I really don’t get my life. It’s confusing, it’s weird, and
quite honestly it always smells slightly like beef lo mien.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. Well, I’m not
complaining at this particular moment, but I just have to know… am I alone in
this situation?
For example, the amount of male attention I attract just
does not equate with my physical features. Okay, maybe it does a little , I’m
pretty fucking cute, god damnit! Then pair that cuteness with some assholey
snarkiness and a well-tailored lime green mini-skirt sans underwear and that
shit has the gentlemen douches coming out of the wood works.
But I’m a dick. A lady douche some might say. Yet, this
always seems to have the adverse affect on the unwarranted attention from the
male specimen I seem to constantly attract.
My favorite part of this situation is how this never happens
when any normal human being would expect it too. Oh, no. no. no. no. no. Why
should I be hit on in a normal situation? Like that one time I had that great
conversation with that hedge fund analyst at that bar? That would have been a
perfect opportunity for some normal hitting-on occurrences to well…occur. But,
it didn’t.
Oh. No. no. no. no. no. I don’t get hit on in normal social situations,
why should I? That luxury is left for the normal ladies of our society, and we
alllllllll know I don’t exactly fit into that category.
So instead, I get hit on at seven in the morning while
waiting for my manager to open the store by this ridiculously drunk dude telling
me how he’s an “artist” and how his brother (or brother in law? I don’t
remember honestly) produces the show Jackass, but of course, he had to ask me
first if I had even heard of the show.
“Have you ever heard of the show Jackass?”
“Yes. What asshole hasn’t heard of the show Jackass? Jackass.”
Oh, how he laughed and laughed while simultaneously staring
at my tits.
Maybe I should just stop talking altogether in social
situations. My mouth seems to be part of the problem, well that and these dudes
inability to not say something unbelievably douchy and retarded for me not to
come back with some asshole comment.
“I just wish I had a magic carpet to take me home.”
“They ‘re called taxis.”
Maybe it’s not me. Maybe its my surroundings. I do live in
New York City. This isn’t exactly a “normal” place to live and I fit in a
little too well in this “not normal” place. Or maybe I should just lower my
standards and start giving these drunk douches a chance.
Oh, and what happened to that seven am drunk douche you ask? Well
he tried to get my number after my manager finally arrived, obviously I said no.
But I told him I’d take his website, and supposedly he wasn’t lying about his “artist”
shit. But I’ll let you decide.
you're weird. hehe! ^_^
ReplyDeleteThat's one I always use on the ladies myself. "My brother produces Jackass." Oh you're still not impressed? Well you've obviously never seen the show then. Here's my number, go watch it and then give me a call.
ReplyDeleteLol, way to call him out!
ReplyDeleteI get called a dick all the time. Everything you did seems completely normal to me. :))
ReplyDeleteHe seems to be a wannabe Picasso. Or maybe I just don't understand "modern" art.
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