There’s this guy. Isn’t that how all of my stories start? Sometimes I wish I liked women just to give my shitty stories some fucking variety.
Moving on….
There’s this guy…we went out twice. A friend of a friend. Let’s call him, um, Ren. He was the short, ugly sidekick to Stimpy, right? Good. Like I said, we went out twice and he scared himself because apparently he didn’t realize that GIRLS LIKE TO KISS. Especially after a date. Never in my life did I think that counted as “moving too fast.” Thank god I didn’t reach for his zipper. His dick probably would have ended up in his own damn throat.
He im’d me on Friday to congratulate me on graduating and threw in some feeder lines like “you deserve this moment” and “i’m so happy for you.” Blah, blah, blah. So maybe this means we’re friends?
Well, surprise, no it doesn’t. I im’d the bastard today to see if he owns a typewriter. Since the im convo was primarily me, me, me, I figured I’d throw him a bone and asked him to tell me one good thing that happened to him today.
His answer? “I followed a woman with a great ass down the hallway and into the elevator.”
Lovely, Stalker Ren.
He doesn’t seem to understand that being friends with girls does NOT mean talking about girls with that girl. I don’t want to hear about her ass. Or her boobs. Or her hair. All it does is drive home the point that I WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU. Or, at least you didn’t think that I was good enough for you. Clearly I’m better than you deserved. I am not your wingman. I am not your buddy.
So, I did the only appropriate thing and pointed out his social gaffe and logged off before he could respond. Sometimes the only way to deal with assholes is to act like an asshole too.
