The PistachiNO Ice Cream Hypothesis

Some of you might remember, when I was “dating” Old Young Man, that I’m such a girlfriend by nature I bought a pint of his favorite ice cream and put it in my freezer, so after he had sufficiently pleasured me, he could have snacks. (Ice cream: the glutton’s gold star!)

Except that was 6 months ago, and we “broke up” when I realized yet again that I am damaged and unlovable. (Ahem. Or that we didn’t have anything in common, even sexually.)

Anyway. I’m cleaning my kitchen, and I noticed the ice cream in the back of the freezer. While it pains me to throw it out (Ben & Jerry’s, bitches — only the finest for my concubines!), it’s been 6 months. So there’ve been six menstrual cycles and countless feelings-eating days, and not once have I been desperate enough to eat this ice cream. (Maybe pistachio ice cream is my rock bottom?) Also, not one person who’s been in my apartment since Christmas has wanted this ice cream. You know why? Because fucking terrible people eat pistachio. I will use it as a future boyfriend barometer.*

PistachiNO, people.

*It’s a joke. Don’t ruin it.

Do you have a Tamagotchi, too?

PSA: If we “broke up,” you don’t get to text me dumbass LOL cat pics anymore. They weren’t funny when we were sleeping together, so I’m sure as hell not sending you a perfunctory “LOL” if I’m not getting an orgasm or 12 out of it.

Also? LOL cats are srsly 2000 and LATE, and that’s coming from someone who just said “srsly 2000 and LATE.”