Fuck the Mystery
Yeah. I’m doing it.
I mean, I have to. For the blog. I’m doing it for the blog.
Keeping the Mystery
I kinda sorta maybe just a little bit have a very good chance of nailing somebody soon. More specifically, two somebodies. A couple. One of whom is a chick. I’ve never fucked a girl, and it just seems like something you should do to be a well-rounded individual, like knowing how to use jumper cables or speak another language. Or make a good quiche.
The offer. It’s not official, no one has come out and directly said it, but there’s been damn near every possible insinuation. And the invitations to meet them have started. I can’t decide whether to meet them or not.
I do, I don’t, I do, I don’t, I DAMNIT
I can’t decide whether I want a boyfriend, a fuck buddy, or nobody.
Obviously. Many of you have accused me that I’m not really “single by choice, damnit” and I don’t blame you for thinking so. I can’t make up my goddamn mind. Bring in The Pussy and my brain and that’s just one big fat fucking mess. I got out of a relationship because I thought I was sick of the relationship thing (well there was a helluva lot more to it than that, but we don’t need to get into that).
Then I’m out and free as a butter-fucking-fly and I get sad every time I see someone with a schmoopie. Then I think I want a schmoopie. But then I see a nice piece of ass and I go running after him because I want to hit that shit.
Then another day I hear all my girlfriends crying about guys in general being fuckwits, douchebags, and/or assholes and I’m glad I don’t have anyone messing with my head like that.
Yeah, it’s a pickle.
A big fat confusing “do I or don’t I” pickle.
