if you're normal and you know it fill your hands with shit and clap.

Guys, I was stood up. And I’m not happy about it.

You all know I went on a date with a psychopath last week. I have some big news to reveal… I’m not pregnant and if I was he would definitely NOT be the father. Don’t even look at the eyebrows. Psychopath and I were not a love match and I’ve walked on the other side of the street to avoid running into him and falling onto his penis since our date from hell. I’m trying to make 2016 my year of better decisions. So far, it’s not really going that well. But I’m not giving up hope yet. I’ll know by August how much more emotionally damaged I’ve become.

In the midst of my short lived text love affair with the psychopath I was also somewhat texting with a normal dude. Like, painfully normal. He doesn’t really drink during the week. He’s never had a restraining order filed against him. I think he even hangs out with his family and stuff. What a fucking weirdo. He asked me to hang out like 45 times and I shrugged my shoulders, which he couldn’t see obviously, and then changed the subject. I already struggle to pay attention to people when they’re talking. If you’re saying a lot of words that don’t involve “booze”, “baby goats”, “booze”,  or “cats in boxes”, I just really can’t with you.

Anyway, after the psychopath I decided that I might have met my batshit crazy quota for the month and maybe I should give normal dude a shot. So after his 56th text asking to meet up for a drink, I still shrugged my shoulders, but I said I was down. Monday was the designated awkward first date night. I figured we’d meet somewhere downtown, where worst case scenario I could drown him out by watching the homeless harass pedestrians. I decided 7:00 was a good start time so I could drink a bottle of wine and be kind of sleepy and thus less intense. You can’t be intense with normal dudes. I think they’re allergic to it.

I had my whole plan figured out, but around 12:00 on Monday I realized I hadn’t actually shared my plan so I texted normal dude.  Generally I received a reply within 16 seconds. This time, nothing. I figured he was probably busy at work and I’d hear from him closer to 5:00. At 5:01, nothing. Now I’m fucking PISSED. I don’t even care about you. I shrugged my god damn mother fucking shoulders. But not responding to me is giving me a rage blackout. You’re shrugging your shoulders with your silence. That’s my thing you son of a bitch.

What in the hell? I don’t get it. Why would you try so hard for months to hang out, and then when I’m finally about it, you phantom. It’s such a lady thing to do. Crazy bitches put time and effort into fucking dudes over. Was I being catfished by a lady? I’ve always wanted to be catfished. But I wanted it to go all the way. Like my dream is to show up at a bar and have a scary looking woman waiting for me and then I would start screaming and crying and throwing chairs and flipping tables. It would be a masterpiece on YouTube. I’d probably get like 56 views.

I’ve accepted that I had some bad dating karma coming my way. I’ve never actually stood anyone up. If I say I’m coming, I’ll be there two drinks in when you arrive. But I’ve pulled some dick moves. Like the awkward skinny guy that thought he was going to lose his virginity to me, but instead I stopped returning his texts even when he waited at a brewery for me hoping I’d show up and then bought us Rihanna tickets because I drunkenly told him I was obsessed with her. That was all him though. I told him how I felt about virgins. Or the older dude that seemed like a silver fox until he took off his hat and had the largest head I’d ever seen in real life. So I texted my friend to fake emergency call me (seriously Oscar worthy performance to Eric who screamed like a child having a tantrum and ruined everyone’s life at the bar) and then bailed because I just couldn’t look at that giant head anymore. Or the barely not a teenager who wanted me to relive my youth and hang out in his backyard and skateboard and drink Natural Ice with him and his friends who I harshly ditched via text. But seriously, at this point, haven’t I been punished enough? I’ve been through the fucking wringer. Girl down. SOS. Call Oprah.

So anyway, I raged all night over that mother fucker ditching out on me. I SHAVED MY FUCKING LEGS FOR THIS SHIT!? I had to drink 2 bottles of wine and eat 2 muscle relaxers to put myself into a coma so I wouldn’t go searching for the psychopath to anger bang. Tuesday was rough guys. So rough.

But I decided to pull myself together Tuesday morning and be an adult. By noon, when my hangover was at its peak and I thought I was going to barf all over my keyboard and my head would subsequently explode, I decided fuck that shit and texted that douche, “I’M BUSY you stupid DICK.” Pretty sure I nailed it guys. Being mature and stuff.

The moral of this story is you get fucked over by the psychopaths and the normal dudes. It’s a no win situation. If I’m gonna get fucked over anyway, bring on the psychopaths. They’re usually into some weird shit and I’m in my prime. All you normal dudes, I’M FUCKING BUSY. Bye.