The booty call got arrested. Yes, arrested. Now I don't know if this confirms or validates that little thought in my head that always thought he was just a bit ghetto and crazy.
(The cat just swallowed a spider. I like how self reliant he is, "Fucking bitches won't feed me, I'll feed myself.").
The booty call also informed me that he was on drugs for his little head (his words, not mine). And so I mentioned three that he could definitely partake from (prozac, ritalin and valium). I got 1 out of 3 right.
He was supposed to come over last night, but then some girlfriends came over and we started smoking and gossiping, time flew by. He called and said he was running late, if I mind if he arrived at 10. I said it wasn't a problem, but that if he wanted to stay with his friends it was fine. I jumped into the shower and a thought crept into my head: go out, have a beer, enjoy yourself. I peeked my head out of the bathroom door, my hair dropping puddles on the floor, 'I'm going out tonight!' I commented loudly. The room erupts into laughter.
I should call it off with him. In fact I tried. I want to go back to those days when I'd ignore his phonecalls for days on end, my thoughts tied up in some other situation/guy.
I got wasted last night. What was supposed to be 2 beers turned into 5 or maybe 6. Sloppiness ensued. I was also high, naturally. Got walked home by two friends because of my wrecked state. Wrecked Tuesdays!
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