Under the heading of shit I've only encountered in Kansas...
Long story short, I had made contact with a woman who, after a year of being celibate, wanted to get laid on NYE. We agreed to meet beforehand, in order we weren't stuck with someone we didn't like the day of.
So she arrived Christmas evening and the sex was halfway decent. A Christmas miracle! She appeared to be dateworthy, so she stayed and additional quality sex was had. Her selfish tendencies came to light during that sex, however. Before we met, I made a point of sharing how a previous partner's selfishness in the bedroom doomed our relationship to a platonic one. I very clearly explained what that hot button was for me. During the time we were together, she pounded the shit out of that button over and over. Not a good start.
One of the two nights I was getting ready for bed, when she asked if the phone charger next to the bed was mine. As if it could belong to someone else? I responded that it was. Except she decided it was hers, because when I came into the bedroom, her phone was plugged into it, .
While she was here, most of the conversation was her relating drama about her family, the divorce process, and a few other topics. She was frequently in tears talking about it. While I'm not unsympathetic, I'll admit that got a bit old.
The thing that wouldn't leave finally departed late Friday morning because she needed to attend a funeral. She said she'd text me as soon as she knew whether she could come over or if things had gone long. When I didn't receive a text by 6:30 p.m., I decided she was on her own for dinner. When one hadn't arrived at 7:30 p.m., I'd pretty much decided that, sans another death or severe bodily trauma, she was getting the heave ho. At 7:50 p.m., a text finally arrived, saying she was tired and would text me in the morning. Yeah, thanks for letting me know early enough so that I could adjust my plans... In my potentially fantasy world, when you say you're going to text someone with plans, you text someone with plans, whether they're your friend or some dipshit you work with.
At 12:50 Saturday morning, I was awoken by knocking on my door. It was followed by door bell ringing. That pattern alternated without pause. Knock knock knock knock, ring ring ring... It was fucking constant. At that point, I didn't know who was at my door, and willing them to shut the fuck up wasn't working. So, as one does when there's a lunatic at their front door, I grabbed something in a large caliber and went downstairs to investigate. You already know it was her. Well, I went off on her in the semi-coherent manner one does when one is awoken from a deep sleep. However, the message that she needed to stay the fuck away from me was crystal clear.
Fortunately, all indications are she did listen to that bit of direction.
In summary, holy fuck, I've never encountered anyone so self-centered and ultimately bereft of courtesy toward others. Such a shame, because the sex was about the best I've had in the flatlands.
Sunday, December 29, 2019
Sunday, December 15, 2019
When The Balance Of Power Turns
No, this isn't about D/s or even about sex. Consider it more of a life lesson on how you treat the candidates you interview for a job.
To keep it brief, back in September, I interviewed for a job North Carolina. It was a good fit, for a number of reasons I won't go into and I was excited about moving back to the East Coast. Shocker, I know. I even had an inside track in the form of a friend whose agency does all the marketing communications for this company. He fed me all the info he got on the other candidates and how their interviews went, from another friend who worked for the company. Total lock, right?
Well, the hiring manager didn't think so. This job was sales management and he thought I was 'too much of a marketing guy.' Except despite my follow up just outside the time he committed to have a decision to me, the guy was dark. I actually found out I didn't get the position from my friend.
Fast forward two months and I'm sitting in a global marketing meeting, where one of my colleagues speaks about developing an electric ass scratcher (make believe product the company I interviewed manufactures). I see an excellent opportunity to partner with an expert on electric ass scratchers, instead of trying to develop our own, because our value proposition is high tech anti itch solutions, of which we have significant market share. I intended to connect my team with the company in NC, but then I thought, fuck them; they didn't have the decency to provide me with some form of feedback. The vindictive part of me wanted to reach out to rub it in the ass scratcher's face, that being an asshole lost them a fuck ton of revenue and market visibility. But I'm too professional, burning bridges and all.
Things changed the next evening, because I finally did receive a rejection email from ass scratcher.
I responded and concluded with this:
Furthermore, during our global marketing meeting, last week, one of the other market managers mentioned development on a ass scratcher unit and the potential need for a higher capacity ass scratching system. I informed him that there were companies whose sole business was ass scratching management and that he should consider partnering with one, rather than reinventing the wheel internally, particularly because the market position our company enjoys in this application would drive significant revenue for both parties.
Best Regards,
So, back to the moral which is essentially the golden rule, because being an asshole can get you fucked out of millions in revenue.
To keep it brief, back in September, I interviewed for a job North Carolina. It was a good fit, for a number of reasons I won't go into and I was excited about moving back to the East Coast. Shocker, I know. I even had an inside track in the form of a friend whose agency does all the marketing communications for this company. He fed me all the info he got on the other candidates and how their interviews went, from another friend who worked for the company. Total lock, right?
Well, the hiring manager didn't think so. This job was sales management and he thought I was 'too much of a marketing guy.' Except despite my follow up just outside the time he committed to have a decision to me, the guy was dark. I actually found out I didn't get the position from my friend.
Fast forward two months and I'm sitting in a global marketing meeting, where one of my colleagues speaks about developing an electric ass scratcher (make believe product the company I interviewed manufactures). I see an excellent opportunity to partner with an expert on electric ass scratchers, instead of trying to develop our own, because our value proposition is high tech anti itch solutions, of which we have significant market share. I intended to connect my team with the company in NC, but then I thought, fuck them; they didn't have the decency to provide me with some form of feedback. The vindictive part of me wanted to reach out to rub it in the ass scratcher's face, that being an asshole lost them a fuck ton of revenue and market visibility. But I'm too professional, burning bridges and all.
Things changed the next evening, because I finally did receive a rejection email from ass scratcher.
I responded and concluded with this:
Furthermore, during our global marketing meeting, last week, one of the other market managers mentioned development on a ass scratcher unit and the potential need for a higher capacity ass scratching system. I informed him that there were companies whose sole business was ass scratching management and that he should consider partnering with one, rather than reinventing the wheel internally, particularly because the market position our company enjoys in this application would drive significant revenue for both parties.
Best Regards,
So, back to the moral which is essentially the golden rule, because being an asshole can get you fucked out of millions in revenue.
Friday, July 5, 2019
Thanks For The Laugh
For those who've read a good chunk of my blog, it's understandable that I don't have much reason to be thankful to my borderline ex-wife, beyond being incredibly grateful to have gotten away from her. However, a friend sent me a link to her latest side venture. She's become a wedding officiant. For those who don't know (I didn't), an officiant, according to Wikipedia (yes, I got lazy on this one) is:
Secular officiants include civil celebrants, Humanist Society–appointed officiants, Justices of the Peace, marriage commissioners, notaries, and other persons empowered by law to perform legal marriage ceremonies.
I'll remind my readers that I was husband number three and that she's gone on to marry number four.
The punchline to this entry can be found in the first sentence of her little bio.
I'll just leave it there.
Secular officiants include civil celebrants, Humanist Society–appointed officiants, Justices of the Peace, marriage commissioners, notaries, and other persons empowered by law to perform legal marriage ceremonies.
I'll remind my readers that I was husband number three and that she's gone on to marry number four.
The punchline to this entry can be found in the first sentence of her little bio.
Sunday, May 19, 2019
Satisficing In Your Relationship
If you're in a relationship that's less than a few years old, I want you to take a look at your significant other and ask yourself what attributes he or she possesses that made you partner with them. Being honest with yourself, is one of them that he or she is safe? Is one of the most appealing features of your partner that you know they won't leave you? If so, are you living a fulfilling a relationship or are you satisficing?
Satisficing is a decision-making strategy that aims for a satisfactory or adequate result, rather than the optimal solution. In other words, 'so long as he's stable and won't leave me, I'll partner with him.'
Don't get me wrong, security is important in a relationship; after all, none of us would eagerly partner with someone you knew would likely run like hell, when some heavy lifting was required. But what do we sacrifice for that security?
As usual, I'll share some of my own experiences to illuminate the dynamics of dating for safety. We'll start with my ex-wife, who I've written about before. After I ended the marriage, she immediately jumped into the dating pool and coupled with a guy who clearly exhibited safety. Before going any further, I'll refresh my readers on my wife's attributes that are salient to this topic, which were that she was very attractive and skilled at manipulation. As a result, she could have had a wide choice of men. The one she chose was mostly unemployed (he has a graphics business with no website) and demonstrated no indication of a backbone, the times our paths crossed. My intent isn't to insult him, rather than stating facts. She was the one in charge and was obviously the hottest piece of ass this guy had ever gotten his hands on. In summary, this guy wasn't going anywhere; he was eminently safe. As evidence, they've been together for over ten years, which is longer than any of her previous relationships.
I'd also previously referenced my next example, which is a woman who left me before I could leave her. She latched the fuck onto the next guy she dated and wound up marrying him. In her case, because we remained friends for a bit, I am well aware of the sacrifices she made. Again, it was obvious this woman was the hottest thing he'd ever dated and was obviously not going anywhere. She would complain to me how the guy was a mess, from the divorce he was going through, and was the stereotypical dull dude. How uncultured he was and that he was a raging homebody (she was the opposite). He had four of his own kids, where she had two. Again, no insult intended, but her resentment for her own children lived just below the surface, yet she signed up for a full boat Brady Bunch? He was gainfully employed, however.
The one attribute these men shared was their commitment. 'Til death do us part, even if you're the cause of my imminent demise.'
This would be all well and fine if one could accurately identify the safe ones. In my experience, the ones who we perceive as having no better options to be the safest. Except that's not the case. I'll speak for men, because I am men. You give some poor shlub an amazing, gorgeous woman who's a rock star in the sack, and he may very well begin believing he can attract other women out of his league. Mr. Safety isn't quite as safe as you thought. Of course, he'll realize that's not the case and come crawling back, but that's another topic.
So, look at your significant other again and ask yourself if you're satisficing.
Satisficing is a decision-making strategy that aims for a satisfactory or adequate result, rather than the optimal solution. In other words, 'so long as he's stable and won't leave me, I'll partner with him.'
Don't get me wrong, security is important in a relationship; after all, none of us would eagerly partner with someone you knew would likely run like hell, when some heavy lifting was required. But what do we sacrifice for that security?
As usual, I'll share some of my own experiences to illuminate the dynamics of dating for safety. We'll start with my ex-wife, who I've written about before. After I ended the marriage, she immediately jumped into the dating pool and coupled with a guy who clearly exhibited safety. Before going any further, I'll refresh my readers on my wife's attributes that are salient to this topic, which were that she was very attractive and skilled at manipulation. As a result, she could have had a wide choice of men. The one she chose was mostly unemployed (he has a graphics business with no website) and demonstrated no indication of a backbone, the times our paths crossed. My intent isn't to insult him, rather than stating facts. She was the one in charge and was obviously the hottest piece of ass this guy had ever gotten his hands on. In summary, this guy wasn't going anywhere; he was eminently safe. As evidence, they've been together for over ten years, which is longer than any of her previous relationships.
I'd also previously referenced my next example, which is a woman who left me before I could leave her. She latched the fuck onto the next guy she dated and wound up marrying him. In her case, because we remained friends for a bit, I am well aware of the sacrifices she made. Again, it was obvious this woman was the hottest thing he'd ever dated and was obviously not going anywhere. She would complain to me how the guy was a mess, from the divorce he was going through, and was the stereotypical dull dude. How uncultured he was and that he was a raging homebody (she was the opposite). He had four of his own kids, where she had two. Again, no insult intended, but her resentment for her own children lived just below the surface, yet she signed up for a full boat Brady Bunch? He was gainfully employed, however.
The one attribute these men shared was their commitment. 'Til death do us part, even if you're the cause of my imminent demise.'
This would be all well and fine if one could accurately identify the safe ones. In my experience, the ones who we perceive as having no better options to be the safest. Except that's not the case. I'll speak for men, because I am men. You give some poor shlub an amazing, gorgeous woman who's a rock star in the sack, and he may very well begin believing he can attract other women out of his league. Mr. Safety isn't quite as safe as you thought. Of course, he'll realize that's not the case and come crawling back, but that's another topic.
So, look at your significant other again and ask yourself if you're satisficing.
Sunday, December 30, 2018
GUMBO!!!!
Damn, I love good gumbo. Ever since taking a cooking class in NOLA, I've endeavored to conjure some up, worthy of the respect of the 132 year old Creole lady, who taught it. After a few batches that were close, but not quite, I nailed it.
Take a look at that nice, dark roux.
And, the finale of some delicious (if I do say so myself) gumbo.
I'm in Heaven, even if it's still Kansas...
Take a look at that nice, dark roux.
And, the finale of some delicious (if I do say so myself) gumbo.
I'm in Heaven, even if it's still Kansas...
Friday, December 21, 2018
Vanitas, Vanitatum, et Omnia Vanitas
Recently, I engaged in an activity that, until recently, would have discounted as a non-starter. I'm speaking of cosmetic surgery. Surely, that sort of thing was the domain only of the vain or insecure. Certainly nothing someone like I would engage in. My 'brand', my value proposition as a person is built on intellect, humor, philanthropy, and being inquisitive about the world around me. I have no need for such superficial nonsense. Obviously, something changed my mind.
While the rest of my body remains in line with the number of years on it, less actually, my face hasn't. Stress, genetics, who knows, but I feel as though I've aged ten years in the past three, and certainly look older than I should. One of those reasons is that I was born with hooded eyelids. I've always noticed them, but in the past five years, they seem to have begun a mad dash downward. They finally reached the point where they impacted my vision and frankly, my confidence. So I scheduled an appointment with a surgeon. I knew having them addressed would make me look a bit younger, plus the procedure is covered by insurance. That's a win win in my book. Then, the surgeon explained he could do the lower lids at the same time, for less than if I were to have them done separately. Basically, another $4k to have the bags under my eyes, which had also begun to bother me, disappear. He also noted your brows tend to move downward, as you age. He said it was an extra five minutes per side for him to make an incision and put in a stitch to raise them, so he'd throw that in for free. It was a surprisingly easy decision to make. Look noticeably younger for only $4k? Absolutely.
Had all of this activity been out of pocket, I doubt I'd have ever considered having either of the procedures done. But there it was, all laid out and oh, so easy.
And so, eight days ago, I found myself on an operating table, with a surgeon slicing, dicing, burning, and throwing chemicals on the area around my eyes. Initially, I was a bit freaked out over being conscious during the procedure (I'm quite touchy about my vision), but whatever drug cocktail they pumped into my arm was properly calming. Still, I was completely awake. I recall joking around with the surgeon and Larry, the anesthesia guy. At one point, I inquired whether they'd brought in the machine that goes ping. (Monty Python...Google it)
As one can imagine, I've been less than the ultimate example of pulchritude, post operation. The swelling and bruising have only begun to subside in earnest over the past 36 hours or so and I feel comfortable that my appearance will no longer traumatize small children (any more than usual). However, the results are undeniable. While I despise selfies, I've taken a series of them to chronicle my recovery. When I compare recent pictures to the one I took immediately prior to surgery, even with the swelling that will continue to subside, my eyebrows are lifted and the bags under my eyes are mostly gone. Most incredibly of all my eyelids no longer hang over my eyes. That's incredible because I still have a ton of swelling in that area; things will continue to improve!
Putting aside the vanity aspect of the procedures, did they improve my life at all? The answer to that is a resounding 'Hell, yeah!'. Today was the first time I left the house, during the day, where my eyes were perfectly clear and not hazed by ointments. I took a moment, while stopped at a light, to perform a quick assessment of my vision. Holy shit, I can see so much more! I'd reached the point where I felt as though I perpetually had a sun visor on, limiting my vertical field of view, and that visor had disappeared. Prior to the surgery, looking above the horizon required rotating my head, whereas now, I need only to look with my eyes. It truly is an amazing improvement.
So, here I am on the rare occasion where my position on a subject has been significantly altered, although I still consider those who have elective cosmetic surgery to be vain. So despite what I've always told myself, it seems I am not without some vanity of my own. And I'm okay with that.
While the rest of my body remains in line with the number of years on it, less actually, my face hasn't. Stress, genetics, who knows, but I feel as though I've aged ten years in the past three, and certainly look older than I should. One of those reasons is that I was born with hooded eyelids. I've always noticed them, but in the past five years, they seem to have begun a mad dash downward. They finally reached the point where they impacted my vision and frankly, my confidence. So I scheduled an appointment with a surgeon. I knew having them addressed would make me look a bit younger, plus the procedure is covered by insurance. That's a win win in my book. Then, the surgeon explained he could do the lower lids at the same time, for less than if I were to have them done separately. Basically, another $4k to have the bags under my eyes, which had also begun to bother me, disappear. He also noted your brows tend to move downward, as you age. He said it was an extra five minutes per side for him to make an incision and put in a stitch to raise them, so he'd throw that in for free. It was a surprisingly easy decision to make. Look noticeably younger for only $4k? Absolutely.
Had all of this activity been out of pocket, I doubt I'd have ever considered having either of the procedures done. But there it was, all laid out and oh, so easy.
And so, eight days ago, I found myself on an operating table, with a surgeon slicing, dicing, burning, and throwing chemicals on the area around my eyes. Initially, I was a bit freaked out over being conscious during the procedure (I'm quite touchy about my vision), but whatever drug cocktail they pumped into my arm was properly calming. Still, I was completely awake. I recall joking around with the surgeon and Larry, the anesthesia guy. At one point, I inquired whether they'd brought in the machine that goes ping. (Monty Python...Google it)
As one can imagine, I've been less than the ultimate example of pulchritude, post operation. The swelling and bruising have only begun to subside in earnest over the past 36 hours or so and I feel comfortable that my appearance will no longer traumatize small children (any more than usual). However, the results are undeniable. While I despise selfies, I've taken a series of them to chronicle my recovery. When I compare recent pictures to the one I took immediately prior to surgery, even with the swelling that will continue to subside, my eyebrows are lifted and the bags under my eyes are mostly gone. Most incredibly of all my eyelids no longer hang over my eyes. That's incredible because I still have a ton of swelling in that area; things will continue to improve!
Putting aside the vanity aspect of the procedures, did they improve my life at all? The answer to that is a resounding 'Hell, yeah!'. Today was the first time I left the house, during the day, where my eyes were perfectly clear and not hazed by ointments. I took a moment, while stopped at a light, to perform a quick assessment of my vision. Holy shit, I can see so much more! I'd reached the point where I felt as though I perpetually had a sun visor on, limiting my vertical field of view, and that visor had disappeared. Prior to the surgery, looking above the horizon required rotating my head, whereas now, I need only to look with my eyes. It truly is an amazing improvement.
So, here I am on the rare occasion where my position on a subject has been significantly altered, although I still consider those who have elective cosmetic surgery to be vain. So despite what I've always told myself, it seems I am not without some vanity of my own. And I'm okay with that.
Sunday, July 1, 2018
Out of Work Trophy Wife Encounter
Yes readers, one sneaked through my selection process and it didn't end well. Our first interaction was through Match and she seemed intelligent, motivated, kind, and hot, but not OWTW hot. Her profile and initial round of notes indicated she was a special needs teacher. I'll fast forward through much of the intervening communication and provide the salient facts, since she's not really worth typing a great deal about. We got onto the topic of sex, she wanted it, I'm a master at talking dirty and creating images, we were going to meet last night for dinner and she'd come over and begin to explore her submissive side. I do love me some exploration. We both seemed to want a genuine relationship and I parroted her desires, in that aspect of our communication. I probably took it a bit further due to a combination of excitement over (seemingly) finding someone in Kansas worth dating.
At this point, I'll mention recognizing a few red flags pointing to a potential OWTW, including how her successful, and apparently fuck nuts, attorney husband had traded her in on a younger model.
The day before our date, she went a bit dark, cutting email down to a single note. I asked her if everything was okay, at which point she told me she thought I was pushing for something more serious than she wanted. I responded that I had no interest in jumping into anything. Her note made it clear she didn't accept what I'd told her. Perhaps if I'd mentioned that there's no way in hell I want to establish anything remotely resembling roots in fucking Kansas.
By the time our date rolled around, I knew there was no way she was coming home with me. She arrived decked out in designer clothing and admittedly, looked quite delicious. Dinner was full of vacuous conversation, where I learned she actually wasn't teaching, or working at all. She was dabbling and not happy with any of her teaching options. That one wasn't an immediate bell, because I was still determining whether I could get her in the sack. Sorry, I'm a guy after all. Dinner ended, with no conversation about her coming home with me, so I broached the topic. As expected, she declined, sticking to her story of my wanting to move too quickly and how she didn't want to hurt me. I commented that she had clearly made up her mind before coming to dinner, which she denied. I'll come back to that.
I made the mistake of asking something to the effect of why she came to dinner, knowing she wasn't going home with me. And she let me have it with everything she could think of: the rushing into a relationship, how she didn't like the phrasing I used in one of my notes, how I didn't apologize properly for something she felt I needed to apologize. She was put off that I couldn't come up with any sexual fantasies, when she asked (sorry, they're not really fantasies after they've been fulfilled). Then, she berated me for foisting fantasies onto her (except they weren't fantasies, but dirty things most other women enjoyed). She took issue with things I'd said that I never said; those had to have come from some other guy. On and on it went, with no end in sight. I've had women I'd been dating for months tell me off in a shorter amount of time than this woman I'd just met. She'd run through her list of transgressions, then circle back to the beginning, finding some new grievance to add for the next rotation. I've never experienced anything like this! I did everything I could think of to indicate the conversation was over, to gracefully make an exit. I did this twice, but she wasn't losing any steam, so I wound up doing something I've never done before. I got up and walked out on her, muttering something to the effect of 'have a nice life'.
It hit me later that all of these supposed transgressions occurred before we laid eyes on each other, so which only adds fuel to my previous query of why did she meet in the first place. What a truly horrible encounter.
As I'm sure you can tell, I'm still angered by the whole episode, but was able to perform a post mortem on the date and finally uncover her motive for coming to dinner; the only possible motive. She was still sexed up, from the dirty talk I'd been plying her with and was hoping I'd be more of a stud muffin than I appeared in my pictures. At that point, she would have likely forgotten the whole 'hurting others' thing and gone home with me. Transparent and shallow; not the things I look for in a woman.
And what pisses me off the most is I spent $30 on some fucking grapefruit flavored Absolut that she asked for me to have for her. It's not the money, mind you, but the reminder of the bitch every time I open the freezer. I sure as hell won't drink it. Anyone want a bottle of nasty vodka?
At this point, I'll mention recognizing a few red flags pointing to a potential OWTW, including how her successful, and apparently fuck nuts, attorney husband had traded her in on a younger model.
The day before our date, she went a bit dark, cutting email down to a single note. I asked her if everything was okay, at which point she told me she thought I was pushing for something more serious than she wanted. I responded that I had no interest in jumping into anything. Her note made it clear she didn't accept what I'd told her. Perhaps if I'd mentioned that there's no way in hell I want to establish anything remotely resembling roots in fucking Kansas.
By the time our date rolled around, I knew there was no way she was coming home with me. She arrived decked out in designer clothing and admittedly, looked quite delicious. Dinner was full of vacuous conversation, where I learned she actually wasn't teaching, or working at all. She was dabbling and not happy with any of her teaching options. That one wasn't an immediate bell, because I was still determining whether I could get her in the sack. Sorry, I'm a guy after all. Dinner ended, with no conversation about her coming home with me, so I broached the topic. As expected, she declined, sticking to her story of my wanting to move too quickly and how she didn't want to hurt me. I commented that she had clearly made up her mind before coming to dinner, which she denied. I'll come back to that.
I made the mistake of asking something to the effect of why she came to dinner, knowing she wasn't going home with me. And she let me have it with everything she could think of: the rushing into a relationship, how she didn't like the phrasing I used in one of my notes, how I didn't apologize properly for something she felt I needed to apologize. She was put off that I couldn't come up with any sexual fantasies, when she asked (sorry, they're not really fantasies after they've been fulfilled). Then, she berated me for foisting fantasies onto her (except they weren't fantasies, but dirty things most other women enjoyed). She took issue with things I'd said that I never said; those had to have come from some other guy. On and on it went, with no end in sight. I've had women I'd been dating for months tell me off in a shorter amount of time than this woman I'd just met. She'd run through her list of transgressions, then circle back to the beginning, finding some new grievance to add for the next rotation. I've never experienced anything like this! I did everything I could think of to indicate the conversation was over, to gracefully make an exit. I did this twice, but she wasn't losing any steam, so I wound up doing something I've never done before. I got up and walked out on her, muttering something to the effect of 'have a nice life'.
It hit me later that all of these supposed transgressions occurred before we laid eyes on each other, so which only adds fuel to my previous query of why did she meet in the first place. What a truly horrible encounter.
As I'm sure you can tell, I'm still angered by the whole episode, but was able to perform a post mortem on the date and finally uncover her motive for coming to dinner; the only possible motive. She was still sexed up, from the dirty talk I'd been plying her with and was hoping I'd be more of a stud muffin than I appeared in my pictures. At that point, she would have likely forgotten the whole 'hurting others' thing and gone home with me. Transparent and shallow; not the things I look for in a woman.
And what pisses me off the most is I spent $30 on some fucking grapefruit flavored Absolut that she asked for me to have for her. It's not the money, mind you, but the reminder of the bitch every time I open the freezer. I sure as hell won't drink it. Anyone want a bottle of nasty vodka?
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