See there were so many happenings this week, that I was just exhausted. First, I'd won, then I hadn't won, then I won again and then I hadn't won. It was a roller coaster ride of conflicting emotions. My kids would call it Psycho emo. Perhaps.
It actually was just a glitch in the cyberspace- time continuum.
Somewhere, sometime in my emo madness, I decided in the words of the great smashing pumpkins, I would be some body's fool this year. So, I just flat out told hot teacher that I was making excuses about welding to call him, but that it was true I knew nothing of welding or welding supplies. I told him this yesterday. I gave him my phone number. His response was to give me his phone number and told me to call him. What? No, I might be old fashion but I still think boys should call girls. He also makes me a little tongue tied. Normally, I could chew a person's ear off with no problem, but he freezes my brain so to speak, but hey I've already made a fool of myself, so I guess game on. He's also emailed 5 or 6 times since playing the fool. Normally, this would aggravate the hell's fire out of me, but nope, not this time. I like it. I take it as a sign that he might be willing to be a fool too and quite honestly, I needed the attention. The ex nearly stripped away any confidence I had. I know a person can only make you feel inferior if you allow them too, but sometimes you can't help but allow it. Not anymore though, enough of him and his bad vibes. He can just go to hell-mart for all I care.
I'm closing up shop for now. Thanks for stopping by and have a round on the house.
Love,
Cow punk
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3 comments:
I did get a Crown Sour Cow Punk. Put it on my tab please. I think that I'll help myself to a Tom Collins while you're preoccupied by teacher. 5 or 6 emails? You've got that man ready to write you a novel. Did the ex go to HellMart? I bet it has carts with one wheel that won't turn.
O.k. so I'm taking a Budweiser with me and I'll see you over at the old Lonesome Honky Tonk.
I don't care where ex went....All your drinks are on the house Ms. Liz, always and forever!
Showed up late and pulled a Pale Ale draft. Left a tip on the counter and a note to add this to my bill. The only person around was that cute lanky delivery boy whistling "1000 Miles From Nowhere." Drank my beer in silence watching him restock the bar. I think he may have pocketed the tip, but really? Who cares? He needs it more than I do, what with those severely ripped jeans two sizes too small, and all.
Cheers, Cow Punk!
-- Swams
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