I have absolutely no idea. If a boy so much as looks at me the wrong way I’m gone. Done. Thinking about it for days.
I stand by what I drunkenly said while stuffing my face with fries at three in the morning last Saturday. Boys are terrible shits. Terrible. Shits.
But yet in the two months since they’ve been an actual part of my life, they have been my biggest source of stress. The worst part of my existence, kept around for free alcohol, validation, and an outlet for my sexual frustration. Girl’s gotta eat. But fuck.
Right now I’m sitting on my futon feeling sorry for myself and seething over my latest let down. It’s eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. I should be headed to the bars right now, getting buzzed on drinks from strangers and taking fireball shots with the bartender. I should be laughing and…
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