Three Imaginary Girls

Seattle's Indie-Pop Press – Music Reviews, Film Reviews, and Big Fun

{Let Rachel Flotard of Visqueen take the sting out of your heart. Send your love advice questions her way at [email protected].}

Dear Rachel,

I met this really great guy on a bear-dating website. Yes, that's a website for big, hairy gay men. Anywhoo, he lives on the other side of the state, but we carried on a hot-n-heavy email, IM, and phone romance. He finally came to visit for a weekend, and we had seriously the greatest date I've ever had on Friday night. He spends the night, and let's just say the fur was flying…in a very good way. Several times. The next morning he tells me we'll get together on Sunday. No prob, except that when Sunday comes….you guessed it. No phone call, no show, no nothing. When I finally see him online that night, I asked what was up. His response: "I wanted to see you but you're just using me for sex. I'm really disappointed in you that we slept together on our first date." EXCUSE ME?! WTF???!!!???

Thing is — I really liked this guy. Should I try to pursue it, or is this the giant red flag that dude is fucked up?

Not Your Average Bear

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Dear NYAB,

When a person — who not 10 minutes ago made you happily princess-wave like the Macy’s Day 5th Avenue ass float — says something that retarded, it’s almost endearing isn’t it? Like you’re Bill Cosby interviewing a six year old about guns. Like they just said the world is flat with a serious face, or that Jesus is real!

No one painted red flags on your contacts. This is fuckin nut NASCAR. Any dude who opens the the tent flaps exposing that kind of hypocricy is riding a little chained-up zoo tricycle inside his own head. Perhaps someone hurt him in the past. Now you’re going to bandage their little wounds and love them. This is how the crazies snag us.

Break the glass and shoot yourself with the reality neck dart IMMEDIATELY. He’s calling you a slut, and calling himself a shameful slut, and getting rid of the evidence.

The super Jew grandma in me says: “Foind yiself a nice beah. Like one a those Berensteins. Not one-a those facacta “Oi need a hero Bonnie Tylah beahs," lead-footing it from Spokane. What, Jeremy up-and-spoke in class today? My eye…”

Set the egg timer. Call and tell him you had a great time, that you like him and had hoped to see him again, but insulting you with warped morality standards is totally unacceptable and unwarranted. Remind him who did the Superbowl Shuffle across I-90 to hibernate in whose butt, and stand your ground.

BooBoo, just because someone hoisted the pic-a-nick basket up a pole doesn’t mean you have to climb after it.

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{When she's not providing solace for the lovelorn, Rachel can be seen and heard playing for her band, Visqueen. But don't let that intimidate you! Send your love woes her way!}