Dealbreaker: You Made Me the Wingwoman
We had this totally awesome conversation for hours. I thought we clicked. So when I discovered the next day that you began following me on Twitter, I was psyched. Imagine that. Flirting! Who knew it could be so easy?
…and then I found out you hooked up with my friend that night. So here’s what I’m thinking really happened: you sat through hours of me yammering about some stupid media theory cum Internet bullshit simply in hopes of banging her. Cum Internet, indeed.
See, I’m not jealous or bitter. I feel kind of bad for you. My friend is awesome, but you know, you totally made me feel like shit. I’m stuck here trying to reaffirm my self-worth like a low-rent Jack Handey: “I have advanced degrees, I’ve done things with my life, and goshdarnit, my friends like me!” Fuck you for making me feel like I’m not good enough for your late 1990s-bad-emo-outfitted scrawny ass.
I’m dying to know what so damned awful about wasting an evening with me. The media theory? The fact that I understand what you actually do for a living, or that I understand your passions? Face it — you’re terrified of women like myself. That’s probably a bigger dealbreaker than relegating me to signal noise, anyway.
