(no subject)

Him: Hi.
Me: Hello.
Him: Remember ME?
Me: No, sorry.
Him: I live right up HERE! You walk by MY house ALL the TIME.
Me: ::polite silence::
Him: Well, you've GOT my ATTENTION. So NOW what?
Me: ::annoyed silence::
Him: Can I ask you to go out with me for a beer sometime?
Me: No, sorry.

I'm irritable and tired and restless all at once, and whatever it is about me that grabs the attention of the neighborhood's aging alcoholics, I'd like to change it so I can walk home from the 7-Eleven in peace.

(How come the *sober* ones never ask me out? Or at least the *cute* drunks? Not that I've got the energy for dating, but still...)

(no subject)

::sigh::

Yes, I know the end of previous entry was shallow. I don't care. Men who assume that the fact that they noticed me is evidence that I'm guilty of some crime whose lightest possible punishment is spending more time in their malodorous company do not bring out my best qualities.

Especially when I'm still developing blisters on my poor, abused feet.

(So why *can't* it ever be the *cute* drunks?)