We are not amused...
I feel really spectacular right now. No- that's not right. Words cannot describe the feeling of utter fuck that has caused my stomach to take up permenant residence in the bottom of my Converses.
Who knew, that getting woken up at 3am by your ex boyfriend and his wasted buddies, making all sorts of colourful comments about your sexual preferences- who knew it would be so fucking thrilling?
And you know what's REALLY hysterical. The first thing that woke me up was the sound of "Meryl STREEP?!" ringing through my living room. It's like, really- not only are you discussing my sexual preference in general- you're bringing up some ridiculous (if completely VALID) celebrity crush that I was obviously completely RETARDED to mention to you...
And you know what- fine. Ms. Streep is sixty. But that's not the issue here. The issue is that I trusted the bastard with something, and what does he do?
He comes home with his drunken, stoned-ass friends and fucking wakes me UP with fervent discussion of what a disgusting, perverted dyke I am.
Really. Fucking. Nice.
"What if she can hear us?" The people two floors up could probably fucking hear them.
"Fucking whatever- she's fucking gross."
Thank you SO much
And it's like, FINE- you were all drunk, and maybe if you actually had suggested they shut up, I might have missed it. HOWEVER- they still had to get the fodder from somebody, asshole, and we all know who it was that told them why we broke up. I'm looking at YOU here, jerkoff. THEN- then somehow Meryl Fucking Streep ends up the conversation, and it just gets better from there, because now I'm a complete freak for-thinking she's hot.
I tried to break it off amiably with him- explained why things weren't working out, layed out the 'gay' card, and then THIS. It's like, thanks a fucking lot buddy. I'm SO glad I slept with you. I'm so glad I made the fucking effort, trying to spare your feelings.
The really great thing is, I don't even really care about the name calling or the ridicule- they can say whatever the fuck they want, I've pretty much come to terms with what I like, who I like. I'm just inexplicably hurt that he would feel the need to START it in the first place.
So you know what? Fuck him. I am NOT ashamed of being attracted to women, and I'm not ashamed to say, yeah, you know what? Meryl Streep (or Helen Mirren, or that girl that works in the retro clothing shop, or the singing barista) is damn sexy.
So laugh it the fuck up, jerkoffs. The jokes on you.
Who knew, that getting woken up at 3am by your ex boyfriend and his wasted buddies, making all sorts of colourful comments about your sexual preferences- who knew it would be so fucking thrilling?
And you know what's REALLY hysterical. The first thing that woke me up was the sound of "Meryl STREEP?!" ringing through my living room. It's like, really- not only are you discussing my sexual preference in general- you're bringing up some ridiculous (if completely VALID) celebrity crush that I was obviously completely RETARDED to mention to you...
And you know what- fine. Ms. Streep is sixty. But that's not the issue here. The issue is that I trusted the bastard with something, and what does he do?
He comes home with his drunken, stoned-ass friends and fucking wakes me UP with fervent discussion of what a disgusting, perverted dyke I am.
Really. Fucking. Nice.
"What if she can hear us?" The people two floors up could probably fucking hear them.
"Fucking whatever- she's fucking gross."
Thank you SO much
And it's like, FINE- you were all drunk, and maybe if you actually had suggested they shut up, I might have missed it. HOWEVER- they still had to get the fodder from somebody, asshole, and we all know who it was that told them why we broke up. I'm looking at YOU here, jerkoff. THEN- then somehow Meryl Fucking Streep ends up the conversation, and it just gets better from there, because now I'm a complete freak for-thinking she's hot.
I tried to break it off amiably with him- explained why things weren't working out, layed out the 'gay' card, and then THIS. It's like, thanks a fucking lot buddy. I'm SO glad I slept with you. I'm so glad I made the fucking effort, trying to spare your feelings.
The really great thing is, I don't even really care about the name calling or the ridicule- they can say whatever the fuck they want, I've pretty much come to terms with what I like, who I like. I'm just inexplicably hurt that he would feel the need to START it in the first place.
So you know what? Fuck him. I am NOT ashamed of being attracted to women, and I'm not ashamed to say, yeah, you know what? Meryl Streep (or Helen Mirren, or that girl that works in the retro clothing shop, or the singing barista) is damn sexy.
So laugh it the fuck up, jerkoffs. The jokes on you.