"Don't waste the pretty."

As embarrassing as it is to admit, I just finished the book He's Just Not That Into You: The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys. Seriously. My friend Carolyn from Lesbian Club handed it to me over drinks, gushing over its pithy observations on love. The book was slim, missing its dust jacket, and many of its pages were dog eared. I cocked my eyebrow and gave her an incredulous look.

"But Carolyn," I reminded her, "this book is for straight women."

"You just read like it was about girls!" she exclaimed. "Dude, that stuff is spot on. It's by the people who wrote Sex and the City."

Opening the book I could feel my lesbian credentials draining like a pint glass during happy hour.

"I didn't want anyone on the subway seeing what I was reading, so I took off the dust jacket," she added.

Then why on earth did she think that I needed to read it??

Not wanting to be rude, I slid the book into my purse and thought that at best I'd leaf through a couple of pages, silently making catty remarks over the stupid things ditzy straight women do. And then I would probably pat myself on the back for being too clever for that paradigm.

Oh but wait . . . scratch that. Looks like I am part of the paradigm after all.

At only 176 pages and written in something like 12 pt double spaced, I ended up finishing the book in a couple hours. The book has a simple premise -- he's just not that into you -- and lists all the glaring ways in which he (or in this case she) demonstrates this premise. Chapter 6? Yeah that happened to me. Chapter 7? I was guilty of that. Chapter 9? One word -- Val. Chapter 10? I should photocopy it and mail it to Holly. Who knew that a book written for straight women would strike at the heart of the universality of love and all its frustrations? Who knew that "he's just not that into you" is the same as "she's just not that into you?"

So what did I learn? I learned that she's just not that into me if she's still in love with her married boss, doesn't ravish me when I'm wearing a corset, doesn't make herself emotionally available, and only expresses her feelings when she's drinking. After reading those 176 pages, I was angry at the state of my love life.

Don't waste pretty as the book says. I'm tired of being constantly disappointed by love. And I'm not going to accept anything less than awesome from now on.