I don’t expect you to read my blog. Just please, don’t shit in my mouth.

Hey there you. It’s been real. 

We are both professionals, so needless to say, it was fun and refreshing to find someone with whom I could drink an entire bottle of Seagram’s with and make jokes about anal fisting until midnight on a Wednesday.

Nevertheless, I think it would be fair to say that we are in two different places. Rather, I don’t have a clue where you are, but I can tell I’m somewhere very different.

You typically need to eat mushrooms to get in touch with your feelings, so you are probably either in a state park tripping balls and singing Slim Shady tunes alone while you jerk off, or convincing some other woman that you are intelligent and interesting. 

In reality, (where I consider myself,) you are an emotional desert with an irreversible small penis complex. Against my better judgment, I was prepared to deal with both of those issues. 

But I can’t deal with them if you don’t return my text messages. I don’t expect much from anyone. And I certainly don’t expect you to pay for everything, open doors for me or go in for a household membership to NPR.

It’s not hard. Furthermore; it is a universally accepted truth that not responding to a text message is the unspoken equivalent of shitting in someones mouth.

I don’t expect much. But please, spare me this. I’m a lady.