Digg: The Communal One-Night Stand

I write and read in coffee shops. I've figured out that it makes me productive. I need an appropriate amount of distraction to get anything done, and usually, I'm good at it.

But there are times when I'm not; like when the girls behind me start talking about their friend's one-night stand.

"So I told her, 'Honey, he isn't going to call you back.' But you have to do it with some tact, you know?"
"Definitely. But she'll figure it out. She's just new to it."

Then there was more rambling about "that guy." Then something about how he isn't worth the grinds at the bottom of a coffee cup. Then some sentences that started with "If I ever...," but a conversation that ultimately concluded with "She should have known."

I started thinking about that guy a little bit more. The conversation bounced around my head. He sounded familiar. And for awhile, I couldn't place him. I knew I'd seen him somewhere. But where? In what context? I couldn't quite figure it out. Then, just as I started sucking on my own grinds from an iced grande coffee, it hit me.

Digg, you are that bro.

"No, but I cared about that blog, I really did."

Trust me, you are "that guy."

"I didn't think it would happen. I thought I could stick with it for awhile."

Really? What about the others?

"I thought I could stick with them, too."

What did you think would happen? You raised her expectations to impossible levels. You knew that would happen, Digg. And maybe she is naive. Maybe she should have known better. Maybe she should have asked her friends and found out about you. But you made her feel special. You made her feel wanted. For one day, you gave her the star treatment. You gave her your undivided attention, and dropped comments left and right. So of course she wanted to be with you. But once it was all over, you left her. And you didn't even look back. You made her feel inadequate. You made her feel like a blue-sticker sale at Wal-Mart.

"Listen, can we chat about this later? I heard an anonymous blogger is reporting that McCain tips waitresses with bunny scalps."

As much as you'd like to deny it, Digg, you're the double-popped-collar (colored pink and lime), gel-spiked hair, tanning salon, protein shake pounding, I talk at you not with you, daddy-bought BMW driving brosef of the internet world.

And the worst part of it all? Most of us wouldn't mind a little more attention.

So for those of you finding yourselves sobbing into wet pillows, reapplying that eye-liner, and gauging yourself on two pints of Ben and Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream, just remember . . .

You're not alone.

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