I jump to conclusions. I’m a girl. That’s what we do. I know, I know, we all thought I was really a guy under there. Mostly I am. But, there’s some insecure female in here too. Ok. The only reprecussion of last night’s meltdown is that I’ve bought a Harley. Hmm. Not sure what I’m doing. But it makes me happy thinking about it, so, good.
The jumping to conclusions thing is a legacy I was destined to inherit, passed down from my mother. She is infamous for jumping to conclusions. Tell her you bumped the car in front of you and she’s calling the ER telling them to anticipate your arrival and she’s ordered cat scans, various x-rays and neck braces. Then, you have to hear about it for years to come. Got a headache? “Honey, it’s from that massive pile up you were involved in, years ago.” And the story always gets worse with time.
I’m listening to 80’s hair bands, trying to calm myself down after my hour long phone call where my ego was soothed, and trying to understand what I have done with this motorcycle.
The Hungarian – ON MY ASS. Calls all the time, seems to get irritated when I don’t call right back and he calls again a few hours later. He said to me that he thinks I’m one of those girls who doesn’t really want a relationship because it’s obvious that I’m not really interested in him by my attitude. (Moi? Attitude?) Then he proposed that we just have sex. How fabulously original. I said No, obviously. Well, you have to give him credit for coming out and admitting what he’s after. But then he digressed into this whole thing about how he’s very attracted to me and he wants to see me, and possibly exclusively and how he was thinking about me today. My answer? I said, “I just heard those same words other day, is there some Continuing Ed Class going on right now that all you guys are attending?” Why I am such a bitch I have no idea. That wasn’t cool to say. He seemed irritated by that. And my follow up comment was, “Hey, I am not one of those charming chicks who always knows what to say.” WTF is wrong with me? Well, he gave me an out by saying that it seems I don’t want any sort of tie up with him. Now all I have to do is agree. So, I’ll have to call him…which greatly conflicts with my habit of not calling anyone.
I know, I know. You’re dying for details on BoyFace. I just can’t. Well, ok, I can for a little. He called me tonight after a few text messages and we talked for about an hour. A guy friend of mine was here, and BoyFace was sort of asking about that, and of course if he really knew the truth and how boring it is he wouldn’t have bothered to ask. The Guy Friend – J, did want to sleep here, but he thought we were “good enough friends for him to sleep in my bed.” I’m pretty picky about who sleeps in the bed, ahem, Sammy dog even waits for his invitation.
When faced with the couch or driving home, Guy Friend J drove home. Do I look like I was born yesterday? And in his little wifebeater he was the perfect picture of a trashy one night stand – well, for some girl I suppose. Ick. No thank you.