Let’s take a little ride, Bitchfaces, right the fuck on down to “where do they do that at?”
I don’t want to walk around here tooting my own horn, but excuse me while I “tooooooot….toooooot”. I meet the trifecta. Intelligent. Hilarious. Attractive.
Period.
So, when I am decommissioned by the Fuckboy 5.0, not once, not twice, but bitch thrice?
Ok, am I high right now? Because this is a whole new plateau of get the fuck out of here. Allow me to digress.
Y’all have read about 5.0. The slickest of the sneaky snakes. Just too fine to not stare at him like a fucking deaf/mute anytime he is in front of me. Beautiful.
But only on the outside.
I’m half convinced he may be the Antichrist. Make that I’m 75% convinced he may be the Antichrist. *Somebody get me my white board.* I’m like 84% convinced he may be the Antichrist.
He’s a Skip. In one day, ladeda skipping his ass right out of my life the next. It’s vile behavior, and y’all know how I just have to needle a reason out of something or it will never rest in my head.
I’ve cut him loose. And then walked right back into it. And cut him loose. It’s a) embarrassing, b) revolting, and c) unfuckingbelievable. It’s like I’m at Disney on It’s A Small World, because this shit seems to be on the worst fucking loop I’ve ever seen, and it’s a repeat of me losing my damned mind over some dude that quite literally shouldn’t even be on my damned radar to begin with. Um, Air Traffic Control, come in. There’s a blip blipping and we need to immediately clear this air space for something that matters.
You know, today I was chatting with someone about his misadventures with Fuckgirls. Just letting him know, you have to Where’s Waldo those red flags right out of their hiding spots. You really need to watch out for the ones with the stripes that blend in to the scenery.
Yet, look at me. All “I totally see these flags, and they’re great. Let’s just tuck these over here so we don’t have to focus on them”…
Have I lost my fucking mind?
I am going to blame it on Lonely. I asked Lonely to shut the fucking door behind itself; it never does. I told Lonely to stop allowing people to walk all over the white tile; there are shoe prints all throughout the joint. Lonely just doesn’t know how to respect my house. It’s time to evict, because our tenant agreement is beyond expiration, and this bitch has got to go.
I know I have my faults. I have a foul mouth. I am a complete hothead, prone to throwing hands. I take more onto my shoulders than I really should, and it makes me prone to sadness when I can’t save the world. And, I am a fucking people fixer, and I allow that bullshit to get me sideways over people who just aren’t redeemable. They’re the expired coupons of people, and instead of throwing them away, I’m at the register at Publix insisting the cashier swipe that shit again.
Stop it. Bitch, get it together.
I know the way out of the madness; I’ve navigated this exact route many times at this point. Instead, I keep steering myself back to places I shouldn’t be. Like, anywhere near the Fuckboy 5.0. He is kryptonite to me, but I’ll be hot damned if I’m not all “Lex Luther me bruh”, because my dumb ass just can’t seem to process the thought that maybe, just maybe, I should take my own fucking advice for a change.
And it hurts. It’s like I’ve been punched in the chest. Except constantly. Like someone took all the fucking oxygen out of the room, and I’m a goldfish flopping on the carpet.
I don’t even know how to tie this column off, that’s how absolutely mindfucked I am right now. I mean, look at me, in my “Tell your dog I said hi” shirt, absolutely owning everything about my existence and completely cool with my life as it is.
But add the Fuckboy 5.0 to the mix, and bitch I’m full on titty twisted. As though I don’t sit on my Queen Of The Fuckboy throne, smiting, and waving, and smiting some more. As though I don’t know the earth rises to meet my steps because baby, wouldn’t you? I mean, pssssh, the fuck is really happening here?
Rejection. That’s what’s happening here. I can’t handle it. I can’t handle not being good enough. Not being loved, or wanted, or needed, or any of those other things we turn to another human being to feel.
He has rejected me again. And now I’m the fucking goldfish on the carpet.
Someone, please step on me. End this torture.
Gently picks up goldfish, puts her gently back in the fishbowl, wraps said bowl in barbed wire...makes coffee for my friend and tells Lonely to fuck off, because she's got us ❤
Love this pic of u though!🤷🏼♀️