Last Wednesday, I was at work like a good little worker bee. I got back to my desk after sitting in a meeting and saw I had some e-mails to tend to.
Mostly, the usual, but one from “Trey.” Huh?
I met you the other night at the couples’ event. I know I was supposed to remember your number and I did, but I forgot the area code. I really would like to see you again. Whenever you get this e-mail write me back.
Fat & Disgusting
Umm…what the fuckity fuck fuck? You’ll recall, F&D stalked my whole life on the boardwalk last weekend, got my number, called me twice in 15 minutes, found me on Facebook (none of which I responded to) and then somehow found my personal gmail account that I only use for freelance work.
I was scared and pissed. So I wrote him back.
You didn’t forget my number. In fact, you called me twice to which you’ll notice I didn’t respond. You also found it necessary to find me on Facebook, which I’ve ignored. And I don’t know how the fuck you got my e-mail, but it’s pretty creepy.
Any chance you had is gone.
And he responded:
Ok, well since that’s the case. It was really nice meeting you and I wish you all the best…
Spare me, you fucking stalker. The next day, the serial killer sent me an e-mail AND called me, so I was just about to jump off the next bridge, when I was grocery shopping and my RA approached me and insisted on giving me his card.
Yeah, I know I’m complaining about guys who want to see me. But I’m getting really sick of it. It makes me want to go get fat and obtain acne problems so I can be alone for awhile.
Last night, Gizzy pointed out that a majority of our posts lately have just been us bitching about being single. True. However, that’s a big reason why we started this blog, so we are simply following the business plan.
But anyway, Saturday night I was feeling pretty low about it all. I had spent my day in front of the television watching season 4 of Dexter and a few episodes of Sex & The City, when I started up a texting war with Gizzy.
The subject? Becoming a lesbian.
In reality, we were both mad at each other for letting guys walk all over us and then letting crazy take over and expect guys to change. It’s such a wicked cycle that we can’t seem to stop.
The saddest part about it, is neither of us have ever been treated right, or in any type of normal/healthy relationship that we often can’t see the red flags leading us into that dark alley.
Once Gizzy sufficiently got me down, in the dark, laying in the fetal position, I just had to ask myself the all important question:
What Would Bieber Do? Or, WWBD?
Obviously, if I was dating The Bieb, he wouldn’t do things to make me cry, cheat on me, or make me question any corner of our relationship. In fact, I’m convinced he would write and sing songs for me, bring me flowers, take me roller skating, and maybe kiss me a few times.
In a nutshell, he would make me one less lonely girl.
Onto the real news of the day—tonight’s episode of The Bachelor. Who’s excited? Last week’s show was the FIRST one worth watching this entire season, and tonight are the hometown dates, so you know that shit is gonna be good. At this point, I’m getting a little nervous over it, because there’s no one left I really like. I liked Chantal O., but after her little photo shoot and the ugly-girl-crying incident I think I’ve had about enough.
I dunno. I guess tonight will tell, make sure to join me on Twitter @cocktailsattiff for all the juicy whore bashing during the show.
Oh, and Happy President’s Day. I’ve heard it’s good luck to eat cherries today so go ‘head and get you some—you know I need all the luck I can get so I’m about to dive head first into a cherry pie.