I’m just going to start dating myself

Still haven’t heard from Glen, so, crisis averted — for now. I know I’m eventually going to have to face it and just tell him it ain’t gonna happen. I just can’t bring myself to inform him via text. I HATE TEXT MESSAGING.

Well, actually, I have a love/hate relationship with texting. With my friends, it’s great. I almost PREFER it. But when you’re trying to date me? CALL ME. I’m sure I’ve bitched about this on the ole blog before, but I’m just reiterating my point to explain why I haven’t told Glen yet that I am not going to be his next conquest.

I once received a text message in error that said something to the effect of

I’m sorry I just don’t think it’s going to work, [blah blah blah Dear Jane crap]
—[Some really awesome gangsta nickname I'm sure he made up for himself]

and I was so furious at this asshole that I called his phone and left a voicemail telling him what a bastard he was for breaking up with his girlfriend VIA TEXT MESSAGE, that he should be ashamed of himself, and that he should check to make sure he has the right number before he sends such an asshole-ish text message.

So yeah. I’m pretty adamant on this issue.

I am fully aware that my blog has become a whiny bitchfest centered around men and dating. Yeah, I’m tired of it, too. I just wish men would stop coming into my life to FUCK WITH ME. I haven’t pursued ANY of these guys I’ve mentioned lately. I mean, I feel like I have a big sign around my neck that says, “I don’t have ENOUGH problems in my life, please come create drama and/or cause me to have low self-esteem by acting interested and then COMPLETELY FLAKING OUT FOR NO REASON.”

Case in point: last Thursday, the last time I saw BrownEyes, we had sex (duh) and afterward he made a request that I, uh, DO SOMETHING to a certain BODY PART. Something that requires MAINTENANCE.

(I hope you can figure that out because I am to embarassed to type it out.)

So, if a person asked you to do something like that, wouldn’t you assume he or she, you know, wanted to SEE YOU AGAIN?

Yeah, me too.

That night is the last time I’ve laid eyes on him.

I know it’s only been a week, but our pattern has been 2-3 times per week since he moved back home. We have spoken only briefly on the phone.

OH YEAH, and did I mention? That night he also asked me if I wanted to invite my parents over to eat supper. MY PARENTS.

WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE. SERIOUSLY.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I. Do. Not. Understand. Men.

I can live without BrownEyes. I can live without a man, period. This is not the point. But guys? Please don’t call me if you’re not interested. Just, don’t call. It’s that simple!

AND ESPECIALLY DON’T ASK ME TO MAKE A MAJOR (well it’s major to me) CHANGE TO MY BODY AND PLAN TO INVITE MY PARENTS OVER FOR DINNER AND THEN GO AWOL ON ME.

I have to go back to the lady doctor in a couple weeks to make sure everything is OK with my IUD, i.e. it is not uncomfortable during sex. I am not going to be very happy if I have to make a trip only to tell her, “Well, I haven’t had sex, so I really couldn’t tell ya! Here’s my co-pay, see you in a year! Maybe by then I’ll have gotten some action! Fingers crossed!”

SO HERE’S MY PLAN.

1. Don’t call BrownEyes. Don’t even THINK about him. Just. Don’t. Do. It.
2. Focus on ME, ME, ME and what I want to do.

OK I thought I was going to have more things on that list, but you get the point.

AIN’T NO ONE GONNA RAIN ON MY PARADE TODAY. I am all kinds of awesome, and if someone doesn’t want to be with me, it’s his loss. Just because someone is not interested in me, it does not mean I am not still the Amazing Lady I’ve always been.

FUCK YEAH!