Just Another Girl On The IRT

Freestyle musings from a pseudo-intellectual hellcat in high heels with Huxtable aspirations in a ghetto fab world. Proudly sponsored by bouts of bitchy mood swings, one too many swigs of Turning Leaf, the letters F & U and the madness that is the Rotten Apple.

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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

Work in progress. Neurotic. Daydream believer. Bookworm. Addicted to the arts. Stubborn. Spoiled rotten. Lefty in more ways than one. Pop culture whore. Equal opportunity hater. Kid at heart.

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Thursday, August 11, 2005

Postcards from the edge

I can be a pretty understanding broad most of the time. Patient to a certain point, willing to compromise even. However one thing I absolutely detest is when dudes refuse to own up to their jackass ways and scramble for wriggle room out of every situation instead of simply taking the "L." So an acquaintance [translation: on/off fuck buddy I deluded myself into thinking I was in a relationship with for way too long than I care to admit] calls me today at work after ignoring my last few calls just to "see how I'm doing." Negro please. Nearly two full weeks passed since I returned back from vacation and you usually only call for one of three reasons:
So don't try to come at me sideways with nonsense....I'm onto you like Lo Jack, quit frontin'. Or maybe it's because your boy flew the coop yesterday and you wanna compare notes on how many details I'm withholding (Oh yeah, it's that bastard... dum dum da dum dum dah! The plot thickens...)

In any case, the moody wench bubbling just under the surface couldn't help but retort, "I'm broke, all outta useless factoids and reloaded with 3 new vibrators, the fuck you want?" Of course that opened up the floodgates of "what's your damn problem?!" peppered with the annoyance de rigueur, "is it that time of the month?" No bitch, I'm not riding the crimson wave — I'm just sick of your shit. The main thing that was buggin' me was that the entire time I was away, even though I had no mobile service whatsoever for 8 days straight... who was one of the first people I dialed up once we touched down in Miami for a connecting flight home just to say hello? Yep, you guessed it. Subsequent calls went unanswered so I was like, whatever. Then he finally got back to me on Monday morning to do him another favor, I politely told him to go fist himself.

I was pegged unreasonable since I couldn't understand all the stuff going on in his life at the moment with his daughter being in the hospital. Now hold up, before you jump to conclusions and brush me with the "stop whining, you heartless bitch" brush... I'll have it duly noted that his kid being in the hospital has never stopped him from making one too many inconsequential requests before, so I really don't think I'm asking too much by just simply picking up the damn phone to see if I was still breathing.

And the part that really got my panties in a bunch was the fact that he was using a child as just the right ploy to deflect my anger and put me immediately into "oops, I did it again" mode. And damn if that shit didn't work...I inwardly cringed and felt guilty for being vexed. After thinking it over for a millisecond, I pushed the Shoebox Greetings pangs to the side and got even more pissed. His little girl stays in my prayers constantly, but should that negate my reasoning to think he's being an ass for the umpteenth time? Why the hell can't you just apologize for neglecting me without trying to clean things up with the jedi mind tricks? Forget this shit....lose my number and don't bother poppin' up outta the fucking clear blue yonder to start this back & forth emotional chess game again.

That is until *I* start humping the corner lamppost in frustration, and um... maybe we can negotiate new terms or something.

link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 5:28 PM |


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