There’s a few ex-boyfriends I have remained friends with. Actually, it’s more like we became friends again after I quit hating them for whatever stupid shit they did prior to our breakup.
I’m notorious for never checking my voicemail. So upon cleaning out the 14 voicemails I’ve accumulated in the past week and a half, one happened to be from an ex. It went a little something like this:
Hi! How are you? I wish you still lived here so we could drink a lot of Guinness and chainsmoke. I am calling to tell you things, like the fact that without you I probably I wouldn’t have the taste in women that I do. You know, tattooed and fucking nuts!
Because I haven’t done a whole lot of fucking lately, I went out and bought two porn dvd’s for $80. Why couldn’t I be like a normal guy and go pick up movies that are buy one, get one $9.99? Oh wait, because I dated you and you forever warped my taste in women.
I just recently bought a computer and iPod, I feel like I turned into a capitalist. And I’m going to blame all of this solely on you so I don’t have to accept any responsibility in the fact that I am becoming a grown-up and need to possess grown-up things.
Oh, and I picked up a copy of one of Stoya’s movies… I fucking hate you so much right now. I remember when you shot with her but I didn’t realize she is so fucking hot. I am filled with jealousy.
Let me get this straight… in a three minute voicemail I have been blamed for making my ex favoring hot tattooed girls, spending too much on porn featuring aforementioned tattooed/alt. girls, him turning into a “capitalist” because of buying a computer, and he is pissed that I got to touch Stoya’s goodies and he didn’t. All things considered, I think that’s a pretty impressive list of charges.
Obviously, my work here is done.
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Posted 11 January 2008
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Shortly after my last post concerning the boy from Silvermine I received a message on “personal” (read: private) Myspace from some kid who was sure I “looked familiar”. A bit of lurking showed that it was in fact, Silvermine boy. Now, at this point he probably didn’t realize I had posted a few bulletins and thought he was adorable. At least now I know he’s 20, and not a mere 18.
Of course, no story could just end there. So late last night after I got done being out and about with one of my co-workers we decided to order ourselves some sammiches. Of course, once I get through to make our order and find out that there’s roughly a 45 minute wait period.
And since Mr. Daniels has played an important role in my evening, I decide to step things up a bit and ask if the cute boy can come deliver my sandwiches. I even go so far as to promise I will answer the door in my panties if I don’t have to wait as long as everyone else. The sandwich dispatcher (is that even the right term in this case?) seems to think this is a great idea and agrees to send me “the cute one.” I think I may have talked shit about one of the delivery girls with her scary eyebrows, who is apparently the girlfriend of the guy on the phone. Whoops.
Of course since there’s no buzzer on my apartment building so delivery people have to call once they get to my place so I can go to the door. And when the phone rang I looked out the window to make sure they didn’t pull some expert prank involving a camera crew and ran down the stairs… in my underwear. It was the cute guy, and he made no comment.
But he did send me a text message about 10 minutes later saying I was the best delivery out of the entire night.
What can I say, I’m pretty goddamn amazing. Especially to all those poor (yet adorable) delivery boys.
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Posted 17 October 2007
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