Now a queen's a queen and a stunt is a stunt/You can tell who's who by the things they want
I'm remotely holding court with Trendvickster over the assholeness of the male specimens that we keep encountering. She liked this guy who liked her back, but he jumped for the first girl to pass by with a loose snatch and some weed -- and a fiancee and stories about cheating with dudes up and down the eastern seaboard. The kicker is that all of this interoffice. Ugh...drama. I think it's reminding me of why I'm choosing to remain blissfully unattached right now -- too many encounters with fuck-ups. There's The Continental who was dating 4 girls at once (including moi) -- no small feat in the middle of nowhere Connecticut and years later doesn't understand why it might make someone angry. Beats me... There's Mr. Sailor, for whom I'm the first and last person over the age of 18, he's been involved with since he passed that age that didn't understand why his ass got dumped when he disappeared for two weeks and changed his cell phone number -- and passed that along to a mutual friend, instead of you know, telling me himself. That was sure the mystery of the ages... Or my "friend," who I didn't want to slander so I blogged about the encounter tamely, that lost out on a sure thing because he didn't understand why I wasn't particularly impressed by: "you know, I came to Wes because I was sick of dating white girls, but as soon as I got here, I just got snapped up again. I'm sad I never got my chance." Because after all, what is a liberal arts education for but giving little suburban white boys all the colored ass they can handle. Fucking jerk.
So, I'm raging. Just because I can.
