So I Read a New Book . . .

You've heard of it - that "He's Just Not That Into You" book. The verdict? Pretty good shit. But here's the thing about good shit - true, some of it is good. The rest? It's just shit. In this book there was enough good to make it worth wading through said shit. For those of you unfamiliar with the tome, here's a looky-loo at a chapter title:

1. "He's just not that into you if he's not asking you out"
What I took from this chapter: If a man says any of the following to you:
"We should hang out sometime."
"So maybe we'll run into each other."
"Maybe I'll stop by later."
Or if he does any of the following:
Calls you only when drunk.
Calls you only after 10 p.m.
It means this: He doesn't want to see you UNLESS you are naked.
Men I remembered I hated while reading this chapter: Itsy, MWFHS, Mr. Motorcycle, Cable, CrazyEyes, BB, DA, and Softy McNoodle . . . and Muscles.

Mainly Muscles. Of all the men who didn't love me back, I think I hate him the most . . . because I wanted him the most. I've feigned ambivalence, but I wanted him.

Stupid book. Stupid book with enough good to outweigh the shit.

Shittily yours,
Annabelly

Things I Have Broken This Week:

1. A button on my laptop. I stepped on it.
2. A wine glass. It got stuck in the dishwasher. I got pissed and yanked it. Glass errrrrrrverywhere.
3. A corkscrew - while it was in my bottle of wine.
4. My solemn pledge not to buy another pair of boots until my next paycheck.
5. A penis. More on this later.

Peace out,
Annabelly