've thought a hard, long time about a name to give this boy. Many have come to mind, but for the sake of innocent ears, we'll call this guy The Tool.
He's tall, dark, and handsome. I was vulnerable. I kissed okay I'M SORRY! We were camping with friends, I was tired, and it just kinda happened. It dawned on me in the middle of kissing him that I had no earthly idea if he liked me. So I backed up and in my cutest, most charming voice, I politely said: "You know, if you're a tool I'm gonna be reallllly disappointed...."
He laughed a little and played it cool. "Nahhhh, I'm not a tool."
Not only is he an absolute and complete tool, but he's a liar. Am I bitter? Yes. I've never been played, and the emotions of it are a little weird. I genuinely liked the guy. He smooth talked his little way into my life and left it without a word, and now I see him everyday and I say hello and smile and look like a babe, when what I really want to do is punch him in the face once, maybe even twice.
Shortly after this awful experience with The Tool, his best friend, The Goob, asked me on a date. The Goob is a sweetie and I thought it would be fun, so sure, I'll go. Let me explain this date to you.
Longboarding down a canyon at night with no helmet, (all I wanted to do was eat my fruit snacks and drink my juice!) I wiped out hard and got a concussion and a possible fracture in my elbow. There is still something protruding from it.
First date back at college: played.
Second date back at college: concussion and fracture.
I've recently been researching the profession of being a nun. It's been looking especially appealing lately.
Back to blogging, faithfully,
The Heartbreaker
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