Dear Regina, I heard the song you left on my voicemail this morning. And even though I couldn't actually understand any of the words you were singing, I took it to mean you were sad about our break up. You’re right. I handled it badly, and I’m sorry. Let me try to explain.

I know that on paper we’re great. That all signs point to yes, but just because you and I were thrown together by eHarmony’s online compatibility survey is no reason to stay together. A relationship is more than just answers to some standardized test. It’s about chemistry (and no, not a chemistry test. I know how you like to have fun with words). Believe me, Gina-belle, this wasn’t easy for me. I wanted it to work. Everywhere I went, people told me I’m supposed to love you. That I should really give you a chance. That you are so unique and, like, totally amazing. And I tried. Honestly, I have, but ... well, I don't know. I must be missing something. Like the night you invited me over and made dinner. I think it was some kind of traditional Russian borscht, but you did something wacky to it, right? Like, you added Nathan’s hot dogs. All cut up. It was so idiosyncratic and zany and you just didn’t care, did you? Just Regina being Regina. But the thing is, I had a few bites and despite all your free-spirited flourishes, it tasted strangely familiar. Like something I’d eaten many, many times before. Just not as good. Do you understand? Look, it's not like I hate you or anything. I understand your appeal. We just don't click. Where are the laughs? Sure goofy outfits and funny faces are amusing for a little while, but that stuff gets old. And yes, those voices of yours. Sometimes high and squeaky. Sometimes thick and Slavic. I mean, yeah, that's kind of amusing, I guess. But I need a girl with a harder edge. Someone who can hold their own when we're out with my writer friends. Remember election night? I was live-blogging over at Comedy Central. It was a blast. And what did you do? Did you laugh at my post mocking