Yes, I am totally jamming to the new Franz Ferdinand album, "Right Thoughts, Right Words, Right Action." But that is to be expected if you give me a gift card for Christmas. But anyhoo.
I am currently experiencing some problems with the guy I have been dating as of late. See, I get the distinction that he's just not that into me. It could be the fact that he never invites me to go anywhere or do anything, that whenever we do get together to do something, it's always to have sex at his place, which is about a 20 mile drive from my place (he never reciprocates by driving to my place or even agreeing to meet me at the state line), that I've only ever spent one night at his place and that was only because I pretty much came up with the idea and invited myself over (and that he totally forgot I was coming over for an all-night-full-on sexathon, which obviously never happened), and that when I text (my only method of communication with him, since he hates to talk on the phone supposedly), he either never responds at all or takes days and days and days to respond to a simple "yes or no" question. It could also be the fact that the times I tried to have discussions (via text, as always) with him about rebuilding my sex toy and naughty lingerie collections (with the expressed intentions of trying to be more appealing to him), he has fallen oddly silent.
Call it a feeling, a hunch, but you, R--, just aren't that into me. Chalk it up to experience. That every guy I have ever dated in the past has done the same exact same thing to me, come on strong and then blown me off, is irrelevant, but it does give me insight.
You, sir, are a Douche Extrordinaire. And that's fine. It reflects more upon you than it does me. That I am eager to please and give freely of myself is not a fault of mine. It means that I am kind, accepting, open, tolerant, fun-loving, generous, and optimistic. That you use me up and throw me aside like a used tissue shows that you are a selfish user, a narcissist who cares only about you and your needs and not about the fact that others have needs, wants, desires, and feelings. People like you are empty and hollow and are forced into shallow relationships that have no depth and meaning and intimacy. You yourself even admitted to me that you only kept your exes around to avoid being alone, even saying (and this is a direct quote), "My ex-girlfriend was dumb as hell, but she was hot." I should have known you weren't much of a deep one if you were willing to have a fairly serious (living together) relationship with someone who was intellectually vapid when you are not a stupid man. (You are immature, very, very immature, but not stupid.) Apparently, you don't want an intellectual match, you just want a woman who can suck chrome off a bumper. (And given your fondness for being on the receiving end of fellatio, that is exactly what you want sexually out of a relationship.)
In fact, I'd be willing to write you off entirely, except for one thing: You have my favorite barrettes. Yes, you do. I know you do. Because I deliberately left them at your place the last time I was there. You know, that time I spent the night. The time you forgot that we'd agreed that I could spend the night. The time we'd planned to have mind-blowing sex until dawn, yet after screwing me all of 10 minutes, you rolled over and said that you had to get up early, so you were going to sleep. And then proceeded to snore like a bleeping chainsaw for the next 8 hours while holding me in a vice-like death grip, so I couldn't move all night. And fart. You farted all night in your sleep. It was so gross. Trust me, I was not imagining this. You were holding me so tight and snoring so loud that I couldn't have slept if I'd taken a whole bottle of ambien with a fifth of tequila. (Yes, I'd made the mistake of not bringing my sleeping pills with me when I spent the night because, silly me, I thought I'd be spending my night doing everything but catching Zzzs.) And the smell was pretty horrible. I tried to get up and let myself out quietly several times in the night, but you were holding me so tight that when I tried to get up, you would half-way wake up and pull me tighter to you, so I couldn't have broken your iron embrace without causing a scene. So I laid there. And listened to you snore and fart.
I'm sure Grumpy Cat could say something witty about that. ("I stayed the night at R--'s place once. It was awful.")
And stare at the mountain of overdue bills you have pinned to the bulletin board next to your bed. I can understand being broke, but your spending habits are ridiculous. You recently spent about $5,000 between buying a barely-running jeep you don't need (when you have a perfectly good, fairly new ford fusion that you owe about $6,000 on), a winch to do some massive work on said jeep (like dropping a new engine in it and the like), and a new 9mm handgun (which I so don't understand because you already own several other handguns and have a large, scary assault-rifley thing hanging on the wall of your apartment--what's with all the guns, nutfreak?).
And the real kicker: you owe $938.67 to the Disney Movie Club. I have no idea what that is, but I suspect it has something to do with a "coffee of the month"-type of subscription to Disney movies. Now, there's nothing wrong with liking Disney movies, but c'mon. You're 31 years old. I haven't dropped any money on a Disney movie since I was like 10. And I'm 30. So grow up. Besides, nothing is a bigger buzzkill when you're trying to romance a woman and she looks over at your entertainment center and sees a copy of "Aladdin." Trust me. I really had to work at getting my groove back after that one.
But anyway. Back to the bitch at hand.
You have my barrettes, motherfucker. I want them back. Yes, I made a mistake in leaving them at your place. But it was an honest mistake. Generally, when a girl leaves something a guy's place, it's because she either wants to come back to his place on the pretense of retrieving the left item (but in reality, she's always coming back to see the guy again), or she wants him to come to her place to "return" the left item. Either way, she desires further and future contact with the possessor. The item itself is almost irrelevant. Except in this case.
You see, turd burglar, those barrettes mean something to me. Yes, they only cost $1 and were in the clearance bin at Michael's, but that's not what makes them so special. You see, those barrettes were the last thing my beloved maternal grandmother bought for me back when she still had some faculties. We knew about the Alzheimer's at that point and were basically looking for a long-term care facility at that point, but grandma was still able to interact with the family then, and we took her shopping. She insisted on buying me something. And because she was my grandmother, and because I didn't feel that I should abuse her generosity and limited funds, I chose those barrettes out of the clearance bin. Shortly after that, grandma became a permanent resident of a dementia ward in the greater Kalamazoo area. Those barrettes were a symbol of her freedom. And her love.
And, fucktard, I've told you that. But you can't even bother to return my texts. All I want is my barrettes back. That's it. I don't want to scream or cry or start a fight or have some drama at your apartment or in public. I just want to get my $1 barrettes back.
You, I can do without. Haute couture, not so much.
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