Thursday, June 7, 2012

Ball buster

So it's warm out and I've been boozing pretty hard. Over the past couple of weeks I've been hitting the bars with my friends and in doing so, busting the tiny little balls of pretty much every guy that I meet. How has it become so damn easy? Where have all the witty men gone? I've heard I'm abrasive, intimidating and scary more times than I can count. A 5'3 cherub like myself. The only thing that can be considered scary is that I relish in this shit. It's like ammunition and I've got SO MANY GUNS. Case in point: I'm sitting at a bar, clearly inebriated, when I see a super hot, tall guy. I wave and smile. We make eye contact. Finally he comes over and with his sour breath tells me I look like I have my guard up. I ask him if he knows the capital of Poland. He does not. He asks me why I didn't come over to him and say hello. I tell him I'm paralyzed from the waist down. He stares at me. I move my legs. I find him amusing enough to have late night food with, and as our unfriendly Russian waitress tossed a menu at me, I felt the need to search within the deep confines of this guy's innards to see if he had a soul. Because how ELSE can you find out if you're having breakfast with a zombie or not? "That waitress hates me," I said as I buttered an entire loaf of bread. "Oh yeah? Why?" he asked. "Well I was in here last week and she forgot to bring me my nachos, so I kind of went off." "What do you mean she forgot your nachos?" "I mean I ordered nachos and she brought me my two entrees WITHOUT THE NACHOS." "Wow, you really eat a lot, huh?" "I mean, do you understand the severity of this? I ask for extra cheese and sour cream, but instead I'm met with a bacon lettuce club and cheeseburger and fries. I NEEDED those nachos to prepare me for my meal." (crickets) "See, that's why this is never going to work." (look of confusion/beginnings of a scowl). "You didn't order me nachos after hearing that story. You fucking men today." And yes, I know this is why I'm still single.

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