Okay. We have another one. And it's totally my fault. My epic hubris made me insinuate, okay practically lead my date, to my blog. (It's a moth to flame situation.)
That means we have another guy, in addition to The King of Produce, who reads this blog.
Of course he disagrees with how he has been "characterized".
Oh and he introduced my neighbours to my blog. (Hi Shelby and Roman!!!) He said they laughed at me. But laughter IS the point of this blog. Was that supposed to hurt? (I love my neighbours.)
This is the funny part. "The Playboy" called to bust me on my comments. As with many men, he left a long, frustrating and insulting message on my cell accusing me of:
1. Being sexually repressed. (duh)
2. Basically lying about him (I never lie.)
3. Having no friends and being an unmarried loser with no money (dude, some things are obvious.)
4. Only caring about what my minuscule blog audience thinks.
5. I forgot. Around the fifth insult my mind went blank.
This is not a biography. I haven't been hired to write the truth. This is about me. My perceptions. If I'm wrong, so what? It's not like the New York Times is going to pick up the story.
He was so proud for interceding with the neighbours to spin the story of our few dates before I did.
I had no plans to say a word.
Not to the neighbours. It wasn't that big a deal.
He said I was weird, scary and bizarre (based on my blog). That I act tough and tear apart men but in reality I'm just a scared little wimp.
My response is...So? What's your point?