what I will not miss about you, Regis. I will not miss your ugly footwear. For the sake of all that is holy, doesn't anyone around here know how to find comfortable shoes that aren't so ugly that the very sight of them makes me so nauseous that the dizziness throws off the earth's orbit, creates a fold in the space-time continuum, and launches me five minutes into the future? Those minutes add up, you know. I calculate that I've lost several months of my lifespan from space-time continuum folds created by Regis footwear. I am no fashionista, but let me give you a few parting tips. 1) Snowboots are for wearing when it snows. 2) A standard map reveals that Colorado is landlocked. Therefore, there is no need to wear surfer shoes in Colorado. 3) Your shoes may have cost more than my monthly pay at any job I have ever had, but if everyone is wearing the same shoes you are, you don't look special. You look like a sheep. Get over yourself. 4) If your shoes have holes in them, they are not reminiscent of a crocodile. Rather, they look like ugliness would look like if it was incarnated in cheap but overpriced plastic through a monstrous birth in a Swiss cheese factory and started a pilgrimage that eventually led it to a mall kiosk blatantly selling you cheap crap. Oh, and PS, here's a little something for those of you who like to pop up your collar: for Jesus' sweet sake, pop that thing back down before I roll my eyes so violently that they break free from their membranes and fatally collide with my amygdala. If you want to stand out from the crowd, grow a personality. If you're concerned about the back of your neck getting cold, buy a scarf.
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