Tropical Storm Isaac is hitting town. The lightning storms of the past couple of nights have been beautiful, and it was lovely hearing the torrential downpour all last night.
I think that’s about the worst of it for us. *knock on wood* — no wood so *knocking on head*
So for the past three weekends, a certain person has dangled a certain event in front of me that “we should go” to. I never had high hopes because, well, I know this person.
But I’m also not an asshole and frankly I would not mind spending some time with him. We have nothing but fun when we spend time together, but he makes sure to limit that.
(I seriously hate most of my Florida friends right now. Seriously.)
Besides, should we both finally admit that this entanglement has more than run its course, I want my last memories of him to be better than the ones currently in my head.
And I’m perfectly willing to let him make things better (or, at least, less worse). If he’s like most of the men I’ve known, he’ll come back around in three to five years to say that he was a dumbass to let me go the way he did. That would be the difference between me having a friendly conversation with him someday or me pretending my car is a bowling ball and he’s the pin!
(Of course, he’s told me before that he hates when people are nice to him. And it really bugs him when motorists stop to let him cross the street. So I’m only too happy to NOT stop for him!)
So, said event will never happen. Here’s why …
Week #1, I forget what the excuse was.
Week #2, it was, “Well, we should go next weekend because of this special thing they’re doing.” That note was sent to me the day of said plans.
Week #3 is today. I avoided the issue until yesterday morning, when I sent what I thought was a cute message to see where his widdle head was at.
As I blogged yesterday, I had his excuse ready. I figured his Raggedy Ass ex (so named for her latest red dye job that she called his stupid ass over to come see and he did. Lord) needed to have a bikini wax supervised — hell, I was even going to say, “Are we on or does Raggedy Ass need someone to heat the wax?”
But I really do try to be classy. I don’t know why.
No wonder this didn’t work out — he didn’t even know me. But I digress.
Anyway, Raggedy Ass has a roommate, whom he lets borrow his very sexy car. And he’s always there at their house, it seems — usually fixing shit and running errands for Raggedy Ass and getting drunk and supposedly passing out on the couch.
Which, I really don’t give a fuck anymore and prefer to focus my annoyance on dead-behind-the-eyes Whorothy out in the cornfields that are as scorched as her old-lady cooch.
As my friend Silver Blue noted, at least you know how many men the Titanic went down with — who only knows how many this bitch is fucking.
But wevs, right? Not my problem.
I tend to hate women more than men because we should all KNOW better and try to, if not help each other out, then not act like assholes.
I of course have more class than the two of them combined, and it occurred to me long ago that he just doesn’t feel like he deserves someone youthful and vibrant and funny and successful who doesn’t look like she’s been rode hard and put away wet.
But you know. If he prefers the alcohol-destroyed skin of old girl Whorothy and the bong-wrinkled parentheses around Raggedy Ass’ mouth, hey. YOU ENJOY THAT.
So anyway. I actually do like being his friend. Not to convert him back or anything — but because if you get him away from those crazy bitches, he is a sensitive and caring soul who is as easy as the eyes as he’s been hard on the heart.
I really had thought God had brought me the love of my life with this one. But I see now that He’s simply just making sure that I REALLY appreciate the right one when it comes.
I just don’t get why we can’t actually be friends when, frankly, that’s all that’s there and I don’t demand a fucking thing out of him while those two bitches (both exes who WON’T GO THE FUCK AWAY) boss him around.
Leaves me to wonder whether I’ll ever put my heart out there for someone again, if this is the thanks I get.
Anyway, today’s event. He apparently needs to help Raggedy Ass and her roommate to hurricane-proof her house. Weekend No. 3 that he’s dropped our plans (that were his idea) to go cater to her Raggedy Ass.
He just texted* with an excuse that didn’t make sense. He has more excuses than Whorothy and Raggedy Ass have wrinkles. Not that I expected anything more from him, but still. *double-barreled salute*
*I actually checked my phone 30 seconds before he texted because I felt like he was texting me. I don’t understand this psychic connection we have and frankly I wonder if that’s why I’ve found so many chances to give.
In the meantime, I’ll be trying so hard not to text him back to have fun BATTENING DOWN THE SNATCHES!!!