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.
1 comment:
Ah your post reminds me of the Nina Simone song "Glad to be Unhappy." If you don't know it, give it a listen.
But I have one question, what the hell is a broken dog? Did I miss a meeting?
Aside from that, I don't have much advice except for this: my friend who lost her child last year says sometimes you just have to pretend to be happy. Some times you have to go through the motions, and you'll be surprised how at some points it WON'T be pretense. Maybe it's the actor in me, but it's true. Sure you can breakdown and curse the fates from time to time, but then the next day you get up and pull yourself together.
And I'll give you one last piece of advice in regards to the "I've blown him more times than I should have." Fuck that. If you enjoy it, then do it and fuck what anybody else says or thinks. The only person who has to live with the consequences of ALL OF YOUR ACTS IS YOU. If you're OK with it, give everyone else a big glass of STFU. Now if you don't really enjoy it, then you need to examine why are you doing this and is it really worth it. But as long as you enjoy it, I don't see a problem.
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