guess i'll be left alone now

Pretty much anything done angrily is a bad idea. Like driving. Or eating ice cream (it's gone before you notice). Or kicking a tree. Knitting, even, can go sourly if done in a time of seething hatred. (You knit that shit into your project, that's bad knitting mojo!) Just about the only thing I can come up with that isn't a bad idea for the mad moments is showering. Just, my gods, stay away from the razor. That too is a bad idea.

Writing also is a bad idea. But I'm going to do it anyway. As well as eating the ice cream. But I must say ahead of time, anything from this point forth has a good chance of being recanted. But right now, I am just so very mad. So mad, I wish that it weren't midnight and I could scream at the top of my lungs so that every already-waking person could hear my howler monkey cry of anguish. You know what this is about. It's all about dating.

I just don't understand. My friends will say (gods bless them one and all!) that it's his loss, that I'm a good catch. It's true, I know. But it doesn't change the fact that DATING STILL FRAKKING SUCKS!

I was being jerked around for a month: Does he like me? Does he not like me? I'm going to just ignore him and busy myself and he'll leave me alone. Omg, why is he still texting me, I haven't talked to him in two days, how sweet! Nevermind, I hate him, because he's not asking me out. I don't care about your cold, just frakking ask me out already!!

I had to be talked out of a neurotic breakdown last week, but today it was not happening. The neurotic came. And the neurotic acted. It's been a month. How much should a girl have to be tortured for the sake of a mate! I had to ask if it was going anywhere. As stupid as this sounds, through a text message. (Because that's all he freaking deserves!) And he didn't answer, which I'm guessing is my answer. Which is great, now I know. I would rather know that I'm back to the beginning yet again than be yanked around, driving myself freaking crazy. But it doesn't stop me from being so expletively PISSED!

What the hell?! What the fucking hell?! Is it too much ask for a decent guy, to not have to whore myself out on the freaking internet to even find shitty ones, to be given the truth up front instead of being jerked around, to have someone use the phone already in their freaking hand to use it for what it was invented for, a freaking PHONE CALL?!

I heard the other day, supposedly, that by the year 2020 the woman to man ratio is going to be four to one. If it's true, I might as well just rip out my ovaries now. No sense being bothered with periods and acne and mood swings if my genes are never going to be used for furthering the smart alleles of the human race. I might as well just go get my 900 cats right now and own it, get as many happy times in with Fluffy, Felix, and Federico as I can.

Someone said, "just forget about it and the right one will come along." But I don't think he's coming. As far as I can tell, there is not a somebody for everybody. For some, there is not even a somebody for now. But even if there is, try as I might, there is no way in hell I will be able to forget about it. I keep thinking about the moment in Grey's Anatomy where Meredith swears off men and knits a sweater. "I'm not having sex, I'm knitting a sock" really just doesn't work for me. I'm going to need something bigger than a sock. Perhaps a sweater. For an elephant.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! So now it's just me again. And my Aaron Douglas shrine. Maybe if I promise him a steady stream of beers, he would be my boyfriend. Unlikely. And so I resort to you: Anyone got any great ideas on 1) where in Sam Hill I can find a guy who stays home reading on Friday nights or 2) a spectacular knitting project to make me forget about finding a guy who stays home reading on Friday nights?

Since this is a knitting blog, I'll leave you with a knitting anecdote. When I started knitting like a year or so ago, my mother thought this to be hilarious. "Old, lame people knit, not 25 year olds," she said. "Great way to get a guy! Haha!" Tonight, I've discovered she's changed her tune. She tells me she saw that the craft store is having knitting lessons and she was thinking about signing up. "Sounds fun! It'll give me something to do."

Tomorrow: I continue the sock over beers! (Probably yet another bad idea.)