Yeah, I fucked up and called him in the wee hours of the morning.

I need to leave it alone. I will never again be right with him and he will never again be the man with whom I fell in love. It's futile and ignorant.

Three AM and feelin' good.

I am drunk and I am blogging. Get over it!

1. I have decided that pants are an unnecessary burden. Therefore, I will not be wearing them in situations that will not get me arrested.

2. I was happier when I was miserable. So SUE ME. I don't give a shit. You'll end up with a broken dog and an autographed copy of "The Outsiders." Whatever.

3. I just really felt like writing tonight. Facebook is getting on my damned nerves. With a blog, you're pretty much forced to read it. You can't just run through and say, "OH! I liked the first part of that. Let me push the convenient LIKE button." It doesn't work like that. At all.

Bah enough numbering.

I had a date this evening. I would love to do a restaurant review, but IDK how the fuck to do that so I will just sum it up.

Our waiter was a douchebag. He showed up twice and was only attentive once the bill came. Too bad for him because my date is an excellent tipper. The food was excellent with the exception of the bread. I could have cracked someone's dome with it. The house dressing was phenomenal. It was an Italian vinaigrette, but it was in no way typical. It was a balance of kalamata olives and fresh garlic that for damn sure didn't come from a bottle. My Chicken Amafali was perfectly cooked and I tasted only the slightest hint of lemons and capers (Hence the description "LIGHT LEMON CREAM SAUCE.") The red peppers were blackened on one side which made them chewy and great. I guess his was good. The presentation on it was horrible, but what else could I expect for Shrimp Alfredo. The Tuscan Margarita was a little strong and a touch too sweet, but I am not at all complaining. It was my fault for ordering a traditionally Mexican drink at an Italian joint. My date had beer. You really can't eff up a Budweiser so whatever on that.

He's a nice guy. This wasn't a brand new thing. I've pretty much blown him off more times than I should have. I get scared...Scratch that: Terrified when anyone that isn't Marcus comes around. Which leads me to point #2 above.

I am not content. The date was wonderful, but I can't help but think that I would rather be miserable with Marcus than happy with anyone else. It's pitiful, pathetic, stupid, etc... But I cannot change the way I feel. I am still not going to speak to him. I can't. That would ruin every damn thing I have done so far. Plus, I am waiting on HIM to figure out that he fucked up. NOT ME. I didn't fuck up.
Fuck him.

So I say.

I'm an idiot for thinking that I will ever be that happy again and I know it.

I am fine. I know I am fine. I am perfectly okay alone and doing whatever the fuck I want. I do not need Marcus to define me. Grrr...Now if only I can convince myself.

Goodbye, Frienemy.

If I wanted to bicker and argue everyday about stupid shit, I would still talk to Marcus.

If I wanted someone to judge me based on my appearance, I would listen to my family.

If I wanted to compete for every man I come across, I'd be friends with you.

I am done with this mess. I am 26. You're 23. I am short. You are tall. I am pretty. You're...well, I don't know what you are, but I know I look better. ha

I'm tired of this shit. You know? You're immature, you're selfish, you're spoiled.

Get a real job. Find yourself. Leave me alone.

I was out of line tonight and I know that. I shouldn't have swung, but I did. Too late now and I don't regret it. You deserve everything you get.