Perhaps I should clarify . . .
Yea, perhaps the last post was misleading. No, I'm not still hung up on someone, and no I'm not going bat shit crazy over a lost moment. More so, random neural firings cause you to look back on things and reevaluate, or to evaluate. That's mostly what yesterday was. I don't really believe in the whole Carrie Bradshaw character module that someone has a "Mr. Big." More so, I'm in the camp that some people will end up alone out of logistics, population percentages, and the cards of life.
On that note, I should note that on the 17th at 11:55pm I got a message from a certain Jackass. Says he hopes "New York Redux is going well." What I should tell you is that he never, ever messaged me on my birthday, always the day after, and if I was lucky a week later he'd say something labor-laden about happy birthday. He knew my birthday, and I don't appreciate the sentiment a day later considering he knows about my birthday history. Let's not go there right now . . .
You would think he would stay the hell away from me for fear his wife will find out what his did hours before their wedding, or that the other girlfriend will send her a note, or that I will spill the beans and tell her the truth about his omissions and outright lies.
Once again, men get stupider as I get older. Sometimes, only sometimes, I wish I was still thirteen sitting with Steve flipping through comics and pondering why our older siblings were so screwy.
On that note, I should note that on the 17th at 11:55pm I got a message from a certain Jackass. Says he hopes "New York Redux is going well." What I should tell you is that he never, ever messaged me on my birthday, always the day after, and if I was lucky a week later he'd say something labor-laden about happy birthday. He knew my birthday, and I don't appreciate the sentiment a day later considering he knows about my birthday history. Let's not go there right now . . .
You would think he would stay the hell away from me for fear his wife will find out what his did hours before their wedding, or that the other girlfriend will send her a note, or that I will spill the beans and tell her the truth about his omissions and outright lies.
Once again, men get stupider as I get older. Sometimes, only sometimes, I wish I was still thirteen sitting with Steve flipping through comics and pondering why our older siblings were so screwy.
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