another bad egg; blogging drunk

I’m boiling eggs now. I may also be drunk. I don’t know. After not drinking for a long long time, will two beers make me drunk? Or tipsy. But I haven’t misspelled anything yet. That either says a lot for my ability to hold alcohol or my ingrained English prowess. Also I just used a word like prowess.

And why am I tipsy or possibly drunk? Because, my friends, I had another bad egg date. I think I could turn this into a funny and relatable blog about dating. Cause boy do I seem to pick em. Although, to be fair, the other one was a blind date setup by a coworker and this was someone off a dating site…so not guaranteed to win on either counts. I hadn’t met either one before.

I need another sip, hold on.

Okay, so the last one wasn’t touchy or close enough. It was like an interview, right? And bad. But this guy, this guy who had been texting me emojis and dear and such crap all the time and who I thought was super sweet…yeah, he was super touchy. We watched Deadpool, not quite a movie to get cozy with, and I wanted to fucking watch it, fuck it all, but he wanted to hold my hand, and damn me and my inability to say nooooo.

I actually had the shitty thought that hey, he paid for everything, shouldn’t I let him hold hands with me? Fuck. Shit. Am I a whore? Balls. I’m swearing a lot because I couldn’t even concentrate on the movie, I was panicking too much. I don’t like people touching me that much on the first date. First meeting, fuck it. Don’t kiss my hand, you desperate douchebag. Just leave me alone to enjoy the blood and gore and witticisms. Shit. I thought I was past all that. I wanted to practice with a guy who seemed into me. Turns out I wanted to pull a Deadpool on him and shoot him up the ass.

I got home and cried a lot, which makes me sure I need that counselor. Damn. “I cried because he held my hand and I couldn’t say no. What do I do, counselor lady m’am?”

Yeah, cause that’s totally a conversation I’m dying to have.

At least the movie was good. I know that, even if I was only half concentrating. Fuck him. And fuck me and my stupid boy problems and past trauma and all that crap that makes me now convinced I’m not ready to date for another five years. Bye bye, boys I’ve been chatting to. Bye for another long long time.

Thanks for listening, pal.


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