You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'getting the hell out of dodge' category.
You’re getting bullets. Deal with it. I’m leaving work in four hours and I don’t have time for B.S.
- After watching a Sex and the City episode involving Samantha, the guy of her dreams, and his tiny penis, I began to worry. Oh God, I thought, What if The Lawyer has a tiny penis?!?!??! because seriously? I can’t be havin’ that. I don’t need a Dirk Diggler or anything, but sex shouldn’t be like throwing a hot dog down a hallway. Not that I have a hallway down there or anything, I mean, oh God. There’s no way I can talk myself out of this one. The hole has been dug. So I will conclude with this: The Lawyer does not have a tiny penis. Praise Allah.
- Earlier in the week, The Lawyer and I were exchanging e-mails, and he mentioned coming over to my house after eating dinner at his grandpa’s house. About 30 minutes before I left work, he mentioned that there might be a slight change of plans. His grandpa wanted to meet me. Immediately. So I did the good girl thing and agreed. It actually wasn’t terrible. The hilarity of it all was the fact that they served boxed red wine, chilled, with hamburgers. There were two awkward moments in the night . . . the first was when The Lawyer’s grandpa said, “Hey we’re selling this house, y’all should get married and buy it” (WHAAAAT????), and the second one came when there was a misunderstanding about my age, and The Lawyer’s uncle thought that he in fact was dating a 19 year old. Okay, I look young, but I don’t look that young.
- New York , in true NY fashion, decided it had been too long since he sent me a random ass text message, so he sent me a message that said only, “corn bread!” I, of course, replied with the obvious response, “turnip greens!” and went back to my NY-free routine. Then, Wednesday night while I was playing bar trivia with The Lawyer (we won first place, by the way, and all our drinks were free), I received yet another text from NY. The gist of it was that his car had died on the way to the airport (which is 2.5 hours away from where he lives) and he had a 10am flight the next morning and no way to get to the airport. He never out-and-out asked me to give him a ride, but honestly? Why the fuck would he be texting me about it if he weren’t trying to hint toward it? So he more or less tells me I’m not important enough to him to make me his girlfriend, goes over a month without seeing me, then all of a sudden wants me to offer to make a 5 hour round trip drive at 10pm on a weeknight so he doesn’t miss his oh-so-important flight to Who The Fuck Knows Where so he can blow his inheritance even more on sushi and promotional materials for his “band”?
No thanks. - I’m pretty sure I heard Murray’s name on the radio this morning for getting arrested for DUI. It may not have been him because his name isn’t terribly unique, but the person in question was arrested on the street right next to a bar where one of Murray’s favorite bands was playing last night. If this was, in fact, Murray, whose money management skills are atrocious, then he may not be able to fund the refinancing of the house after this. Also, if he gets his driver’s license taken away without a permit to drive for work (his job requires him to drive around in a truck and watch other people work), he may lose his job. Balls.
- I got a mani/pedi with Ma yesterday and my toes are all smooth, painted, and ready for the beach! I leave at lunch time to head south with The Lawyer.
We had this e-mail exchange yesterday:
aaand I think that about sums up what we’ll be doing on our trip. Have a fabulous weekend, freaders! Mwah!
This New York shit has me so irritated I’m ready to throw in the towel.
Let me draw up a little scenario for you.
He left last week on another road trip. This time, to see some concerts and go back to the big apple for a day or two.
I am leaving for vacation tomorrow, and I won’t return until Wednesday. I will be visiting a friend and her fiance. I invited NY to come (of course the friend and the fiance know about this and are cool with it) before he left on his road trip. I didn’t demand an answer from him immediately, but I told him to think on it while he was gone.
He has hardly been keeping me up to date on his whereabouts, and starting around Tuesday or Wednesday, he stopped answering my calls altogether. And his texts? Have only been “good night” or “good morning.” Nice try, but no.
Something’s different. I am not cool with this.
Since he won’t answer my calls, I texted him last night.
“Alive?”
Because honestly? I want to know he is safe. He got in a fucking wreck last time he was on the road (albeit a minor one, but a wreck nonetheless).
And I also want him to WAKE THE EFF UP AND CALL ME.
I got the “mornin” text at 6:45 this a.m., and that was it.
I had to find out what state he was in by reading his twitter.
TWITTER, PEOPLE.
Another characteristic to add to LRC’s Repertoire of The Crazy?
I secretly read the tweets from his band.
Ssshhhh, don’t tell.
So, given his location as of 15 hours ago, I can assume with some confidence that he will be making his way home today. The day before I am to leave for my vacation, presumably solo. Because the boy has forgotten how to work the mouthpiece on his phone.
I’m past the point of being hurt. I’m to the point now where I’m just irritated. I hate being jerked around or taken advantage of. My life does not revolve around him, and if I’m going to have someone to answer to? He better answer back. He’s gotten so lazy with this shit that I don’t even have time for his shenanigans. He needs to tell me he’s just not that into me, and let me give him back his house keys and move the fuck on.
My time? Is being wasted. And that? Is not cool with me.
On a lighter note, VACATION! I am so in need of time away from work it’s not even funny. Boss Lady is trying to get secretary fired, and I just can’t handle the tension in the office.
Oh wait, I tried to take this post in a more positive direction and failed miserably.
Let’s try this again.
*clears throat*
BEACH.
I think nothing more needs to be said.
