*blue balls not included.
In what initially started as a seamlessly happy week, Hump Day arrived, carrying with it two incidents involving my exes and an embarrassing tribute to life as a single person.
First wasn’t that particularly awful, and not all that bothersome to this modern girl. I understand nobody can prevent with whom they are attracted, and I wish happiness for everyone that is a part of my life. It’s all good. But out of respect, I probably cannot rip on Mr. Waffles anymore. Or I’ll have some uncomfortable explaining to do at date nights. Gosh, post sounded semi-secretive, no? Tough.
Then… as impeccable timing as ever during my mid-week phase of complete euphoria, SSD sent an email with iHop as the subject header. Because he “thought about me.” And in typical, useless Yahoo! Mail fashion, it delivered to my Inbox what was widely regarded as requisite of the trash folder. What the fuck, fucker? I get it… But why not “think about me” when I attempted time-and-time again to be a part of your life. GAH!
In any event, I have an extreme distaste for all things breakfast food right now. So help me, omelets — don’t you fuck me over!
Moving on, while in phone conversation with a work colleague, he blurts out that I “sound cute,” then requests that I describe myself, and proceeds further in asking what I do for “fun.” This is why I don’t a) call chat lines and b) date online or c) regularly suggest blind dates. I cannot describe myself. Others have mastered this dutifully, but I struggle to explain my finer points. Upon my reprieve that I am dating someone, albeit long-distance, he nominates himself to be “my man closer to home.” Needless to say, I was wholly embarrassed and told him that I was blushing — two things that rarely happen, but I was completely caught off guard. OK, working with him is going to be interesting, as now I am expected to dress up to be the office lunchtime sales whore in the near future.
No mention of eggs benedict or corned-beef hash.
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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.
