To those of you that are tempted to say, "I told you so," please bite your tongue because I do not want to hear it. Not right now. Not any time soon. And if you say it to me, I will probably do my best to call you less often and hang out with you as infrequently as possible. It is not what I want to hear. You know that. You know that I like to live in my world and hear what I want to hear. So yes, shut up, you may have been right but I don't need to hear that.
I hate this boy, Dara's boyfriend, who is staying in our apartment for about the next three weeks and totally occupying a physical space that I am too used to claiming as my own. And really, if he doesn't stop strumming that guitar right now, I might very well flip out and try to choke him with the neck of that guitar. But he is, of course, not who I am talking about. It is never who you are ranting about that is the real source of your frustration, and the person that might be, also isn't. It is surely myself and dealing with whatever malaise I am going through and the process of finding a job, and fuck god, now he is singing! Shut the fuck up and get the hell out of my apartment right now before I lose my shit, you annoying asshole!
Okay, really, most of my rage is devoted for him and how much I do not want him in my apartment not tonight and surely not for the next three weeks or so. And because really, I did want to type something here in my living room, some story about my life, but really I cannot bear to be in his presence, I am going to have to sum things up much more quicker than I was originally hoping to do so, and fuck, I want him out of my house, and really what I wanted to say was that I applied for two jobs, had interviews at those two jobs today, both at wine stores and would be so happy to work at either one of those, and really, I think he is so obnoxious, especially since he can't even play the guitar (and Jillian, don't tell Dara I wrote this, but God, isn't he so annoying?).
But besides the jobs there is me being rejected by my big crush as of late who I have been indirectly writing about, Greg. And fuck you, guitar wannabe hippie boy, because this was what I wanted to talk about but I want to kill you and so have to go to bed without explaining how I feel about Greg telling me he just wanted to be friends, and how it upset me slightly and nonslightly, but in a seriously maudlin way and how really, I am not sure what I want from life, what it is that I think would make me happy, and what it is I want, what it is I am claiming would make me happy. Because you know, I talk big, and say I want this or that, but only because it is easy to say and not what I would really desire or what would really solve anything.
And now he is finally going to bed, and maybe I should talk about it now because I can and hopefully he won't read these rantings of mine about his grating guitar playing, but I mean, you all knew about my crush - I told you about it fairly often, and surely, he knew about it too. Jamie, today, asked me who I was talking to when he was over. And I told her who, and she said that she could tell I was talking to someone I liked, had a crush on, because I always talked different when I talk to a crush, more excited, more excitable. And he has dropped hints to him seeing someone for a while which I have done my best to ignore, but tonight after we left R Bar, after the bartender asked us if we were hitting on each other and I confessed that I was hitting on Greg, Greg told me that he just wanted to be friends. And you know what Cake song is going through my head right now as I say that my life is so predictable, and I know that you all knew this, and yet, if you all tell me that you knew this, that you told me so, I don't want to be your friend.