Because It's Better To Be Irrational With Me Than Rational With Someone Else ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - Okay, so I am drunk and I got things to say. I know Stan adores me. It is just that I do not understand why he must play these mind games. I am not just a random whore that pleases him and then leaves. We can have normal conversations that do not include squirrels or fuzzy animals. We can have INTELLIGENT conversations. He knows I am manipulative (and don�t hide it, I actually very obviously reap all the benefits of peoples' na�ve nature) and I know he is too. We have something great and yet we do not expand on it. I finish his sentences, he finishes mine (which is a feat indeed as I am foreign with a ditzy mind that just rambles all around). I am bitter, because I wanna make out with him while he is going through his crisis. Now, everything he says to me� I take it the wrong way (or the right way, but I have no way of knowing). I think he is bitchier to me but maybe he is just the same as he was prior to us exchanging saliva. What have I done? Nothing� I can look at it many ways, but I really have done nothing. Maybe that�s exactly the point. Eitherway. If you want a good weekend, call me up. With me shit will go down. I play classy. We went to a festival. Got some good food, saw some good dances. Then we went bowling. I smiled prettily, and demanded a refund. After two hours of playing, we got it. Not only did we become the life of the bowling alley, but we also did it for free. People were upset when we left. We decided to hit up bars. I hate bars. So I drink. We know the bouncers not because we go there often (once a month at the very frequent), but because bitches stalk us. We get in and get free drinks. We party with the managers and bouncers like we besties and on the first name basis. That�s how we roll. Everybody dressed up in their heals and dresses, while I am in converse, jeans and a T-shirt. Somehow, we become the life of the party. It ain�t WHAT you�re wearing but HOW you�re wearing it. Yea. I wish, I wish so bad, that Stan grew up and realized he needs me. I wish he was here. Why am I obsessed with the man who cannot deal with commitment? Why do I rationalize everything? Why am I actually making sense in some illogical way? It's almost 3:30 am and them stupid birds be already chirping. STUPID BIRDS. I HATE BIRDS. 3:25 a.m. - June 12, 2010 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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