Everyone knows that I love that Bravia ball ad where all those lovely coloured balls bounce in the sunshine down a San Francisco street. I find it calming and peaceful. Everytime you stare at that ad, you see something new. It's like Where's Wally and those cartoons by Jeff Hook that I used to love. I often wish that when I step outside at lunch to escape my stressful world, there will be a spanish guitar and coloured balls start bouncing towards me down Elizabeth St to sweep me away to San Francisco. Wouldn't that be nice. On to more pressing issues about balls and the desire to squash a particular someones until they are pink puree juice...
I stupidly agreed to see the evil englishman again after he lewered me with the promise of dinner and a decadent dessert of pleasureville. I am really disappointed in myself for my lack of restraint Vs needs and desires. I've alway known that I was playing with fire, but last night culminated in a flaming inferno and an emotional display worthy of a Jerry Springer segment.
After him confirming dinner with me the day before and asking me to bring wine, I hadn't heard otherwise and made my way there. I thought I'd better text him that I was running 20 mins late to which he replied "just got in too, no dinner I'm afraid, see you soon". Well aside from me being pre-menstrual, when I am hungry..I am angry...pair that with the fact that this fucking arsehole has dicked me around more than anyone I have ever known and blows off this fact with dismissive arrogance and denial. I wrote back that he is a "shit host" and he replied " I hadn't heard from you all day so didn't know you were still coming". This translates to, I could not be bothered cooking and I just want booty call because I have a girlfriend that I treat well and I have you to use as sex aid. So this led me to the conclusion that I will still meet him and pretend I would still be having a night with him. I arrived...he asked me where the wine was....I told him in my car because he was shit....he told me I was petty.....I told him he was full of shit and where was my dinner...he told me he didn't think I was still coming because I didn't confirm (whilst fiddling with ear awkwardly)....and this progressed to me getting angrier and him scuttling into his apartment and me saying I was going to leave and him slamming the door before I screeched ARSEHOLE at the top of my lungs.
Dramatic isn't it. And all in his hallway. Then the elevator door opened to an indian family who had rather shocked expression on their face...to which I got in and smiled and said "ground floor please". In hindsight....I wish that I hadn't of confronted him at all or suffered the indignity of having a door slammed in front of me (without being able to slam one myself)....but then I think this chapter needed to be closed. And it certainly is now. I also wish that I had come up with something more eloquent then "YOU'RE SHIT" and "ARSEHOLE" as I sounded more like a member of the Collingwood football fan club rather then a well-educated wordsmith desperate to deflate that prick's over inflated ego. Man....what a disservice some men are to their gender. REvenge could be sweet as MR PIGS address and phone number find their way into every mailing list across our vast continent. I am really open to suggestions on complete revenge, so please feel free to post your suggestions to my Blog. SLIMON BOND NEEDS a very big reality check. There's his name....OUTED on my blog. I feel so free...
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