*blue balls not included.
The ass who stood me up last week? Texted me Saturday:
What are you up to tonight?
While I imagine he could have been drunk at 4 in the afternoon (I was, for sure), what the fuck is all that about?
Being that he reappeared a week later, I could only muster, “Are you kidding me?” from my depths of the Chicago bars. (And I think a couple hours later, when I realized that I had turned my iPhone off to save the battery life… or my life, as it were).
Because, right? Are you fucking kidding me? A week later — no apology, no contact… and I’m supposed to do what? Run right over to make plans on a Saturday night with him again? Only for the exact same thing to happen. (Shame on me).
Muther-puh-leeze. It will definitely take more than that to make me feign interest.
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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.
