an open monologue to Interstate Highway 635

Well, well, well, I-635. It has been awhile. I haven’t traveled westward in many moons, but on this day I must.

Do you know that feeling, I-635, that feeling of freedom as you careen onto the highway, young and carefree, only to slam on the brakes at a wall of stopped cars? That’s the feeling you make me feel, time and time again.

I should know better. But like a bad boyfriend, you entice me time after time. I have a blank space, I-635, and I wrote your name in it. You are the Justin Bieber to my Selena Gomez. The Chad Kroeger to my tube-topped shot girl.

I see that you recently bribed Google Maps. (“Everyone has a price,” I imagine you said to it, openly caricaturing 1920s East Coast Italian-Americans.) When I approach you, that titillating green traffic line will draw me onto the entrance ramp, only to suddenly bleed red when I have passed the point of no return. Everyone’s on your payroll, I-635. Everyone but me.

I guess part of me thought we could be friends for awhile. “Maybe just a quick trip,” I would say to myself. But there is no mercy on your three lanes of hell, narrowed down to one lane of superhell.

But today. Today will be different.

four things that won’t impress me about that single guy you know

Or: “Four ways I click-baited you into reading this blog post.”

As a 26-year-old Christian single in the South, I am a constant target for amateur Cupids (in other words, I have loving friends who worry about me). Allow me to debunk some of the more common “selling points.”

1. “He’s nice.”

Firstly, calling a man “nice” means only that you have observed him abiding by social norms. It can be a deceptive character trait.

Bill is a nice guy who just needs your help moving furniture into his van.

Secondly, being “nice” won’t help when the baby is screaming or the cable guy did not show up between 6am today and 6pm the next year like he said he would. Great men are not “nice.” Continue reading