The “P” in “PMS” stands for “pugilistic”

Apparently I’m so much of a flirt that men think it’s my default setting?

I’ve been texting with an OkCupid guy for a couple weeks. Today’s conversation began with him saying he hadn’t texted yesterday because his work life had been turned upside down, and then he found out his friend had been diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic.

I told him I was sorry, that sucked, and I hoped the weekend treated him better. He asked how my week was going, and I said, “Pretty good, no complaints,” because that is the answer to that question.

Then he asked if I was “still being a proper lady,” a joke I’ve been making about trying not to flirt too much before we actually meet.

Uh… Sorry, my bad. Didn’t know “paranoid schizophrenic” was supposed to affect my panty places. Should I have said, “Bummer. So, hey, how’s your dick doing?”

I told him it seemed odd to respond with smut, and he seemed pissy and said, “I was just explaining why my attentions had been elsewhere. But the turbulence has cleared and I’m back to blue skies now.”

OK. Well, sorry again. I didn’t notice the sun shining out of your ass, and didn’t know I was obligated to taste your rainbow whenever you feel like flirting.

I started composing a response, but everything I typed just sounded cunty. I put the phone down so I could think before I spoke.

My level of irritation caused me to go do the math on my menstrual cycle, because this bitchface felt prescient. And yep, should be any day now.

When I hadn’t answered an hour later, he followed up with, “Did I offend?” Yes. Yes, you did, but I don’t know if it makes sense that you did, or if I’m projecting issues from a previous “relationshit.” I need a minute. Plus, hi, there’s this new thing called work? I waited a day, you can’t wait an hour? No. That’s not how this is gonna go. <– Oof. Yeah, now that I write that, it’s related to past events, for sure. Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be offended, but I should take it into account.

When I told him I was, “Just confused, and also working,” he said, “You’re supposed to stop working when I text you. I thought you knew that. 😛 Sorry if I confused you, though I’m not sure how. I hate text, you can’t convey tone well.” Hey, you know what didn’t just help your case, even with that bullshit “:P” after it…? (<– And that’s different baggage.)

He asked if he should stop texting me, and I said, “I might not respond right away, but you’re welcome to if you want.” He said he was afraid to, that the conversation was “colder than the air outside,” and that he was going to “retreat” and I could text him whenever I was free and felt like it. Again, the fuck? And again, Bitchface McMenses.

Also? I give ZERO fucks if you don’t text for 24 hours. We haven’t even met. You’re under no obligation to communicate with me every day, nor to explain yourself when you don’t.

I’ll stop this saga now. I think I just need to get some sleep. And maybe take my Midol before I come to class.

Escape: Plane and Simple

I’m pretty excited to be taking a vacation that requires a plane, and leaving all my bullshit behind — if only for a week, and if only metaphorically, since my bullshit lives in my brain and actually travels quite well. I checked, though, and there’s no fee for emotional baggage on domestic flights. Score!

It’ll still be good to get away, particularly to get away to anywhere warmer than here.

So I’ll see y’all soon, assuming more pleasurable climes don’t claim me as their own. 

See also: fuck you, winter.