I am happy to say that I am seeing a card-carrying member of the Human Race now. New One and I went to the Apple Store last night and bought a computer for him. That's not what this is about, though. This is about the unwelcome drunk texts I got from a previous fling-guy this past weekend.
(FRIDAY/SATURDAY 2:00 A.M.)
HIM: Are U in?
ME: Functionally asleep. Goodnight. Been lights-out for almost an hour now.
HIM: What floor are you on again?
ME: Shuddap.
HIM: But I am in the elevator.
ME: You have a home to go to don't be weird like this.
HIM: The only weird part is that you don't want to f#ck me.
Me: You're being really weird now and by weird I mean illegal.
HIM: Okay, if U say so.
(SATURDAY/SUNDAY 2:10 A.M.)
HIM: Hi. Sex? I like it :)
(MONDAY, 6:09 P.M.)
HIM: Sorry about Saturday. I was drunk which is never an excuse! Sorry!
This evening New One and I are going to dinner and a movie. My phone will be turned off at night from now on.
Showing posts with label high maintenance men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label high maintenance men. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
An Open Letter to the Love/Hate Boyfriend
Dude -
Though I'm not given to quoting our 43rd president, what was that quote that W mangled once? "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." Didn't he add an "aw, fuck it" on the end? That's the part I can't get right. "Fuck it, and fuck you." I say it, and I think it, and I never believe it.
You got me. Damn you, you got me. I haven't felt like this about someone in... 10 years? Since my first love. And what kills me is that I'm afraid I love you. It should turn my stomach to write that, but I kinda tear up instead. You, who I only spent one night with, though I remember every second of it. You, who's so charming and handsome. You, who can take my shit and give it right back. You, who has run off how many times now?
Some days I hate you. I'll scan across your number in my phone's contacts, and my blood boils. I raise my finger to delete your information... but I never do. An old conversation or picture will pop up and I want to write you letters about my hatred and loathing for you... but I don't. Because I don't hate you. And I want you around. But goddammit do I hate you and want you out of my life.
You make me act irrationally. Do you know how much that sucks? Me, who chooses brains over guts 100% of the time, who maps out her life in Excel spreadsheets, who can't hold a grudge because they just don't make good sense, and who gets panicky if she thinks she screwed something up. Did I screw you up? Not you, really, but what we could have had? I know I didn't, but I still can't figure out what happened, and it makes me crazy.
That leaves it up to you. For whatever reason, you can't handle this situation, or you can't handle me. I know I haven't screwed up because dammit, you keep coming back. You feel this, too - you've told me that much. But you just can't deal. Maybe you need to figure out how to be vulnerable enough to be a real man, or maybe you need to find spine enough to deal with your own shit before you can be with someone. I certainly don't know what it is, and I can't pretend to.
So, from now on, I will let my tiny little torch burn for you, and I will leave it at that. I won't try to stifle it, but I won't let you share it. I'll figure out how to embrace this twisted, sick, amazing feeling that I have for you, but I won't embrace you. I won't stroke your ego. I won't validate your feelings. I won't beg you to talk to me. I won't expect anything from you. But I know that you'll be back. I know that one day, you'll try again. You probably won't have gotten your act together, but if you fail that time, I'm willing to bet you'll try yet again. And one day, you'll have put yourself together and screwed your head on straight and learned how to be a man. Then, and only then, can we really do this.
Until then, though, fuck you.
-Me
Though I'm not given to quoting our 43rd president, what was that quote that W mangled once? "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." Didn't he add an "aw, fuck it" on the end? That's the part I can't get right. "Fuck it, and fuck you." I say it, and I think it, and I never believe it.
You got me. Damn you, you got me. I haven't felt like this about someone in... 10 years? Since my first love. And what kills me is that I'm afraid I love you. It should turn my stomach to write that, but I kinda tear up instead. You, who I only spent one night with, though I remember every second of it. You, who's so charming and handsome. You, who can take my shit and give it right back. You, who has run off how many times now?
Some days I hate you. I'll scan across your number in my phone's contacts, and my blood boils. I raise my finger to delete your information... but I never do. An old conversation or picture will pop up and I want to write you letters about my hatred and loathing for you... but I don't. Because I don't hate you. And I want you around. But goddammit do I hate you and want you out of my life.
You make me act irrationally. Do you know how much that sucks? Me, who chooses brains over guts 100% of the time, who maps out her life in Excel spreadsheets, who can't hold a grudge because they just don't make good sense, and who gets panicky if she thinks she screwed something up. Did I screw you up? Not you, really, but what we could have had? I know I didn't, but I still can't figure out what happened, and it makes me crazy.
That leaves it up to you. For whatever reason, you can't handle this situation, or you can't handle me. I know I haven't screwed up because dammit, you keep coming back. You feel this, too - you've told me that much. But you just can't deal. Maybe you need to figure out how to be vulnerable enough to be a real man, or maybe you need to find spine enough to deal with your own shit before you can be with someone. I certainly don't know what it is, and I can't pretend to.
So, from now on, I will let my tiny little torch burn for you, and I will leave it at that. I won't try to stifle it, but I won't let you share it. I'll figure out how to embrace this twisted, sick, amazing feeling that I have for you, but I won't embrace you. I won't stroke your ego. I won't validate your feelings. I won't beg you to talk to me. I won't expect anything from you. But I know that you'll be back. I know that one day, you'll try again. You probably won't have gotten your act together, but if you fail that time, I'm willing to bet you'll try yet again. And one day, you'll have put yourself together and screwed your head on straight and learned how to be a man. Then, and only then, can we really do this.
Until then, though, fuck you.
-Me
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Callbacks
After the breakup of my last ill-fated relationship, I decided to hide out for a bit. This, dear reader, is why I was home on a Saturday night to receive his call. I HAVE to share, because of all of the "callbacks" I have EVER gotten, this one is the most interesting.
He called because I "am the only sane person that he knows" and he had to talk to somebody. He just broke it off with the girl he started seeing right after I broke up with him. He had JUST left a bar where he had dumped her and during his walk home, he told me what a mess she was and all that sort of garbage. He got to his house and was smoking on his porch when he quickly told me that she was there at his house and he had to go, but that he would call me back in a few.
I texted him "Do you need me to call the police?" jokingly after about a half hour. He said no, that the police were already there and that he was watching her get arrested.
So, he calls me back and goes on and on about how she was crazy and had a drug problem and drank too much. I remained silent and smirking. I AM so much better than that and was SO GLAD that I was over him. He was slurping down scotch while he was talking. Then came the big pause: "I have something I have to tell you and you're not going to like it."
Right after I broke up with him, he called an escort service. He was dating the girl from the escort service.
That's right: not a stripper or a topless waitress, he went directly to dating a whore. A whore with two kids. He kept talking. She was addicted to crack. In the first month of dating, they had ALREADY had a pregnancy scare. She was arrested in front of his house for drunk driving... with her three-year-old daughter in the back car seat...driving the wrong way on a one-way street. She had a key to his house. She said that she loved him. That was why he babysat her kids while she went off on tricks. Oh... and she was "really, really hot".
Did I have to explain that she was playing him for his money? Yes. Twice. "Trip" had never, apparently, actually met a whore before and must have missed all of the movies and books where the whore plays the rich guy for his money. He asked me what he should do. If he should break it off.
"It depends on how much drama you want in your life. If you want a psychotic crack hoe having your baby and really want to pay her monthly for the next 18 years, I'd say no. You should stay with her for a while. It will be very exciting... like watching COPS. If you don't want a crack baby, I'd say that you should change your locks tomorrow morning and never talk to her again."
He ask me if I'd go to drinks with him the next night. I politely declined. He changed his locks and is shopping for a psychiatrist.
He called because I "am the only sane person that he knows" and he had to talk to somebody. He just broke it off with the girl he started seeing right after I broke up with him. He had JUST left a bar where he had dumped her and during his walk home, he told me what a mess she was and all that sort of garbage. He got to his house and was smoking on his porch when he quickly told me that she was there at his house and he had to go, but that he would call me back in a few.
I texted him "Do you need me to call the police?" jokingly after about a half hour. He said no, that the police were already there and that he was watching her get arrested.
So, he calls me back and goes on and on about how she was crazy and had a drug problem and drank too much. I remained silent and smirking. I AM so much better than that and was SO GLAD that I was over him. He was slurping down scotch while he was talking. Then came the big pause: "I have something I have to tell you and you're not going to like it."
Right after I broke up with him, he called an escort service. He was dating the girl from the escort service.
That's right: not a stripper or a topless waitress, he went directly to dating a whore. A whore with two kids. He kept talking. She was addicted to crack. In the first month of dating, they had ALREADY had a pregnancy scare. She was arrested in front of his house for drunk driving... with her three-year-old daughter in the back car seat...driving the wrong way on a one-way street. She had a key to his house. She said that she loved him. That was why he babysat her kids while she went off on tricks. Oh... and she was "really, really hot".
Did I have to explain that she was playing him for his money? Yes. Twice. "Trip" had never, apparently, actually met a whore before and must have missed all of the movies and books where the whore plays the rich guy for his money. He asked me what he should do. If he should break it off.
"It depends on how much drama you want in your life. If you want a psychotic crack hoe having your baby and really want to pay her monthly for the next 18 years, I'd say no. You should stay with her for a while. It will be very exciting... like watching COPS. If you don't want a crack baby, I'd say that you should change your locks tomorrow morning and never talk to her again."
He ask me if I'd go to drinks with him the next night. I politely declined. He changed his locks and is shopping for a psychiatrist.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Am I crazy or is he creepy?
I can't tell. I was just sitting there, minding my business late in the week, trying very hard not to beat my head against my keyboard, when an IM popped up on my screen.
This is where I start to feel squeamish. I mean, OK. I like fun. But that long "hhhmmmmmm" felt like a hot breath across a phone line, right? That's not fun. It certainly ain't sexy. So I tried to keep it light and jokey. I figure, can't we all agree that work sucks, eh? Eh?
I don't want bald, married guys my dad's age to find me interesting. Especially if they can't spell for shit. Again, I retort with a joke.
There's a pause, so I think it's over. Oh, no.
Um, what? Is this how old people flirt? Is he that bored? I hardly know this guy. He works in a different building. (I think his WIFE works in my building though.) Are we all of a sudden on Match.com? I play it safe by playing stupid.
OK, DIW. What is this? Am I being paranoid? Is he just so well-meaning and innocent and I'm the one projecting? Should I avoid this guy?
He says:
Hey! Whatre you doing?
She says:
whipping some stuff out before I get out of here
and then tomorrow's FRIDAY
He says:
Yes it is!!! WOO HOO!!!!
big plans this holiday wekend?
She says:
Oh yeah
gardening
cleaning my floors
big stuff
Actually I might spend a night in a cabin on the Waccamaw
and do some kayaking
so that'll be good
Oh, you know, and being pious, of course
You?
He says:
LOL>...of course!!!
well...I cleaned floors last weekend so thais done...YEAH!!!
a little golf Frdiay and Saturday mongings...
She says:
Oh nice
He says:
and I do have to clean out the garage one day...BOOOOO
She says:
I hate chores
He says:
me too...
She says:
Why did I think they'd go away when I grew up?
I think I need to have kids. Make them start doing some dishes.
He says:
they just get more and more and more
She says:
srrsly
He says:
we need FUN in our life...hhhmmmmm
This is where I start to feel squeamish. I mean, OK. I like fun. But that long "hhhmmmmmm" felt like a hot breath across a phone line, right? That's not fun. It certainly ain't sexy. So I tried to keep it light and jokey. I figure, can't we all agree that work sucks, eh? Eh?
She says:
Oh, what, like work isn't FUN for you?
It doesn't bring you enough JOYJOYJOY?
He says:
there you go again..scarcasim...I LOVE IT!
She says:
I just can't help it
I'm glad someone around here appreciates it
He says:
I do...let it FLY!!!
She says:
ha
I still have to figure out different types of humor.
Not everyone thinks I'm hilarious, apparently.
He says:
i find you hilarous and interesting...
I don't want bald, married guys my dad's age to find me interesting. Especially if they can't spell for shit. Again, I retort with a joke.
She says:
Me, too!
That's why we get along
There's a pause, so I think it's over. Oh, no.
He says:
so.,...
tell me something unique
Um, what? Is this how old people flirt? Is he that bored? I hardly know this guy. He works in a different building. (I think his WIFE works in my building though.) Are we all of a sudden on Match.com? I play it safe by playing stupid.
She says:
??
He says:
lol
see...you haven't figured me out yet...I am haviong a tought ime with an outage over here and thoiught I would settle my stress by being silly wiht you
sorry
She says:
ahhhhh
I'm slow sometimes
He says:
not a problem...
OK, DIW. What is this? Am I being paranoid? Is he just so well-meaning and innocent and I'm the one projecting? Should I avoid this guy?
Monday, January 31, 2011
Miss Manners Neglected to Talk About...
You have a Good One: nice, considerate, sweet. Only thing is, you have the sex drive of a blue-assed baboon and they have the sex drive of... well, do they even have a sex drive? A few of my friends are having this problem, and it's not limited to guys or limited to girls. So I'm asking you: is there a loving way to tell someone that you care about that they need to put out or ship out? I mean, I'm a woman in her 30's... and it's true what they say about women in their 30's. I think sex is healthy and demand a healthy amount of it right now. Maybe we can get some guy advice: has ANYONE ever come up with a tactful way of having this conversation with someone?
Thursday, June 3, 2010
My very own pet stalker
Today's offering is a guest post from "hackneygirl". Happy Dating!
My first ever internet date. Yay! But me being me I should have known it couldn’t go well. And in fact I think I have managed to bag myself my very own personal stalker. WAY TO GO!
I ought to have clocked it earlier but I’m new to this game and his profile was very funny – dry and sarcastic – and his pics were pretty cute. His emails were short and to the point and he seemed keen to meet up rather than spending lots of time exchanging inane emails. My impression: alpha male, possibly quite arrogant but could be a lot of fun. So, to a backing track of alarm bells faintly tinkling, I agreed to meet him for a drink the following evening. And that’s when the trouble started.
8am. My phone buzzes. It’s a text seemingly checking I gave him a real number. Concerning. I reply with a one word affirmative.
8.10am. Another text. This time re-confirming the details of our date later on. I do not reply.
The uneasy feeling persists throughout the day but I am repeatedly reassured that everyone feels like this before their first internet date. Just go along! What’s the worst that can happen? Ok Dr. Pepper, fine, I’ll go!
6pm. Another text. ‘See you soon. x’ SERIOUSLY! I am going to bail if he sends me one more word. I send a matter of fact response. Definitely no kisses.
7pm. (we’re meeting at 8 and I am at this point waiting at a bus stop). Another text! This time saying he’s been delayed at work. So I ring him to find out if he’s a total loony or what. It rings out. I leave a message then head home. This guy has clearly never been out with a girl in his life.
8pm. Buzz, buzz. ‘Just leaving. Can be there in 5 mins.x’ Dude, did you not listen to my message – I’ve gone home for pete’s sake!
8.05pm. He rings me. It takes me FIFTEEN whole minutes to get him off the phone in which time he has repeatedly tried to find out where I live, offered to come and meet me near my house, asked me out for dinner on every single night of the next two weeks (it’s amazing how busy I am all of a sudden) and extracted a promise that I’ll check my diary and get back to him.
10.30pm. Unbelievably, he texts again. Not being insane myself I do not reply.
2am. Yes, you read that right, 2 o clock in the am, he messages me online to explain, yet again, what held him up. I will have to block his profile. He’s not going to like that.
So, I remain an internet virgin and very likely the object of some disturbed fantasy. I am also probably going to have to change my phone number. Do I feel just a little bit grubby and freaked out? Yes I do. Am I going to quit internet dating? Of course not! Or not yet anyway… *
*Since writing this post he has settled into a routine of texting me every morning at 9am with a new angle on why he didn’t make it to our date and the myriad ways he would like to make it up to me. It’s kind of comforting. I might even miss him when he stops.
My first ever internet date. Yay! But me being me I should have known it couldn’t go well. And in fact I think I have managed to bag myself my very own personal stalker. WAY TO GO!
I ought to have clocked it earlier but I’m new to this game and his profile was very funny – dry and sarcastic – and his pics were pretty cute. His emails were short and to the point and he seemed keen to meet up rather than spending lots of time exchanging inane emails. My impression: alpha male, possibly quite arrogant but could be a lot of fun. So, to a backing track of alarm bells faintly tinkling, I agreed to meet him for a drink the following evening. And that’s when the trouble started.
8am. My phone buzzes. It’s a text seemingly checking I gave him a real number. Concerning. I reply with a one word affirmative.
8.10am. Another text. This time re-confirming the details of our date later on. I do not reply.
The uneasy feeling persists throughout the day but I am repeatedly reassured that everyone feels like this before their first internet date. Just go along! What’s the worst that can happen? Ok Dr. Pepper, fine, I’ll go!
6pm. Another text. ‘See you soon. x’ SERIOUSLY! I am going to bail if he sends me one more word. I send a matter of fact response. Definitely no kisses.
7pm. (we’re meeting at 8 and I am at this point waiting at a bus stop). Another text! This time saying he’s been delayed at work. So I ring him to find out if he’s a total loony or what. It rings out. I leave a message then head home. This guy has clearly never been out with a girl in his life.
8pm. Buzz, buzz. ‘Just leaving. Can be there in 5 mins.x’ Dude, did you not listen to my message – I’ve gone home for pete’s sake!
8.05pm. He rings me. It takes me FIFTEEN whole minutes to get him off the phone in which time he has repeatedly tried to find out where I live, offered to come and meet me near my house, asked me out for dinner on every single night of the next two weeks (it’s amazing how busy I am all of a sudden) and extracted a promise that I’ll check my diary and get back to him.
10.30pm. Unbelievably, he texts again. Not being insane myself I do not reply.
2am. Yes, you read that right, 2 o clock in the am, he messages me online to explain, yet again, what held him up. I will have to block his profile. He’s not going to like that.
So, I remain an internet virgin and very likely the object of some disturbed fantasy. I am also probably going to have to change my phone number. Do I feel just a little bit grubby and freaked out? Yes I do. Am I going to quit internet dating? Of course not! Or not yet anyway… *
*Since writing this post he has settled into a routine of texting me every morning at 9am with a new angle on why he didn’t make it to our date and the myriad ways he would like to make it up to me. It’s kind of comforting. I might even miss him when he stops.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Out of the woodwork
How is it that ex-lovers and former flames know when you're no longer available?
At a bar the other night, I ran into the Captain. More than a year ago, I had met him through a friend. That night, I ended up at his house, on the couch, drunk, while my friend was getting it on with Captain's roommate (they preferred to call it "housemates" because they don't share a room, but finding it important to make that distinction just seems vaguely homophobic to me). At some point, I said I was cold, and he offered to snuggle. Sweet. Then I started in about how I was worried about my new puppy who was home alone in her crate, and he offered to drive me to my house to let her out. I accepted. We chatted while he drove me home, and I impressed him by knowing about Stereolab. When we got to my house, he impressed me by knowing who Frida Kahlo is. He stayed the night. More snuggling, a little making out. In the morning, we exchanged phone numbers.
For the next month, I threw myself at him. At one point I literally climbed into his bed and took my clothes off. Nothing. There was some making out, but I didn't even get laid. He never called me, and I refused to call him. Eventually, I gave up. We ran into each other from time to time over the next year or so, and I pretended I hadn't been totally rejected.
But now that I'm deliriously happy with a hotass new boyfriend (with a sexy accent)?
I ran into Captain at a concert. We chatted, he flirted his ass off. He acknowledged that he'd gained weight, referenced his new "man boobs." He said he'd since given up smoking pot. He had a new job and got to travel. At one point I said something particularly charming, and he smiled and said, "Will you be my girlfriend?"
I laughed.
"Seriously? You had your chance. Too late."
"I know, I really fucked that up. I'm sorry."
"What?"
"Oh, you know."
"No, you can't apologize for something if you're not even willing to admit what it was."
"I'm sorry I blew it with you and didn't ask you to be my girlfriend. I should have."
I was surprised he said it.
"Yeah, you are sorry," I said. "I'm a pretty rad girlfriend."
At a bar the other night, I ran into the Captain. More than a year ago, I had met him through a friend. That night, I ended up at his house, on the couch, drunk, while my friend was getting it on with Captain's roommate (they preferred to call it "housemates" because they don't share a room, but finding it important to make that distinction just seems vaguely homophobic to me). At some point, I said I was cold, and he offered to snuggle. Sweet. Then I started in about how I was worried about my new puppy who was home alone in her crate, and he offered to drive me to my house to let her out. I accepted. We chatted while he drove me home, and I impressed him by knowing about Stereolab. When we got to my house, he impressed me by knowing who Frida Kahlo is. He stayed the night. More snuggling, a little making out. In the morning, we exchanged phone numbers.
For the next month, I threw myself at him. At one point I literally climbed into his bed and took my clothes off. Nothing. There was some making out, but I didn't even get laid. He never called me, and I refused to call him. Eventually, I gave up. We ran into each other from time to time over the next year or so, and I pretended I hadn't been totally rejected.
But now that I'm deliriously happy with a hotass new boyfriend (with a sexy accent)?
I ran into Captain at a concert. We chatted, he flirted his ass off. He acknowledged that he'd gained weight, referenced his new "man boobs." He said he'd since given up smoking pot. He had a new job and got to travel. At one point I said something particularly charming, and he smiled and said, "Will you be my girlfriend?"
I laughed.
"Seriously? You had your chance. Too late."
"I know, I really fucked that up. I'm sorry."
"What?"
"Oh, you know."
"No, you can't apologize for something if you're not even willing to admit what it was."
"I'm sorry I blew it with you and didn't ask you to be my girlfriend. I should have."
I was surprised he said it.
"Yeah, you are sorry," I said. "I'm a pretty rad girlfriend."
Monday, November 9, 2009
Sniffle
OK, so being sick sucks. But when you're in a new relationship, it's a wonderful litmus test. The first time you're stuck in bed, feeling miserable, achey, smelly and like maybe you'd like the rest of the world to go ahead and fuck off and die, and then Mr. Lovely shows up with 7-up and pudding cups, then sits on your bedside rubbing your back for a minute before loading up your bed with pillows, and setting up your laptop with his hard drive full of mindless movies? It's kind of kickass.
And if he gets sick a day later, and you get to return the favor, and make him soup and rub his back and clean up the nasty tissues and act like you couldn't care in the least? It's satisfying -- NOT, of course, that you don't feel awful that he's sick, especially since you know where he got the cooties in the first place.
Now, you've probably seen this, hell, I've probably posted it here before, but I like watching this come flu season:
And if he gets sick a day later, and you get to return the favor, and make him soup and rub his back and clean up the nasty tissues and act like you couldn't care in the least? It's satisfying -- NOT, of course, that you don't feel awful that he's sick, especially since you know where he got the cooties in the first place.
Now, you've probably seen this, hell, I've probably posted it here before, but I like watching this come flu season:
Monday, September 21, 2009
High maintenance
I recently went out on a perfectly fine little first date. Date was on time, cute enough, and the conversation was good. So good, in fact, that we were both shocked to discover that it was nearly 2 a.m.
As I waited for a cab, he stood on the curb with me, close enough to smell. Smelled nice. We talked about seeing "Action Flick by That One Really Good Director," and he said he'd call me to arrange it, told me he would be out of town for a couple of days, but he'd be back by midweek. As my cab pulled up, I saw him going for a kiss, but I was feeling like dragging things out (anticipation can be fun), so I have him a hug, a big smile and a wink, and I was off.
A week later, nay, more than a week later, I got a text:
"Seen Action Flick Yet?"
I was a little confused about why it had taken so long to make any contact, but I shrugged and replied:
"Not yet."
A week later, I sent a text:
"Cat got your tongue? Well, no worries, I'll see it solo. Best, June."
He replied:
"No no, my friend. I just wasn't particularly enthused by your response. What time do you get off work this week?"
Really, internet? Would you go out with a guy who's that high-maintenance? I mean, what did he want, a smiley face emoticon at the end of the text?
Is there an emoticon that means "Fat Chance"?
As I waited for a cab, he stood on the curb with me, close enough to smell. Smelled nice. We talked about seeing "Action Flick by That One Really Good Director," and he said he'd call me to arrange it, told me he would be out of town for a couple of days, but he'd be back by midweek. As my cab pulled up, I saw him going for a kiss, but I was feeling like dragging things out (anticipation can be fun), so I have him a hug, a big smile and a wink, and I was off.
A week later, nay, more than a week later, I got a text:
"Seen Action Flick Yet?"
I was a little confused about why it had taken so long to make any contact, but I shrugged and replied:
"Not yet."
A week later, I sent a text:
"Cat got your tongue? Well, no worries, I'll see it solo. Best, June."
He replied:
"No no, my friend. I just wasn't particularly enthused by your response. What time do you get off work this week?"
Really, internet? Would you go out with a guy who's that high-maintenance? I mean, what did he want, a smiley face emoticon at the end of the text?
Is there an emoticon that means "Fat Chance"?
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