And another one bites the dust...
I told you guys that I wasn't dating Ryan, right? Ok, well I'm still not, and here's why. Saturday he asked me to go to dinner with him and all his buddies for a birthday (I don't know whose birthday). I told him that I had plans and wouldn't be able to make it. He told me it was cool and to call him if things were to change. The next day I get the following text messages:
Him: So, I guess you shafted me last night.
Me: Too bad I didn't or that would be a logical assumption.
Him: Well, you didn't call me.
Me: I told you I had plans.
Him: But, I asked you to call if things changed.
Me: Things didn't change. I still had plans.
Him: Well, you don't think it's weird that you didn't call me the rest of the night?
Me: No.
Him: Did you hang out with your friends?
Me: Yes. Why?
Him: So then you did shaft me?
Me: No. I'm not going through this again.
Him: Ok, well I guess I'm just trippin.
Me: Yes, you are. Stop.
Him: Well, I'm still kind of mad.
Me: If you want to be mad, be mad.
Him: Are you mad?
Me: No.
Him: Ok, so we're cool?
Me: Yea...I guess.
Him: So, are we going out on Tuesday?
Me: What's Tuesday?
Him: Valentines day.
Me: I don't do Valentines day.
The messages pretty much stopped after that. Sorry, I'm anti-Valentines day. That just adds to the reasons why guys say I don't have a heart.
Dear boy from this weekend who told me I'm cold and heartless,
Leave me alone f*ck wad. I do have a heart. I just choose not to waste it on guys who would rather rely on their penis than their heart. So what, I shut you down--twice--in one night. You obviously weren't my type, or I would have gladly given you a chance. And no, coming up behind me and trying to dance with me will not help you out. I don't care if you can do the pelvic thrust or the weenie flop better than the next guy. Though, that would be a rather amusing dance off. Sorry if your heart or your ego was crushed. Get over it. Grow a penis. Find a slut.
Do The Kids dance,
Brittany
Him: So, I guess you shafted me last night.
Me: Too bad I didn't or that would be a logical assumption.
Him: Well, you didn't call me.
Me: I told you I had plans.
Him: But, I asked you to call if things changed.
Me: Things didn't change. I still had plans.
Him: Well, you don't think it's weird that you didn't call me the rest of the night?
Me: No.
Him: Did you hang out with your friends?
Me: Yes. Why?
Him: So then you did shaft me?
Me: No. I'm not going through this again.
Him: Ok, well I guess I'm just trippin.
Me: Yes, you are. Stop.
Him: Well, I'm still kind of mad.
Me: If you want to be mad, be mad.
Him: Are you mad?
Me: No.
Him: Ok, so we're cool?
Me: Yea...I guess.
Him: So, are we going out on Tuesday?
Me: What's Tuesday?
Him: Valentines day.
Me: I don't do Valentines day.
The messages pretty much stopped after that. Sorry, I'm anti-Valentines day. That just adds to the reasons why guys say I don't have a heart.
Dear boy from this weekend who told me I'm cold and heartless,
Leave me alone f*ck wad. I do have a heart. I just choose not to waste it on guys who would rather rely on their penis than their heart. So what, I shut you down--twice--in one night. You obviously weren't my type, or I would have gladly given you a chance. And no, coming up behind me and trying to dance with me will not help you out. I don't care if you can do the pelvic thrust or the weenie flop better than the next guy. Though, that would be a rather amusing dance off. Sorry if your heart or your ego was crushed. Get over it. Grow a penis. Find a slut.
Do The Kids dance,
Brittany
posted by Unknown at 12:09 PM
6 Comments:
How many clingers is that since this blog started?
Damn.
Someone asked me if I was repulsed by this day as they were. I replied, "What, its Tuesday."
If you ignore it, it goes away.
Except herpes, or so I'm told.
Jameson
VD sucks.
He brought me a huge mass of red roses to the hospital where I was staying with my Grandma.
Yea.
And the James Blunt cd (i was ok with that).
I want to burn the CD. And I thought Ryan was pretty cute -- in a longish hair, backwards baseball cap, takes you to NBA Basketball games kind of way. Granted I met him at the entrance of a hospital, in my car, in my j's.
Also, he walked right up and patted Rebel's head. He must be semi-brave to pat a 100lb boxer on the head without knowing the dog.
Let's see where this one goes. He makes his own money for christ's sake. That comes in handy.
Jesus, Brit. I have to fix your links on your page. They are driving me crazy -- crazier.
Brit's links suck and piss me off.
Roses make me nervous as hell.
I don't know who James Blunt is bc I'm effing old.
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