The Misadventures of an Enthusiast of Love |
I'm on a mission to experience love, not just romantic love as most people would expect, but to find love of myself, love of others, love of the divine, and last of all, love of a man. I figure I'll begin with love of myself because as the old saying goes, "You can't love someone else until you love yourself." Here I go again on my own... |
Last night, on the horrid holiday known as Valentine’s day, I decided to go out with the ladies. I wanted to take my mind off of my men troubles, and by take my mind off of, I mean drink. We went to a classy dinner consisting of .50 wings, fries, and fried green tomatoes. We laughed, we listened to music, and enjoyed all of our fried food. After dinner, one of my friends decided to go pick up their boyfriend around 11 o’clock because he had just gotten off of work. I was not opposed to this because said boyfriend is typically very entertaining and loves me. Our next stop was Pete’s bar, with cheap, but strong drinks, and lots of handsome, granola-type men to keep me occupied. As we sat there playing pool, giggling and drinking, boyfriend decides to try and pay me a compliment. Why he feels so inclined, I have no idea, maybe because I was the only person there not currently involved someone, I don’t know. The compliment went like this,
“You are just so damn cute. That hair color looks awesome on you. If we could just knock thirty pounds off…”
Apparently, the look on my face said it all because he immediately started apologizing, explaining that I just “took it the wrong way.” Then, his girlfriend, trying to fix the situation, starts telling me how, “He doesn’t look at girls that way, he thinks you have a great personality.” She then asks me if she’s just making it worse, and I respond with, “Yes, just let it go.”
Unlike last time, when I went to my car and balled my eyes out, this time my only response was, “When I get so fat that no one wants to have sex with me, I’ll consider it.”
As a matter of fact, I’m living a pretty healthy lifestyle (despite the fried food dinner that particular night) so I can feel better and wear cuter clothes :), but that’s not really any of your business is it? Get some fucking manners.
