Okay, we left off with me making a mix for the fucker, right? Well, I gave it to him, one of several gifts, and once again he did not call. I tried to shrug it off, but being one to not let things go that easily, I shook down one of his former coworkers for his number. Then I made my only mistake. I called him.

Oh boy. Talk about silky smooth. He had me not only eating out of his hand, but licking the slime off his fingers. He scheduled a date, broke it, and then I asked him over for dinner. He called and rescheduled it, and then didn’t show up or call. It's as if he got off on ruining my fucking weekend. I don't clean my apartment for anyone, not even myself, and this place is so nice and clean and I can't even appreciate all my hard work because it makes me think of the pigfucker that inspired me to clean it. And the bottle of Bombay Sapphire has been tossed into a bottom cupboard out of my sight, because as much as I want all evidence of the bastard out of my life, I can’' fathom pouring an eighteen-dollar bottle of gin down the drain...even to make a point. The best thing to do is drink it with the next asshole to come strolling into my life. Then I can be rid of two guys and that fucking bottle.

Some MAN friend of mine tried to explain to me that men have this fucked up priority system hardwired into them; that he had simply got a better offer that night, and just didn't have the sense to call me. I think this is utter bullshit. I think that this particular guy is Beelzebub himself.

Girls...watch out for that Capricorn rising!

I don't blame myself for anything that happened, and I don't feel sorry for myself. I almost should thank him for ending it now. I mean, think about it, I may be out $80 for food and alcohol (this does NOT include $40 for trashy lingerie, six bucks for condoms, and $1.99 for Altoids) but I could be out a lot more. I could be one of those pathetic chicks that asks me where the van drops off all the losers from Hennepin County jail so she can apologize to this man and give him some more money. No shit. This actually happened. I told her that if that motherfucker was in jail, he should be apologizing to her, and she should kick his ass to the curb. After five minutes talking to me, she headed up Nicollet, away from the drop-off site. I felt like a fucking boy scout after helping some old lady across the street. But

I shouldn't have had to do that. That woman should have known what the score was from day fucking one. But the sad part is, women draw men to them that reflect their own mental health. Which would explain why I would attract someone who is crazy and fucked up. And an ex-con to boot! I can’t believe I thought that was sexy!

Hi. Kris, Matt and Rob can't make it to the phone right now. Please leave a message at the tone. 

Now I have a battalion of male friends that want to make his insides be on the outside. What would I do without my friends? But revenge will remain a fantasy. I think his karma will take care of this whole thing. I could go down to his place of employment and speed-neuter him with my new l.e.i. boots on, but then I would be looking over my shoulder for whatever threefold hideousness may be headed my way. Or I might be looking at an assault charge. Neither of which are worth the $1.50 in bus fare to get there.

Anyway, as shallow as it may sound, at least I didn't come out of this with nothing. Let's just say (in the immortal words of Eddie Murphy) that I was starving and he threw me a cracker. And it was some goddamn good cracker. But now I'm ready for the main course. And pork is no longer on the menu.

Regards,

Munkygirl