For those of you who've been wondering, "Hey! Whatever happened to your gal pal, occasional fake date, and ultimate Weirdness Magnet Sarah? You know, that drunk 26-yr.-old who sends you those crazy text messages?" (previous posts w/pics here, here, here, and here, in case you're new or missed 'em).
Well, she's still around and yes, her life is as much of a soap opera as ever.
(I really shouldn't enjoy this as much as I do, but remember: I have no life of my own; I have to live vicariously through others. And Sarah knows I blog this stuff; in fact, I think she kind of likes it. Someone should use this stuff for a novel.)
Anyway, after a long period of silence I get this on my phone the other day:
I feel very silly to have been cuckolded by someone who'll never get the reference.
No further explanation, though I suppose none is needed. Then I sent out one of my occasional G. W.-is-in-a-pissy-mood-and-wants-to-bitch texts, basically saying that the blood pressure medicine I'd just started (hydrochlorothiazide, should you be interested) was making me feel really crappy. So Sarah responds with the following series of messages:
Perhaps this will make you feel better. I spent an hour trying to convince an old hook up/my ex's nemesis to come over and have drunk crying girl sex.
After about 20 text messages i'd broken him down to maybe, then "probably, i mean, i don't know how this night's gonna go" the best i could get was a probably.
People like me do favors by having sex with people like him. They certainly don't beg for it. But i had no choice it was the most hurtful thing i could do to the ex. And yep i called him after and told him about it. this is what happens when you don't take your medicine.
Then she forwarded me the text which started it all:
Hey. Do you want to have sex with a crying drunk girl later? I'll try to keep the crying to a minimum. I know this is not the most appealing offer. Sorry.
Oh it's also a nice touch that we hadn't spoken in 5 months and he had no idea who the text was from.
And then this morning:
Sometimes when life meets you with situations where you feel the only option is to sleep with a train hopper, It's really not even a step down to sell your plasma on the way home.
On my hour and a half walk of shame the circus train passed by, but it was 100 feet to high to jump on. That's the way my life is. Close enough to see what i want, but to far away to do anything but watch it pass by.
You know, I bitch a lot about aging, about starting to develop Old Man problems and such, about the loss of friends and relatives, but I wouldn't want to revisit my twenties fer nuthin'!