6.25.2005

Dear heavens

I think I have severe problems.

I'm supposed to be on a date right now, only I'm not. I'm sitting in my kitchen, listening to "Showtunes Saturday Night" on KOSY 106.5. Right now it's "Proticoligorically Correct" from Slipper and the Rose. I wish I could roll my rrrr's in that plummy British way. I just sound like a hissing French person when I try. Or a sputtering car part.

Why am I not on a date? Why am I not on like the 2nd date I've been asked out on this year? It's because I'm an idiot. I took a stand for truth and right and it totally backfired, due to the aforementioned idiocy.

I thought this guy had blown me off because he was supposed to call yesterday to set up the details and he never called. This afternoon I called him and got his vm, so I left a message. Then in my indignation I made other plans (kind of) and when he called I informed him of this.

Only he thought he was supposed to call me today to set up the details. So he wasn't late at all, and I looked like this rude psycho who just calls people up and cancels on them. It was ugly, and so very, very awkward.

Then, miracles of miracles, the guy actually suggested that we go out next weekend instead, and I fell over myself agreeing to anything to prove that I'm actually not some unstable freakshow. "Roller-blading? Sure, I could give it a try. I mean, it's been about 10 years and I might end up swearing in a heap at the bottom of a hill, but yeah, let's do it!"

I will die alone. I will own cats, because I won't deserve a dog, and I will die alone under some huge knitting project, and the cats will eat my flesh.

2 comments:

Miss Hass said... [reply]

You won't die alone because we'll be sharing a house. Don't you remember the plan?

ambrosia ananas said... [reply]

Man. This sounds like my life already. Except that they won't even let me have cats at my place. So there will be no one to clean up my remains.

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