Fuck Your “I Don’t Know”

Comin’ in hot this week.


Say hello to my new pet peeve: people who throw the “I don’t know” flag on every play. Bruh, this isn’t a football game that’s getting too rough; stow your yellow flags, chug a Gatorade, and sit your ass on the bench. We havin’ real talks this week.

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I get it; sometimes you have absolutely no clue what’s going on, what the answers are, or, in the rarest case, what you’re feeling. I make few leniencies for this last one, because relationships, feels, and fuckboys.

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Hookup culture isn’t a new concept. Millennials are the poster children for anti-commitment, “feelingless” sex, and swiping right and left in search of the best “you-can-get-me-out-these-jeans” faces.

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There’s also this (un)fun in-between stage: The “We’re Regularly Spending Time Together, But We Haven’t Discussed a Title, So Like, We’re Not Really Dating, That Way If I Meet Someone I Want to See Naked, You Can’t Be Mad, and I Don’t Have to Feel Any Emotional Sad-Sads Because It’s Not a Break Up Because We Weren’t Technically Dating Even Though We Basically Were.”

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Mouthful, eh? Brainful, too. This shit is absurd. It makes no sense. But we all do it. I’m guilty, and so are most of the people I know. We do this stupid half-assed thing because we’re Courage the Cowardly Dog about commitment and “catching feels.” We bury our feelings so deep that when push comes to shove, no one knows what the actual fuck is going on.

…Except we do.

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It’s a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free Card: I know how I’m feeling, but I’ll pretend I don’t to “spare your feelings,” to avoid mine, or to prevent breaking the spell and making any part of this “real” in any way. When you ask questions I should be able to answer (because LOL we’re having sex regularly, which is as physically vulnerable as it gets), I’m going to keep saying “I don’t know” because heaven forbid I be emotionally vulnerable too!

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Anyone remember Rocket Man?

If you’re rolling your eyes at how fucking dumb this is, I am too. And yet, I’ve done it.


I always know how I’m feeling, even when I don’t want to feel the way I do. Part of this is due to my annoyingly high level of self-awareness. I’m pretty fucking sure what I want, but that’s because I pay fucking attention to myself.

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I was also a psych major, so feel free to give that as much or as little weight as you see fit. Regardless, I’ve never entered into any kind of relationship with the opposite sex clueless about the directionality of my intentions.

Typically, I immediately know how much interest I have and in what capacity. Of course there’s the occasional outlier, but otherwise, it’s pretty clear. Once upon a time, a younger, dumber version of me ignored this gut instinct, and I fucked up a really great friendship. I’ve been extremely cautious since.

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So it irks the absolute fucknuts out of me when I hear fuckboys say, “I don’t know.” (Don’t get me wrong: Girls do it, too, but I’m not banging ladies.)

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You know, but you’re a coward. FYI: I sense how you feel before you do, but like, grow the fuck up and put words to it, please. I let you inside my body. You could suffocate me, or beat me, or harm me in countless ways. I’m trusting that won’t happen (Can we pause to recognize what a big deal this actually is; I don’t think many of us think about it enough), so like, whip out your words the way you so readily whip out your dick and spit it out.


And both parties need to listen to and respect each other. If you want different things, stop, cuz ain’t nobody gonna change their minds, no matter how many bullshit Rom-Coms suggest otherwise. not


There’s an unspoken, oft-overlooked rule to hookup culture: “Naked dancing” with someone does entitle you to disrespectful or rude behavior. If you’re gonna get jiggy wit it, you better be able to have a conversation about what’s going on.

Sometimes, the “Yo, you’re cool, but I’m looking for casual hookups with cool peoples because I’m not ready for the real-reals,” chat does happen. This is awesome, but it requires the other party to cut the shit. Often, someone secretly wants more, but they agree to terms and conditions they don’t really like.

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From there, it’s a matter of time before it comes back around to smack ’em right in the fucking feels. And then shit hits the fan, and everyone’s upset because, “I told you from the start,” countered by, “You act like you want more.” While both may be right, no one respected initial declarations, and now butthurt feels abound. It sucks. It happens.


Mature, responsible adults would catch this early on and cut things off (because we all see it coming – don’t lie), but LOL none of us are mature, responsible adults. Instead, we ignore it, pressing on because the arrangement is nice: a warm body and someone to LAWL with over stupid videos always feels good (among other bodily fun things). Inevitably, this backfires. Someone gets labeled crazy, and someone gets labeled a fuckwad.

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Roses really smell like poo-ooo-ooo

In some cases, though, things get messy. Not long ago, a friend found herself in a typical hookup situation. Desires were clearly outlined at the beginning, but over time, feels happened on both sides.

Yep. It’s about to get messy.

It was fine(ish) until FuckWeasel took it from “hey we banging and having GTs” to “hey, don’t go out with other guys because jealousy.” A little relationshippy, no? He agreed (and even suggested) actual dates, while maintaining his stance on “a lack of feels” (but, like, you jealous doe), which is misleading, and ranks high on the scale of “I’m telling you what you want to hear because I’m a little bitch boy who only knows where his balls are when it’s time to play.”

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She repeatedly made efforts to get on the same page because back and forth business is the worst; even I was confused as to what the real fuck was happening (aside from total fuckboyery – please read in a Sean Connery accent). After weeks of rollercoaster emotions and tough love guidance, she called it quits.

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Toodaloo motherfucker

Fellas, Ladies: If you’re hooking up, you better be able to articulate how the fuck you feel, or pack up your genitals, and go fondle yourself at home. Stop doling out emotional blue balls everywhere you go. No wonder we’re all so emotionally fucked up; we’re blinded by sexually frustrated feels, yet we keep hooking up with each other in hopes of emotional relief that we never actually get.

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If you “don’t know”: Be fucking single, and fuck yourself silly until the answers come to you. Literally and figuratively.

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All the lovin’s for Coach this week


Bossey Boots

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