Can we please, just for a second, talk about the grossness of men?
And to do that, can we use some props? And then after, can I talk about something that's been on my mind a lot? Like a lot a lot?
Yes, yes, and yes?
Cool, cool. Onward with
The Plot
Last night after I'd just finished running, I was watching Gilmore Girls, lazing about, when I noticed a notification on my phone. I'd tell you what it said, but instead I'll just show you what I saw.
Gross, right? Wait until I show you
The Background
Last year while I was doing who knows what since how the hell am I supposed to remember exactly what I was doing at a random moment a year ago, I got a message on Instagram. I'd tell you what it said, but instead I'll just show you what I saw.
Normally I'd insert some sort of commentary here, but I think that's unnecessary; the conversation speaks for itself. For the next few months, I got a spate of heart eyes responses to my stories along with the occasional flame, some so deliciouses, and a lil snack. Nothing super noteworthy until January 25 when I got
I realize, yes, that those January 25 messages may not seem particularly noteworthy; that's because what's noteworthy is what's now gone. After that last message on January 25, this dude messaged me like mad. Like mad! He was leaving his wife, he told me. It was over, he said. It was over for so many reasons, and she was fully aware. The dude went on and on, sending messages and then taking them back and then sending reworded ones. I went to bed while this was still going on, and the next morning when I woke up, all the messages were gone. Later that night, he sent the message offering an explanation, which I didn't respond to, along with his phone number, which I didn't use.
You'd think that would have stopped the messages from coming. You'd think wrong.
The Creme de la Creme
Now, I repeat: Can we please, just for a second, talk about the grossness of men?
I refrained from the commentary like I said I would, but I do feel the need to add that I'm friends with this guy on Facebook, and he posts photos of himself with his wife a lot. If the two of them have a bad marriage - well, obviously they have a bad marriage, so let me rephrase that - the fact that the two of them have a bad marriage? She doesn't know. This poor lady has no earthly idea. None.
This poor lady is sitting here living her life, loving her husband, thinking everything is just fucking fine while he's been busy messaging me for over a year, telling me not just that he wants to hook up which would be bad in itself but that he loves me - that he loves me! - and that he'll leave her for me.
Fucking what?
I just -
Could we just, for a second, Idk, explore? Talk this out? Bear with me while I think on screen.
Let's pretend I could potentially have any interest in this comepinga at all. He seriously thinks that pursuing me while he has a wife is the way to go? That I would ever ever ever in a million years cross a boundary like that?
Who am I, the goth version of Miss Piggy who posted a photo of herself talking about wanting what's forbidden the night she had her friend repeatedly text my then boyfriend because she so desperately wanted him?
In case you didn't get that that was a rhetorical question, the answer is no, I am in no way, shape - especially in shape - or form the Miss-Piggy-looking puta who, at least in photos, doesn't seem to know how to close her mouth, and if ever there was a time that I was, maybe when I was super young and insecure, like before I was even twenty years old and a gordita myself (what is it with gorditas? Why does being a fat girl cause such shitty behavior?), it's not something I ever would have done in my entire adult life, and it's certainly not something I would do after the events of the last few years.
El Wray himself could knock on my door, and because of Cherry Darling, I'd leave it closed.
El Wray!
And this motherfucker thinks what? He's going to win me over by telling me he loves me and offering to leave his wife? The same way that six months into our relationship, Jonathan was telling some girl on Twitter to rail him; two years into it, he was messaging the puta in the morning before sending his daily Good-morning-baby-I-love-you text to me; and six months into his new relationship with her, he was in my bed with his face between my thighs?
God, I'm tired.
I'm so fucking tired.
I'm tired of it, and I'm tired of them, so please, for just one little second, can we talk about
The Fucking Grossness of Men?
