I knew I’d screw this up, I just wish I knew how I did it this time

It all began at 4pm on Friday, when I got the sms that said “I’m sorry, running really late,  won’t be able to see you tonight unless you want to go to a 21st  with me?”

My thoughts:

1.    I drove all the way over here, took the fucking afternoon off to be here early, so I could see you because you whined so much.
2.    Now that I am here, you not only cancel our evening, but change the plans to suit you and your (stupid) friends 21st.
3.    Who forgets their “friends” 21st anyway?
4.    Thanks, but I’ll stick with the plan, and meet my friends out.

Merrily, I hop over to 3rd to meet the girls and guys and have a fine time.  Catch up’s are made, tables are danced upon, snogging occurs before me and liquor is consumed.  While catching up with my old friend Harry, I am asked what method I used in my current make over and “gorgeous” appearance and I’m feeling GRAND.

Somewhere down the line, I am laughing along with the rest of the shooter drinkers, and I get a call.  By god, I cannot remember what was said, but I vaguely recall whining and tears not belonging to me.

I land up at home somewhere just before dawn, receive a few text messages and reply (who knows how) with what I deem to be witty and remarkable come backs.  Turns out, in sober hindsight, they weren’t that awesome.

I woke up this morning not only sms-less, but severely hung over, arab-sandal-mouthed and I suspect single, to boot.

I have no clue why, how or when.  Other than that phone call, of which I cannot recall the details.

So I’m guessing the parents will not be introduced, I will not get lucky, he won’t take my calls and the worst is that I have dyed red hair, short orange finger nails and silky smooth and shaven legs.  But I am single, evidently.

The weather is crap, I have eaten an entire box of coco pops with and without milk, placed an order with my mom for coke and chocolate plus a new liver and may die in this bed from Alcohol Plague.

Fuckfuckfuckityfuck.

12 comments

  1. Andre says:

    For Mr Whine-e-pants. If you can’t take a joke, don’t join a circus.
    Upside. You’re young, made-over, and? … SINGLE! :))

    My 50 cents.

  2. Amy says:

    Well that sucks much – but at least your gorgeous! I’m sure with your faaaaaaaaaabulous makeover you’ll be back in relationship territory soon enough. Fingers crossed for you love!

  3. dash says:

    Sheba-stank (that’s meant to be a play on hoobastank, but it didn’t work), I wish you wouldn’t describe events like this with such humour. I find myself chuckling away in a little cafe, people wondering what’s so funny, and then explain to my friends that my friend in Sudafrika just had a blue with her mr possibility.

    But other readers, what gives, you are giving up on this right now? Surely you must actually speak to him faceto face before you give it up over a single night, where you evidently BOTH fucked up. If it is truly over after just this, then I wonder how committed either of you were in the first place?

  4. ExMi says:

    dude, alcohol induced misunderstandingz are the fucking pits.

    dont let this dude go. not yet.

    not until (at least) you’ve shagged him to death.

    so suck it up, sort it out. apologise if you have to (you CAN say sorry withotu meaning it, take it from someone who knows) – but dont ditch the relationshit until you’re sure it’s SHIT!

  5. talita says:

    I know it doesn’t help but this crap too shall pass. What’s up with not answering your calls? We’re not in high school anymore. Whining and crying? Unless you’re a kindergarden teacher, sure you want a guy who’s balls hasn’t dropped yet? Okay – im not helping, it sux. Where can i send copious amounts of haegen dass? sure fire cure for everything!

  6. Shebee says:

    Dudes, shot for the comments. Too late though, its overkadovers.

    Talita when are you and Vince in my hood? I believe Mama Luciano’s is on the cards?

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