Wednesday, May 03, 2006
An Alternative Lifestyle?
Is it too late to become a lesbian? Because, honestly, it's starting to look like a preferable alternative to the ridiculousness that is my dating life.
Scott- DEFINITELY lied. Absolutely. Irrevocably. There was always a smidgen of a chance that someone he knew really had gotten shot. Due to his out-of-control obsession with myspace, I knew that the truth would come out in comments from friends. I was right. Sometimes, I hate being right. But there it was today- a comment from a friend telling him how glad they were he could make it out on Saturday night.
FUCK YOU TOO.
This came on the morning after my Official Worst Date Ever. No lies. We met up in the West Village. For the sake of sparing time, we'll just call him Jerk. We conversed briefly at the point of meeting, I mentioned that my feet were hurting after a lon
g day in 3 inch heels. We head off to go get some beer, and when I ask him if it's far, he doesn't even bat an eye when he answers, 'No'.
20 blocks, or 1.04 miles LATER, we arrive at our destination (which, incidentally, is a place that I've been to previously numerous times with... Mr. Wrong). I've provided a map here so you can understand exactly how far I walked in 3 fucking-inch heels because the bastard was too cheap for a cab. The purple line being, obviously, our route. Good times!
While we drank beer, he proceeded to offend me on almost every single issue that is important to me. He spent more time looking at my boobs then my face. He argued with me and challenged me on every single statement that came out of my mouth, including, but not limited to- the color of my eyes. Because after having them for 28 years, I might not be 100% accurate on their color. After explaining to him about my tattoo and how it represents finally living my life on my own terms, he actually said to me, and I'm not making this up, "You have no idea what it means to live your life on your own terms."
WHAT THE FUCK. As soon as it was socially acceptable, I made the excuse that I told my friend I would come and see her at work, and that I needed to go. We went up to the bar to pay the tab and the ABSOLUTE BASTARD nickel and dimed me on his half/my half. I SHIT YOU NOT.
I really did go and see Michelle at work, because I could drink a lot there at a discounted price. Although, all the alcohol in the world isn't going to take away these unfortunate, unfortunate incidences.
Quite frankly, Mr. Wrong doesn't look so bad now.
Scott- DEFINITELY lied. Absolutely. Irrevocably. There was always a smidgen of a chance that someone he knew really had gotten shot. Due to his out-of-control obsession with myspace, I knew that the truth would come out in comments from friends. I was right. Sometimes, I hate being right. But there it was today- a comment from a friend telling him how glad they were he could make it out on Saturday night.
FUCK YOU TOO.
This came on the morning after my Official Worst Date Ever. No lies. We met up in the West Village. For the sake of sparing time, we'll just call him Jerk. We conversed briefly at the point of meeting, I mentioned that my feet were hurting after a lon
g day in 3 inch heels. We head off to go get some beer, and when I ask him if it's far, he doesn't even bat an eye when he answers, 'No'.20 blocks, or 1.04 miles LATER, we arrive at our destination (which, incidentally, is a place that I've been to previously numerous times with... Mr. Wrong). I've provided a map here so you can understand exactly how far I walked in 3 fucking-inch heels because the bastard was too cheap for a cab. The purple line being, obviously, our route. Good times!
While we drank beer, he proceeded to offend me on almost every single issue that is important to me. He spent more time looking at my boobs then my face. He argued with me and challenged me on every single statement that came out of my mouth, including, but not limited to- the color of my eyes. Because after having them for 28 years, I might not be 100% accurate on their color. After explaining to him about my tattoo and how it represents finally living my life on my own terms, he actually said to me, and I'm not making this up, "You have no idea what it means to live your life on your own terms."
WHAT THE FUCK. As soon as it was socially acceptable, I made the excuse that I told my friend I would come and see her at work, and that I needed to go. We went up to the bar to pay the tab and the ABSOLUTE BASTARD nickel and dimed me on his half/my half. I SHIT YOU NOT.
I really did go and see Michelle at work, because I could drink a lot there at a discounted price. Although, all the alcohol in the world isn't going to take away these unfortunate, unfortunate incidences.
Quite frankly, Mr. Wrong doesn't look so bad now.
Labels: Scott
