The male species can suck it

I didn’t like Lil Wayne much before, but I’m definitely one of those girls who swears this song was written about them. It’s like every word is dripping with all the pathetic tales of my sad love life. Until last weekend, I thought I was just always running into bad luck when it came to boys. Now, I’m pretty sure I’m fucking cursed.

Last Friday, as I mentioned, I went clubbing with a friend. At this club, my friend had invited her new boy toy, who of course had in turn brought along his friends. Only two of those friends are relevant: K, a white boy who had expressed interest in me to his friend and my friend; and B, an Hispanic boy who I didn’t care much for at first, but when K turned out to be a dud I ended up telling everyone B was more my type and somehow people thought that meant I wanted B instead (which, okay, was true, but totally not what I had told my friend).

At any rate, at the end of the night I was somehow delegated the task of driving everyone (me, my friend, her boy toy and his friends) home. I ended up dropping K and B off at K’s house, where I assumed they were gonna go smoke up. K didn’t bother to say good-bye to me (nor thank you, wtf!), which I guess is because I’d basically rejected him. B asked for my number, asked what I was doing the next day, gave me a hug several times, and actually ended up giving me a kiss.

Now, fast forward to yesterday. My friend and I happen to work together now (at the retail job I’d gotten last month), and when she told me her boy toy was coming to the mall to visit, I of course asked if he would be bringing any friends with him. She raised her eyebrows and was like, “You want to see B again don’t you?” “Duh.” “I think he has a girlfriend.” … “WHAT?!”

Apparently, my friend had asked B on Friday at the club if he had a girlfriend, and he responded, after hesitating, with an affirmative, and her new boy toy even drunkenly semi-confirmed it (I don’t know why these boys can’t just fucking come right out and say it). Now, I really don’t care what happens at this point between B and I, but this just absolutely, positively confirms the fact that I am fucking cursed. I am always, always the other bloody woman. (Remember the married Costa Rican DJ?)

I am never ever the girl in chick flicks who ends up with the boy of her dreams at the end! I am never the nice girl who gets left out in the cold because nobody thinks she’s cute enough! I am just the slutty ho men want to play around with because they think that’s all she’s good for! And no, I am not purposely going around acting like a slutty ho, I’m really trying to portray myself as a classy-yet-badass-y kind of girl. What the fuck!!

Here is the count:

  • Number of boys I’ve dealt with who turned out to have girlfriends at the time: approximately 3 (that I know of for sure…I’m pretty sure there’s more I’ve forgotten)
  • Number of married men I’ve dealt with: technically 1, 2 really, and there’s a third I don’t know whether to count or not
  • Number of boys who ended up finding girlfriends after me: 3 (again, I stress that these are estimates)
  • Number of times I got fucked over in the end, and not in the good way: infinite

Let’s keep in mind that these are all individuals that I’ve managed to remember in my head. The actual numbers may, I fear, be higher.

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