, , , , , , , , , , , ,

So, in a recent post I talked about the importance of knowing that you can’t read a man’s mind and you have to actually say what you’re thinking. In that post I used the example of a “British” guy I was seeing. I said he was British because I just didn’t want to blow up his spot. I really don’t care anymore so he’s actually Scottish and actually an enormous scumbag.

We went on a few more dates and things were going alright for a while. I always went to SoHo to see him. Which became exhausting and annoying since I live on the Upper West Side and I despise taking two trains anywhere. Especially drunk, which he always got me every single time I saw him.

It was more then that, of course, that made me lose interest in him. He would think it was okay to sleep with me, not call me all week, and then ask me what I was doing over the weekend on Thursday or Friday. What am I doing? Well, considering it’s the end of the week, I’m going out with these people Friday, having brunch with these people on Saturday, and then doing homework on Sunday. Then he would get all butt hurt like I did something wrong because I already had plans. How am I supposed to know that you want to make plans with me if I don’t hear from you all week? Am I a mind reader now? Hm, I don’t think so.

So, in an effort to salvage the situation, and to better communicate, I flat out told him that this behavior was really not working for me. He agreed that he should call me more and also said I should call too… I don’t know how they do it in Scotland but if you have sex with a girl, you call her first. That’s just polite.

So, we hung out again. I actually liked him even though his laugh was horrid to listen to and he was—um—he was a healthy boy. He was polite and charming and I had fun with him. After a night in (bed), I got up, got dressed, and left. For some reason I just felt strange. I knew the feeling. It was the feeling you get when you know you’re not going to see someone again. A sort of sad goodbye, but nothing has happened to trigger it, you just know. I saw him there, ironing his suit pants and I was icily aware that this was the final time I would ever see his face.

The whole week goes by. Guess who hits me on Thursday night to see if we can hang out over the weekend? Yeah, the chubby Scotsman. I just wasn’t having it. I blew him off saying I had plans. He tried to hang out with me a few times and then, eventually, it became evident that he had flown to the island of lost men, never to return.

Or so I thought. This Saturday, on a lovely roof of a chic restaurant in the West Village, sitting with three of my most favorite people, PW, SG, and Dandelion, I received a text message from the chubby Scotsman: Happy weekend!

I wasn’t totally shocked that he was texting me, mimosa buzz I guess, but I was kind of annoyed. Who do you think you are, little chubby man? I haven’t spoken to you in over two months, why are you trying this again? So, promptly ignored the message and went on with my brunching. And then, like a truly foolish man, he texted me again, asking how I am and saying it had been a while since we chatted. Oh, had it? Only two months. Suddenly, buzzed and actually kind of angry at this point, I decided to pull a Rusty the Construction Worker and hand it to his bitch ass. I had no problem going there. I love a good excuse to put someone in their place. So, I asked him if he was midday booty calling me and that I wasn’t into that and told him to stop texting me k thx.

Did he stop? No. Fool. He wanted an explanation. Why did I not want to hear from him anymore? This seemed like such shocking news. We aren’t friends or lovers, idiot. I’m not into this bullshit anymore. I just kept pleading with him to just give up and said I’d lost interest and HE JUST KEPT GOING and GOING. Seriously, it was actually pathetic, and I (almost) felt bad for him. But, then again, fuck him. So, I straight up told him to stay away from women until he was ready to be a boyfriend and not screw people over.

And that’s when shit got REAL REAL.

He informed me that he actually already had a girlfriend, and that’s why he had suggested taking me to coffee. Excuse me? You just trolled me, begging me to see you and now you drop this deuce on me? So, I decided to take the high road. Just kidding. I responded with an ever so sweet: “wow. You’re so loyal. Sucks to be her.” And honestly, it does suck to be her. And it sucks to be a woman in general sometimes. Why do we constantly have to deal with these LOSERS who treat us like complete garbage? I’m so over it, and I’m so over these overweight, balding, morons who think they can get hot women. They’re so arrogant and pathetic. Single and proud. FOREVER. No more chubby losers for this girl. I’d rather have my amazing gays and girls who are always there for me then have to birth the children of some unappreciative douche lord. Peace.