Tag Archives: Weirdos

Remember Fish?

17 Dec

Because I wish I could forget…do you know WHY I can’t fucking forget?  I will give you a few seconds…ready?  Because he won’t fucking let me forget!!!!!!!

That’s right hookers…I still-STILL-am getting text messages every fucking day from this ass-hat.  I have asked him to stop.  I have ignored them.  And yet…they come without fail.  I could set the world clock by this guy.  Lately, just to keep it more interesting, he has added the weather to the end of his text messages.

Good morning sweetie.  Have a good day.  It’s raining.

Good morning sweetie.  I’m thinking about you.  Have a good day.  It’s sunny.

Fucking seriously??  The weather?  Like I can’t tell what the weather is like?  And once again…I fucking hate being called sweetie!!!!

Love, Esme

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Just You & Your Hand Tonight…

23 Oct

…to quote one of my favorite P!nk songs…

So this bitch met up with one of her oldest friends last night (talking 17 years here) at an adorable little Irish bar the next town over.  This was not a dick-finding mission…we were not decked out, although she did rock some glitter eye-liner I am fucking jealous of!  This was two girlfriends getting together to discuss men, their appendages, us laughing, and maybe talking work and how we would change the world.  One of those kind of nights.  We all have them.  No interest in picking up men, in getting laid, or anything of the like.

A couple of hours and a few glasses of zinfindel into our evening, two extremely drunk fucknuts stumble over to our table.  Not even attractive fucknuts…it was an insult from the word go. One tossed his elbows onto the table, and proceeded to knock over, and break, my half-full glass of wine.  Yes, I am a fucking optimist.  That shit was half-full.  I was PISSED.

My girlfriend and I shot these fuck-tards some dirty looks.  One of them tried to apologize, then made some kind of lame-ass joke to cover his embarrassment.  Just walk away, I said.  Just…GO.  I dismissed them with a flick of my wrist and a nod of my head.

The stupid dumb fuck (I will never run out of adjectives for this guy) kept coming around the rest of the night.  The last time, he sided up to my girlfriend and grabbed her fucking crotch. She told him, very nicely I thought, to leave her the fuck alone.  What he deserved was a punch to the damn nose.

What the fuck is wrong with men these days??  In what world is it OK to walk up to some girl and grab snatch?  Do they really think it is a turn-on?  Or, do they do it hoping one day we will return the favor…walk up to some guy in a bar and press our hand against their little bulges?  Answers, please…

Much love, Esme

This One May Take The Cake!

29 Apr

Dear Redneck,

I really think you may have taken the blue ribbon for worst first date conversation EVER.

I, against my better judgement, let someone set us up.  I knew nothing about you.  We didn’t talk prior to the date, and our one-and-only text just confirmed the time and place of the date.  Let’s just recap what happened, shall we?

The no good, bad, and very ugly-

  • You wanted to meet at a bar in the bowling alley.  And I for some reason went along with it.
  • You were filthy…hands dirty, clothes all messed up.
  • Literally two minutes into the date, you told me your three rules for being your woman…never look at your phone, never look in your wallet, and never try to stab you.
  • You have eight (EIGHT!) children, but that it’s not as bad as it sounds since it is with three different women.  And even though they all have mothers, it would be awesome of me if I wanted to make them breakfast before school when they are over.
  • Amazingly enough, after that you told me you are not that into sex. That it should only be used when you feel the need to make a connection with someone…never as a time-filler, never because you are bored, never because you are just plain horny.
  • Then you told me you are not much of a boob-man.  You said you are not a fan of playing with breasts during sex, but if it is something I enjoy, you will do it for a minute or two.  But that’s it.
  • Apparently it is OK if I don’t want to see you everyday, but I need to check in with you once a day…even if it is through text message.
  • Not that all of that wasn’t worth me walking out on you, this one was the last straw.  You said you have never been mad enough to hit a woman, and I should consider keeping it that way.

I mean, WOW.  I was speechless while you were talking.  I had a small smile on my face because I was just imagining how this letter would go.  When you remarked about the last bullet point, I lost my smile and became angry.  I have a very twisted sense of humor and can laugh at just about anything.  However, as a past victim of domestic violence, I DO NOT tolerate any jokes or mention of DV.  I put a quick end to the date and walked out.  You somehow managed to think I left because I didn’t feel good, and I have received texts all day asking me if I feel better.  I have ignored them.

Even prior to the domestic violence comment, you were not scoring any points!  I don’t understand the thought process behind any of those conversations.  And I really can’t even respond to anything you said…speechless!

Love, Esme

Can’t Believe I Had To Go Through This

21 Apr

Dear Very Rude Guy,

We met through friends, talked some, built up a good rapport.  We talked on the phone a few times, and you kept dropping hints about us going out.  When you finally asked, I actually got a little excited!  I just knew we would have a good time…you wanted to go bowling.  I fucking LOVE bowling!  How could this not be fun?

The night finally arrived.  I got dressed carefully and eagerly.  Did my hair in some sexy loose curls, make-up done to perfection.  Oh yeah…I went all out.  I was looking forward to this.

You were to pick me up at 7.  7 came and went.  730.  8.  I went into my room and changed into sweat pants.  Put my amazing hair in a ponytail.  No phone call, no text.  Nothing.  I was too angry to try to get a hold of you that night.

Two days later I finally texted you: So what happened?  I’m not even worth a phone call?

You: Got busy.

Me: Aww…too bad for you.  You were gonna get laid.

I got quite a number of apology texts after that.  My phone rang later on.  I let it go.  Did I respond to any of your ‘apologies’?  Nope.  I think I finally found the one thing that makes you all tick…

Love, Esme

Are You Kidding Me!?

20 Apr

Dear Over-Emotional,

So you were one of the first guys I met here in New State.  Cute, unattached.  Everything I am looking for.  I thought we would get along well enough, for the time being, and have some fun.  Apparently we were not on the same page…

We went out on our first date, met for lunch.  Good date, good enough for date two.

Date two went off without a hitch.  We met for drinks at a bar.  Still didn’t kiss, nothing physical at all.  However we talked and had fun.

Date three was dinner and a movie.  This is when you started acting weird.  Talked of how you hated dating, but you were relationship ready.  Bells started dinging, warning horn blared.  Because of intuition, I didn’t let you give me a good night kiss.

The next day is when you erupted.  At ten in the morning, I received this text from you: There is nothing stopping us.

Me: ?

You: From being together forever.

WHAT??????

M: the fact that I barely know you, and that forever is a long time.

What followed were several very long texts about how I was what you were looking for, and you were ready to be married again.  I ignored these, as they made me a little uncomfortable.  When I didn’t answer you began e-mailing me.  I got 8 e-mails in a 30 minute period.  8!  Asking if I missed you yet.  Telling me to stop dating like a man and be your woman.  I finally had to send you an e-mail, asking you to not contact me again.  Amazingly enough, you complied.  Haven’t heard from you since.

What in the hell made you do that?  I would say completely drunk, but then you would have had to drink all day, because that is how long it lasted.  Granted, I am one hell of a woman.  Must be it.  Fricking weirdo…

Love, Esme