*blue balls not included.
I got “that look” from my sister when we at dinner together over the weekend. Not to be confused with “that” look, obviously. But that look of smug disdain while I rehashed my story of 10SB’s attempt in trying to communicate with me (multiple times) since the breakup, and my apathetic-ness towards it all.
That look of “oh, we liked him” followed partially by a sigh of practically missing my relationship with him.
Puke.
Of course, I had to remind my sister of his severe negative qualities: such as, not being able to properly socialize without the aid of excessive amounts of alcohol. And being irrationally unpredictable. And boring. Oh, and not giving one damn about my family, my vacation or my feelings.
Don’t get me started with my personal look of “don’t go there.”
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This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
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