Lets
play catch up shall we?
Here
we go…
Jeff,
guy who stood me up a few weeks ago; still haven’t talked to him. Do I care? Not a whole lot.
It just proves that my theory about him asking me out to prove to Jimmy
that he can. Wonderful. Typical male ass hat. No, please, continue, I love being used
in that whole, “lets piss off my oldest and best friend with this girl he used
to screw 6 years ago.” Thanks
douche bag. What is the point in
him breathing my air? I am still
not understanding his motives, but then again, I guess that’s why he is
single. Just say whats on your
mind dumb ass! Maybe something
will change for you! Moving on.
Guy
#1: Do I even have to continue
talking about this fucking guy?
Clown. Just a fucking
clown. He is still doing the
whole, “let me text her friends when I know they are together just to get under
her skin,” thing. So sorry to
disappoint you, but your not getting under my skin. You need help.
Lots of help.
Night
Rapist: Just ew. I went to dinner
with my dad one night to the place he is working. Of course this motherfucker is there. He’s all, “hey there! Can I get you something? Want a Mic Ultra?” Really guy? I’m not sitting here trying to get shit canned in front of
my father who is a recovered alcoholic.
I mean, I may not have the best moral fiber, but I don’t think that I
can swig brews in front of my dad when he is buying dinner. Get the fuck out of town! And please, delete my number from your
phone. Then throw the phone in a
large body of water where not even a diver will be able to recover it. Thanks!
Hot
Guy from ball: This is interesting
I guess we could say. So last
night Cheese, Finny, and me went to the field to watch the boys game. Needless to say, we brought about 40
beers, a 6 pack of ice cream snickers, a box of wheat thins, and smokes. Oh, and bug spray, LOOOTTSS of bug
spray. Of course Hot Guy is
there. (Ergo, I was there). After the game were all sitting around,
drinking, hanging out, making fun of each other. As typical shit continues, I am basically pouring beer down
this guys gullet in hopes that he will stay longer and that I can actually
remove my head from my own sphincter and speak to this fucking guy.
Amazingly
enough, I did decent work. I don’t
know what it is about this guy, I just can’t seem to talk to him. I know, I know. Pussy right? I am a big, wadded up, ball of pussies. But whatever! I tried laying some groundwork in there! I think it was successful. Thanks to you, Mr. Bud Light, for your
liquidity of encouragement. It’s
like a fucking speech at a ceremony:
“I just want to thank my fans for
voting me in! I couldn’t have done
it without you. Special shout out
to Cheese for bringing Mr. Bud Light to the games. To you, Finny, for spraying the backs of my legs with Deep
Woods Off, and of course you, Hot Guy, without you none of the afore mentioned
shit would have happened and I wouldn’t be drooling down my own shirt at this
very moment thinking about how damn cute you are. Oh, should I thank God? Maybe Satan, for without his sick fucking humor, I wouldn’t
be where I am today.” Then I would
throw up the deuces and walk away.
Peace out!
Then today, I am being bombarded by
Cheese and Finny about sending him a Facebook message just saying something
short and sweet, “here’s my number, so call me maybe,” type shit. No, no no no. I can’t do it.
I don’t know why, just let it go!
But then a thought hit me; Cheese said she would do it for me, and it would
be WAY less embarrassing if I just did it myself. She is right, and she would totally do something heinous to
me like that.
So my message goes a little
something like this, “Hey! When is
your next game? I am trying to set
up another scouting session!”
Short. Sweet.
Point? I don’t know.
Oh, the scouting session thing is a
joke. The boys we are friends with
have challenged us to a fast pitch softball game. I graciously accepted.
So now I use it as an excuse to see the boys play. I am “scouting.”
Right, the only things I am
scouting at those games are two things.
1. How many beers can we
finish in an hour and a half? And
2. I wonder if those shorts are
too loose? Will they fall down and
will we get a glimpse of a cup runnething over? (Get it? Pun
intended. Cups running over. As in jockstraps) Come on! That was funny right? Anyways…
That’s where we are for the
moment.
Not to mention I am refreshing my goddamn
phone every 8 seconds to see if he got the message and has responded to me
yet. Is that pathetic? I am going to go with a big fat fucking
yes. Pathetic. Idiot. Loser face.
Stop bashing yourself! This
is me in a quiet ass room with too many thoughts swirling in my head. I have to stop now.
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