My phone is silent, not even doing that irritating bleating to signal a text message coming in. I console myself by reminding myself that i have no reception in the hobbit hole I call home, but I know the truth: he is not picking up that phone.
When you love someone, really and deeply and pathetically, you do not raise your voice to them, so I am told. No swear words in your dialogue, even when they are a drunken mess you wouldn't serve another drink to in real life, let alone share a bed with.
No, love is a many splendor thing which we must endure so as not to end up alone and unlovely, because our friends are surely never enough. My world shrank a bit yesterday in that regard. I am sure that my skin will begin to melt and my hair will fall out in chunks if I do not soon find another worthy of dating me. i am so precious.
It shant be hard, and i shall have my pick. roaming around a bar in an apron and a short skirt should work on those moronic enough to tamper with girl pouring the drinks. That failing, I guess a late-night birthday shindig and a party celebrating absinthe will have to do. If not, well fuck, don't I have some exes I can call who will prop up my ego? Some male friends who have always been curious about seeing me naked?
I hope that someone, somewhere will enter or reenter my life so that it will have purpose and meaning once again. The center of my universe finally took the hint and fucked off, so there is plenty of prime real estate ready and waiting for the next unsuitable match.
now taking applications for the following positions:
semi-employed pothead with the sex drive of an 87 year old.
frantically employed coke dabbler who will pay for everything but will only be around once a blue moon. again with the ailing sex drive.
moody music maker who will get drunk and fuck you but then blame you for all of his problems.
gainfully employed paranoid with low self esteem. will fuck you whenever you want but will assume you are fucking every man, woman and dog you encounter.
artistically employed borderline alcoholic. wants to fuck you, but can't because he is still married.
Sporadically employed aging hipster. Great in bed, but terrified of waking up his ten year old daughter, or having you stay for lunch.
If you feel that you have what it takes to fill any or all of these positions, please feel free to castrate yourself and be sure not to infect the dating pool with your excessively bad traits by breathing next to humans. I would recommend a lobotomy.
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