Archive for the 'Bitchiness' Category

mr. miserable.

June 21, 2010

Over the last few weeks I had been trying here and there to hang out with a friend of a friend that I found slightly attractive.  Finally, on Saturday night I got a text: “Hey are you still at the bar?” and before I know it, there’s a tap on my back and there he is on the barstool next to me.

I asked him how his job was. “It’s work,” he said.  I asked him if he has seen our mutual friends recently. “Nope.” (followed by a sigh) I asked if he’s been watching much of the World Cup.  “Soccer is lame.”  I bopped my head a bit to the music the DJ was playing.  “This song is awful.”

(At this point, my roommate had wandered off, unable to watch this train wreck unfolding in front of her and ignoring my desperate pleading eyes.)

After looking around for a savior at the bar, and realizing that I was in this one alone, I began to fill him in on what I’ve been up to at work – my recent business trip and some big projects.  “Marketing is stupid.  I don’t get it.  It never sways me to buy anything.” I let this remark go (while taking a deep breath) and tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Within the span of about 10 minutes, he had managed to insult my career, my hometown, and several of my passions in life.  Finally, fed up and getting angry, I asked: “Ok, well what makes YOU happy, what are YOU passionate about?”  His response: “Nothing really.” 

I got the check and gathered my things.

THAT, my friend, is why you are single.

Moral of the story?  It makes no difference how good looking you are, if you are a miserable asshole you are STILL an asshole.

How do I keep finding these people?

Q

gravel under your wheels.

May 18, 2010

Number one way to ruin a good buzz:  Running into your ex boyfriend while he is out with his new girlfriend (particularly when you are looking far from your best… sigh).

After the fact, I can think of about 1289612 things that I wish I had done or said to him.

I wish I played his least favorite song on the jukebox and sang along.

I wish that I walked right up to him and introduced myself to his new girlfriend.

I wish that I flirted shamelessly with the bartender and was showing a little more leg.

I wish that I failed to even acknowledge his existence.

Instead, I did the only thing I could think to do:  I raised a toast (loudly) to “douche bags everywhere” and promptly left the bar, thankful that he’s no longer my responsibility.

Putting the “ass” in “class”,

Q