Pussy Bitch

Disco Biscuits (my co-worker) informed me that I’m toxic and no one should date me. He says, “You’re messed up and the last guy you dated only made it worse.” He also says, “Newbie is a fool for dating you and should never talk to you again.” I would have to say he’s probably correct.

Newbie was celebrating his birthday, so I made a point of coming home from out-of-town early enough that we could hang out. When I got home I was already in a bad mood, made worse when I saw the mess my roomie left. I asked Newbie what his plans for the night were and he said a bar in Brooklyn then into the city. I said no to the bar in BK, not because I don’t love my borough, but because it would be really hard for me to get to.

I was trying to hammer out the details and somewhere along the way Newbie thought I was trying to cancel. For once I wasn’t, I just like specifics in place. He told me not to come if I was going to be “a pussy bitch and no fun.” Now, that set me off. I responded to his text to tell him I wasn’t going. The next thing I did was dial B. Brown and ask if she would be pissed. Like a good friend, she reacted just how I wanted.

Newbie kept texting; finally I told him that he needed to find a nice guy to date because it wasn’t me. He started calling and flipping out; asking if I was drunk. I wasn’t drunk, but I was on my way. I had only had two beers, which this time was actually the truth. Not like the time I told The Devil I had only had two when we all knew I had more like nine in me. Why is it everyone thinks I’m a drunk? I’m just lowbrow fun.

Later in the evening Newbie insisted I talk to him and that he was outside my building. I crawled onto the fire escape, unable to see him. He insisted he was outside the building, then outside the White Castle, then by the train. Now, he either moves faster than God himself, or that was a bullshit story. It was only a few minutes later that he was at the gay bar in the city that was half an hour or more away. He kept texting and I kept replying. I wasn’t in the mood, but I like the drama. Emotional cutting is really the most effective form of self-mutilation, everyone’s doing it.

The following day Newbie was under the impression I “was just being a crazy blonde.” Is that an actual argument? Am I just a crazy blonde? I didn’t know we were all in need of some sort of group intervention. If that’s the case I guess send in the brunettes with their bottles of brown dye!  So, he shows up at my work and we end up at my bar, Metro, having a few birthday beers. Then we went back to my apartment and had sex. What a good solution to the problem, stick a dick in it. Oy!

Now I have a non-boyfriend situation. I’m not sure what we’re doing. I still don’t really want a boyfriend. I like being on my own, but I do like the company. If only I could neuter him, everything would be perfect. Someone get me the cigar cutter!