. . . hafta check my calendar.

I've never had an ex pull any kind of bile and venom to that dark level of degree, but that may be because my rotten luck happened to pull me into relationships/flings/one-night stands with horrible, wicked, more-than-half-flawed people exclusively. The spoiled brat from Connecticut who slept with one of my best friends from high school after I took her home with me spring break of my college sophomore year because she'd been out on a choir tour for the first three days and it saved her (not me) money on travel; the brain-dead hillbilly whore type from central Ohio; the frighteningly activist (avoid any political junkie who uses the words "activist" or "progressive" as a self-description) glutenous Ann Arborite; et cetera ad infinitum et nauseum. The bad 'un in each doomed matchup was the other person, and that may sound arrogant for me to say, but it was the case, and, I realized after a while, the luck of the draw. Just so long as they stay as far as fuck away from me as possible.

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kleenexwoman: A caricature of me looking future-y.  (Default)
Rachel

April 2015

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