comment no more

Fruit Stripes Gum! You fools are out of control. No wait, just out. There will be no more personality tests on this site. I expell you. Shit's re-fucking-dick-you-lass. I hate. Comments bigger than blog? More brutal? That's the last thing I want. I get the last word in. I'll walk away from this, so help me God, if you keep frightening the others. There are better things to write about. Other places. I know it.

But for now...

Girl troubles continue in carsonation. I wish I was Jay-Z. I wish that a bitch wasn't one of my 99 problems. But I'm going to have to go ahead and say that what keeps me up at night, the last two anyway is two particular bitches. And since they probably don't read this, I'll write about them.

Thought I found a cute one. Maybe not the One. But an one. OK. So I met her at a party. She reminded me of that. Funny thing about memory. I remember her by her tatoo. And maybe I've told you this before, when I saw it, our conversation came back to me. So we meet again. And again. It's our third date and we're in my bed. She says she wants to be honest. I remind her that in bed we are supposed to lie. She tells the truth anyway.

There's another guy, she says. He knows about you and doesn't have a problem with it.

If there was ever a mood killer, a turn off, a time when I wish she'd keep comments like that to herself, it was then. I couldn't go forth. And called it a night. She wanted more. Wanted to me to say that nothing changes. Can't, I say, not my way. I don't play that game. And suddenly I'm synical. So be it.

I must have failed sharing in kindercare.

Same night, I shit you not, I get a call that I shouldn't have answered. At 2:15 in the morning with a former showing herself on caller ID, it's best not to answer. Little lesson for the kids there.

Surprise, she's dunk.

I'm not going to share all the details. It wouldn't be right. You wouldn't get it, anyway. But, I'll tell you one thing said. One thing that kept me in bed the next two hours without a wink of sleep. One thing that got me to work on time but with heavy eyes. And it was this:

You hate me because I don't love you.

When I get mad -- and I don't hate -- I just turn sad.