talking is for girls.

dear irby and ian:
what's the best way to approach a guy when you need to talk? if you want to minimize freakout on his side that is. text before? tell him you should talk soon? or just get to it directly?

irby: OH MAN, I HATE TALKS. and i know my vagina might say otherwise, but i'm all man when it comes to wringing oneself out over some emotional chow chow: I'M NOT TRYING TO HEAR THAT SHIT. tell me, please, when was the last time you had some soul-draining emotional talk with a person and came away from it feeling happy and secure and wanting to spend more time with the person who just berated you for forty-five minutes about something you could give a fuck about? wait, scratch that, when was the last time some bitch came at you suggesting a "talk" and it turned out to be anything other than forty-five minutes of being berated about something you could give a fuck about?!

i have never, in my entire life, in any of my interpersonal relationships with either a woman or a man, ever in the history of ever proposed that the two of us sit down somewhere and have a goddamned talk. no one ever wants to sit you down to talk about how he should go down on you more or why she's about to start giving you $100 a week just for being a good friend; motherfuckers want to sit your ass in an uncomfortable chair so they can go through the laundry list of your crimes against them that they've compiled and have rehearsed and are prepared to deliver to you, in monologue, with neither context nor qualification. and all you can do is sit there like a scolded child, nodding sadly in agreement that yes, you are the meanest/nastiest/dumbest coworker/BFF/girlfriend that ever had the audacity to show her face on earth.

man, fuck all that. life is supposed to be fun and full of jokes. like a real-life circus except with electric bills and starbucks runs. who wants to get bummed out talking about everything all the time? can't you just get drunk and eat fried chicken and bang that dude a few times a week? why mess everything up by talking to him?! because whatever behavior you're hoping to change won't happen. sure, you can browbeat that asshole into picking up his socks and unloading the dishwasher for a few days, but as soon as you relax that stranglehold on his leash and start letting him back out into the yard with no supervision? fuck them dirty dish socks, bitch!

you'd have to trick a jerk like me into a talk. if i got a warning text you would NEVER SEE ME AGAIN IN YOUR LIFE. that is not a joke. the minute you say, "hey irby, we need to have a talk later" you can guarantee that my phone number will be changed by the end of the business day. send me a follow-up email to reiterate and i will be in witness protection by the end of the week. can't i just apologize before you get started and save us all a bunch of headache? i swear to god, i'm really sorry for that thing i did and i promise i will never ever do that shit again. okay? is it all better? can we go have sex now?

some of you might be lucky enough to have the kind of dude who's okay with sitting across the table from you staring through your eyes down into your soul while you let him know what an asshole he is for hanging out with his buddies until three in the morning and not returning each and every one of the forty-seven texts you sent him, but i am pretty sure that's just game. some of these highly-evolved gentlemen know that the way to most women's hearts is through her vocal cords, and they've perfected the art of solemn nodding and the believeable "mm hmm, yeah. you're totally right." they probably also give amazingly thorough foot rubs and cook your favorite dinner for you every tuesday. those dudes are obviously not to be trusted. or 100% human.

women just love to listen to themselves blathering on ad nauseum. and that's why we have ladyfriends to talk to. amanda and i have a continuous email thread that began may 2nd and is 3000 emails long. that's right, this asshole and i talk on the phone, text each other, post shit on the other's facebook all goddamned day, and still have enough shit to say to fill up THREE THOUSAND EMAILS. the fact that i would never be interested in that level of communication with a man notwithstanding, no man would ever be interested in reading that long line of bullshit. talking is for girls, ie people whose eyes won't glaze over thirty seconds into your description of how insensitive the saleslady at barney's was this afternoon. so why not dump all your shit on your girlfriends? seriously, THAT IS OUR JOB.

shit you can do to a man that is more effective than talking:

break up with him. isn't that what you want to do anyway? isn't all this talking just a precursor to kicking him out on his ass? aren't you about to lay down a bunch of ultimatums that, if not fulfilled, will leave you no other choice than to hand him a pink slip? why not just cut out the middle man and let whatever you want to tell him be the last thing you ever say? i'm sure that's what he wants. "here's this nagging-ass bitch chapping my dick off yet again about some shit i had no idea i'd even done to piss her off. i never do anything right, anyway, according to her. she even hates the way i breathe. all this blah blah blah is making my penis soft. we should just end this."

or at least that's what i'm thinking every time some ho is crabbing at me. then i start scrambling to figure out what i have to say to shut that noise the fuck up while i nod and search for the nearest exit. i'm not going to change, girl, i'm just going to pretend i will for the duration of this torturous conversation. and i'll put up a valiant effort for a couple days, and as soon as you relax i'm going to go right back to doing the same old dumb fucking shit. so here's my advice because i love women and want us to be as minimally stressed as possible: if it isn't going to kill you, and you don't want to find someone else who might be worse, do yourself a favor, dollface. save your fucking breath.