close call

Yesterday, I rearranged my iPod. I added more Arctic Monkeys. For some reason I love working out to the one song about Vampires. (Don’t worry, I’m not a Twi-hard). They are pretty sick (and by sick I mean effing amazing). While perusing my music, I decided I am ready to put some tunes from Mr. Pink back on my iPod.  Namely, the Avett Brothers. They totally whale. Why should I deprive myself of great tunes just because the guy who gave them to me broke my heart?

I was wrong. When their Kick Drum Heart came up in my rotation, I felt like scaling the walls of my car and pulling over at the nearest gas station for smokes. This shit is so good. It really made me miss that a-clown. And that, that really pissed me off. I was livid. It’s bad enough that I had to delete my beloved guilty pleasure, Huey Lewis & the News, from my iPod because he told me that Happy to be Stuck with You was “our” song. (For some reason, since I began ignoring him, this song plays every other time when I shuffle my iPod.) Those songs exude nostalgic childhood goodness for me and my sister. It’s just not right. First that, now I have to forsake jams that melt my heart?

This moment so far has been the worst in regards to breaking down and having a smoke. (I didn’t though.)

Then when I got home I saw that Mr. Pink had sent me another Facebook book message. “Hi, it’s me.” (Really, no shit, dude, you’re on Facebook.) Apparently he really wants his CDs back. (By CDs, I really mean CD collection: I have about a thousand of his beloved CDs.) He also would really like me to respond to him. (This is his fourth attempt to get in touch with me since my birthday a month ago.) He is also really sorry if I hate him. “I really am.” (Notice he’s sorry if I hate him. Any accountability for why I would possibly hate him is not mentioned. I hate those bullshit apologies: The ones that go, “I’m sorry if you feel that way…”, instead actually apologizing. ) He will be “awaiting my response”.

(Nope, I was wrong. So far this moment has been the worst I wanted a cigarette.)

So basically, he wants his shit back.

And I basically feel incredibly stupid/mortified/foolish/hurt/angry/etc… that I was stupid enough to “fill-in-the-blank” with a gentleman who didn’t think that I was worthy enough to come to my birthday party.

It’s been a month. I should be mature and over it, right? I should be a responsible adult. He just wants his stuff back…

I’ve been down that road. It’s called “Turn the Other Cheek” Lane. I’ve done that. I’ve been so classy that I could probably give break up references…

Not interested. I’ve reprogrammed my Garmin. We’re are now going to 659 “I don’t Give a Rat’s Ass What you Want” Drive. And we’re blaring No More Mr. Nice Guy by Alice Cooper the whole way there. Seriously, does he think he can jerk me a round for a couple months and everything’s kosher? Yeah, maybe if I was a doormat. Maybe he should have thought about his shit before he wrote me off. Maybe he shouldn’t go around telling girls that he reallllly likes them if he doesn’t mean it. Maybe I’ve gone a little bit crazy. Maybe I’m pissed. Call me bitter, call me crazy, call me a man hater, etc… I do not care. I’m not responding. I’m not giving him a single CD. Take me to Judge Judy. I do not give a fuuuuuuck. (Snapping and neck-waving included.)

The best part about this whole ordeal is that I don’t even want or need his CDs. I’m a modern woman. I am fully capable of getting exactly what I want whenever I want. Especially in regards to music. And it’s not even that I want to keep him from having what’s rightfully his. I just don’t want to talk to him long enough to figure out how to return them. Not via text messaging or Facebook. One of my friends actually offered to drop them off for me. But why should I? What the hell is the incentive for me? I know that if I talk to him, he’ll just feed me more bullshit or worse make me feel like an even bigger moron for having feelings for him to begin with. Why don’t I just walk though a park filled with cigarette landmines? It’s really about priorities, see.

And so there you have it. You are reading the blog of a crazy person. A non-smoking crazy person, of course…

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